se to the hilltop that was a slab of rock and sand carrying a
city, he asked: "Where shall I put you down that will be near your
place of rest, your friends?"

"Is there a memsahib in the home of the Sahib?" she asked.

"No, Bootea, not so lucky--nobody but servants."

"Then I will go to the bungalow of the Sahib."

"Confusion!" he exclaimed in moral trepidation.

Bootea's hand touched his arm, and she turned her face inward to hide
the hot flush that lay upon it. "No, Sahib, not because of Bootea; one
does not sleep in the lap of a god."

"All right, girl," he answered--"sorry."

As the grey plodded tiredly down the avenue of trees, a smooth road
bordered by a hedge of cactus and lanten, Barlow turned him to the
right up a drive of broken stone, and dropping to the ground at the
verandah of a white-waited bungalow, lifted the girl down, saying:
"Within it can be arranged for a rest place for you."

A _chowkidar_, lean, like a mummified mendicant, rose up from a
squeaking, roped _charpoy_ and salaamed.

"Take the horse to the stable, Jungwa, and tell the _syce_ to undress
him. Remember to keep that monkey tongue of yours between your teeth
for in my room hangs a bitter whip. It is a lie that I have not ridden
home alone," Barlow commanded.

CHAPTER XII

As Barlow led the Gulab within the bungalow she drew, as a veil, a
light silk scarf across her face.

Upon the floor of the front room a bearer, head buried in yards of pink
cotton cloth, his _puggri_, lay fast asleep.

As Barlow raised a foot to touch the sleeper in the ribs the girl drew
him back, put the tips of her finger to her lips, and pointed toward
the bedroom door.

Barlow shook his head, the flickering flame of the wick in an iron
oil-lamp that rested in a niche of the wall exaggerating to ferocity
the frown that topped his eyes.

But Bootea pleaded with a mute salaam, and raising her lips to his ear
whispered, "Not because of what is not permitted--not because of
Bootea--please."

With an arm he swept back the beaded tendrils of a hanging
door-curtain, the girl glided to the darkness of the room, and Barlow,
lifting from its niche the iron lamp, followed. Within, she pointed to
the door that lay open and Barlow, half in rebellion, softly closed it.
As he turned he saw that she had dropped from their holding cords the
heavy brocaded silk curtains of the window.

His limbs were numb from the long ride with the weight of the girl'