he trees, you know,
alone. . . . If it isn't quite clear to me, I'll cock one foot up in
the crotch of a tree--until it's straight again. . . . But it's clear,
Hantee," he added. "I'm seeing now--the man she sees--or something
like!"

Ian turned toward the deeper growths. . . . They walked in silence.
The untellable thing--for Skag alone--lingered in Carlin's eyes, in the
pallor of her face. She was the one who spoke:

"It is terrible--terribly dear, like a blending of two souls in a white
heat together--those moments at the play-house and now--as you held
Kala Khan--"

"It was not one alone," he answered strangely. "Something from you was
with me--half, with mine."

CHAPTER XIII

_Neela Deo, King of All Elephants_

This is the story of Neela Deo, King of all elephants! Protector of
the Innocent! Defender of Defenders! Equitable King!

For his sake, knowledge of the place where he was known and of those
who looked upon his person, shall go down from generation to generation
into the future and shall be continued forever, under the illumination
of his name.

How he preserved the great judge and how he fought that mightiest of
all battles, for the honour of his kind and for the preservation of his
liege-son, must be told in order.

The fortune of the season, the features of the town, and the chief
names must be established.

See that nothing shall be added. See that no part be left unspoken.
It is the law.

The great rains had passed on their way north; and they had been good
to the Central Provinces country. The water-courses were even yet but
a line below flood; the tanks were full, the wells abrim. The earth
was clothed with new garmenture. Jungle creatures were all in their
annual high-carnival. Life-forces were driving to full speed.

The town of Hurda, on the great triple Highway-of-all-India, clung to
the side of her little river leaning against the massive buttressed
walls of her old grey stone terraces, where--on their wide
step-landings--at all seasons, she burned her human dead by the tide's
margin.

The great Highway spanned the river on a broad low stone bridge and
turned--just south of the burning ghats--with a majestic sweep
northward, between its four lines of sacred, flowering, perfumed and
shade trees. Remember, those trees were planted by the forgotten
peoples of dead kings, for each within his own realm; they were all
nourished under the unfailing rivalry that