Barlow patted the girl’s hand, saying, “My salaams to you, little girl.”

He felt her slim cool fingers press his hand, but he shrank from the claiming touch, muttering, “The damned barrier!”

Suddenly Barlow remembered Bootea had spoken of another reason for going to the Pindari camp.  He puzzled over this a little, hesitating to question her; she had not told him what it was, but had asked if he were going there; the reason evidently had something to do with him.  It couldn’t be treachery—­she had done so much for him; it must be the something that looked out of her eyes when they rested on his face, the unworded greatest thing on earth in the way of fealty and devotion.  Possibly this was the grand motive, the reason she had given being secondary.

“You said, Gulab, that you had another reason for this awful trip; what is it?” he asked.

The girl’s eyes dropped to the ruby bracelet again; “To acquire merit in the eyes of Mahadeo, Sahib.”

“To do good acts so that you may be reincarnated as a heaven-born, a Brahmini, perhaps even come back as a memsahib.”

At this her big eyes rose to Barlow’s face, and he could swear that there were tears misting them; and sensing that if she had fallen in love with him, what he had said about her becoming a memsahib had hurt.  Perhaps she, as he did, realised that that was the barred door to happiness—­that she wasn’t of the white race.

“Yes, Sahib,” she said presently, “a Swami told me that in a former life I had been evil.”

“The Swami is an awful liar!” Barlow ejaculated.

“The holy ones speak the truth, Sahib.  The Swami said that because of having been beautiful I had caused deaths through jealousy.”

“Oh, the crazy fool!” Barlow declared in English; “and it’s all rot!  This is the reason you spoke of, Gulab—­good deeds; is it the only other reason?”

The girl turned her face away, and Barlow saw her shoulders quiver.

He rose from the chair, and lifting the girl to her feet held her in his arms, saying:  “Look me in the eyes, Gulab, and tell me if you are going through this devilish thing because of me.”

“Bootea is going to the camp of Amir Khan because Hunsa and the others have been told to kill the Sahib; and she will see that this is not accomplished.”

Barlow clasped the girl to his breast and smothered her face in kisses; “You are the sweetest little woman that ever lived,” he said; “and I am a sinner, for this can only bring you misery.”

“Sahib—­it can’t be, but it is not misery.  The sweet pain has been put in the heart of Bootea by the Sahib’s eyes, and she is happy.  But do not go as a Sahib.”

Barlow cursed softly to himself, muttering, “India!  Even dreams are not unheard!” Then, “What made you say that?” he queried.

“It is known because that is the way of the Sahib.  He knows that where he sleeps or eats, or plays games with the little balls, that there are always servants, and it is known that Captain Barrle is called the Patan by his friends.”