To Sybil Linforth these days were a time of intolerable suspense.  The horror of the Road was upon her.  She dreamed of it when she slept, so that she came to dread sleep, and tried, as long as she might, to keep her heavy eyelids from closing over her eyes.  The nights to her were terrible.  Now it was she, with her child in her arms, who walked for ever and ever along that road, toiling through snow or over shale and finding no rest anywhere.  Now it was her boy alone, who wandered along one of the wooden galleries high up above the river torrent, until a plank broke and he fell through with a piteous scream.  Now it was her husband, who could go neither forward nor backward, since in front and behind a chasm gaped.  But most often it was a man—­a young Englishman, who pursued a young Indian along that road into the mists.  Somehow, perhaps because it was inexplicable, perhaps because its details were so clear, this dream terrified her more than all the rest.  She could tell the very dress of the Indian who fled—­a young man—­young as his pursuer.  A thick sheepskin coat swung aside as he ran and gave her a glimpse of gay silk; soft leather boots protected his feet; and upon his face there was a look of fury and wild fear.  She never woke from this dream but her heart was beating wildly.  For a few moments after waking peace would descend upon her.

“It is a dream—­all a dream,” she would whisper to herself with contentment, and then the truth would break upon her dissociated from the dream.  Often she rose from her bed and, kneeling beside the boy’s cot, prayed with a passionate heart that the curse of the Road—­that road predicted by a Linforth years ago—­might overpass this generation.

Meanwhile rumours came—­rumours of disaster.  Finally a messenger broke through and brought sure tidings.  Luffe had marched quickly, had come within thirty miles of Kohara before he was stopped.  In a strong fort at a bend of the river the young Khan with his wife and a few adherents had taken refuge.  Luffe joined the Khan, sought to push through to Kohara and rescue Linforth, but was driven back.  He and his troops and the Khan were now closely besieged by Wafadar Nazim.

The work of mobilisation was pressed on; a great force was gathered at Nowshera; Brigadier Appleton was appointed to command it.

“Luffe will hold out,” said official India, trying to be cheerful.

Perhaps the only man who distrusted Luffe’s ability to hold out was Brigadier Appleton, who had personal reasons for his views.  Brigadier Appleton was no fool, and yet Luffe had not suffered him gladly.  All the more, therefore, did he hurry on the preparations.  The force marched out on the new road to Chiltistan.  But meanwhile the weeks were passing, and up beyond the snow-encumbered hills the beleaguered troops stood cheerfully at bay behind the thick fort-walls.

CHAPTER II