“Yes, Gulab,”—­and he subdued his voice,—­“tell me if you know.”

“They are dead upon the road beyond where you saved Bootea.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“It was too late, Sahib; and if you had gone there they would have killed you.”

“Who?”

“That, I cannot tell.”

“You must, Gulab.”

“No, Bootea will not.”

Barlow stared angrily into the big eyes that were lifted to his, that though they lingered in soft loving upon his face, told him that she would not tell, that she would die first; even as he would have given his life if he had been captured by tribesmen and asked to betray his fellow men as the price of liberty.

He threw himself back wearily in the chair.  “Why tell me this now,—­to mock me, to exult?” he said, reproach in his voice.

“But it is the message, Sahib, that is more than the life of a sepoy, is it not?”

Again he sat up:  “Why do you say this—­do you know where it is?”

She drew from beneath her bodice the sandal soles, saying:  “These are from the feet of the messenger who is dead.  The one the Sahib beat over the head with his pistol dropped them,—­and he was carrying them for a purpose.  The Sahib knows, perhaps, the secret way of this land.”

In the girl’s hand was clasped the knife from her girdle, and she tendered it, hilt first:  “Bootea knows not if they are of value, the leather soles, but if the Sahib would open them, then if there are eyes that watch the curtains are drawn.”

Barlow revivified, stimulated by hope, seized the knife and ran its sharp point around the stitching of the soles.  Between the double leather of one lay a thin, strong parchment-like paper.

He gave a cry of exultation as, unfolding it, he saw the seal of his Raj.  His cry was a gasp of relief.  Almost the shatterment of his career had lain in that worn discoloured sole, and disaster to his Raj if it had fallen into the hands of the conspirators.

In an ecstasy of relief he sprang to his feet, and lifting Bootea, clasped her in his arms, smothering her face in kisses, whispering:  “Gulab, you are my preserver; you are the sweetest rose that ever bloomed!”

He felt the pound of her heart against his breast, and her eyes mirrored a happiness that caused him to realise that he was going too far—­drifting into troubled waters that threatened destruction.  The girl’s soul had risen to her eyes and looked out as though he were a god.

As if Bootea sensed the same impending evil she pushed Barlow from her and sank back to the cushion, her face shedding its radiancy.

Cursing himself for the impetuous outburst Barlow slumped into the chair.

“Gulab,” he said presently, “my government gives reward for loyalty and service.”

“Bootea has had full reward,” the girl answered.

He continued:  “We had talk on the road about the Pindaris; what did they who whisper in the dark say?”