he heard the other's words.

"I've had but two gods, Barlow, the British Raj and Elizabeth; that's
since her mother died. In a little, a few years more, I will retire
with just enough to live on plus my pension--perhaps in France, where
it's cheap. And then I'll still have two gods, Elizabeth and the one
God. And, Captain, somehow I had hoped that you and Elizabeth would
hit it off, but I'm afraid she's made a mistake."

Barlow had been following this with half his receptivity, for, though
he fought against it, the memory of Bootea--gentle, trusting, radiating
love, warmth--cried out against the bitter unfemininity of the girl who
had stabbed his honour and his cleanness. The black figure of Kali
still rested on the table, and somehow the evil lines in the face of
the goddess suggested the vindictiveness that had played about the thin
lips of his accuser.

And the very plea the father was making was reacting. It was this,
that he, Barlow, was rich, that a chance death or two would make him
Lord Barradean, was the attraction, not love. A girl couldn't be in
love with a man and strive to break him.

Hodson had taken up the papers, and was again scanning them mistily.

"They were on the murdered messenger--he was killed, wasn't he, Barlow?"

"Yes."

"And has any native seen these papers, Captain?"

"No, I cut them from the soles of the sandals the messenger wore,
myself, Sir."

"That is all then, Captain; we have them back--I may say, thank God!"
He stood up and holding out his hand added, "Thank you, Captain. I
don't want to know anything about the matter--I'm too much machine now
to measure rainbows--fancy I should wear a strip of red-tape as a tie."

"If you will listen, Sir--there is another that I want to put right.
Your daughter did see the Gulab, but because she had brought me the
sandals. And you can take an officer's word for it that the Gulab is
not what Elizabeth believes."

"Captain, I have lived a long time in India, too long to be led away by
quick impressions, as unfortunately Elizabeth was. I've outlived my
prejudices. When the _mhowa_ tree blooms I can take glorious pleasure
from its gorgeous fragrant flowers and not quarrel with its leafless
limbs. When the pipal and the neem glisten with star flowers and
sweeten the foetid night-air, it matters nothing to me that the natives
believe evil gods home in the branches. I know that even a cobra tries
to get out of my way if I'll let h