Captain Barlow and Bootea had gone from the scene of the murder through the long dim-lighted hall, its walls broken here and there by niches of mystery, some of them closed by marble fretwork screens that might have been doors, and down the marble stairway, in silence.  Barlow had slipped a hand under her arm in the way of both a physical and mental sustaining; his fingers tapped her arm in affectionate approbation.  Once he muttered to himself in English, “Splendid girl!” and not comprehending, the Gulab turned her star-eyes upward to his face.

At the gate the soldier who had accompanied them spoke to the guard, and the latter, standing on a step bellowed:  “Ho, ye Pindaris, here goes forth the Afghan in innocence of the foul crime!  Above they have the slayer, who was Hunsa the thug; and, Praise be to Allah! they will apply the torture.  Let him pass in peace, all ye.  And take care that no one molest the beautiful Gulab.  The peace of Allah upon the soul of the great Amir Khan!”

A rippling thunder of deep voices vibrated the thronged street, crying, “Allah Akbar! the peace of God be upon the soul of the dead Chief!”

A lane was opened up to them by the grim, wild-eyed, bandit-looking horsemen, tulwar over shoulder and knives in belt, who called:  “Back ye! the favoured of the Commander passes.  Back, make way! ’tis an order.”

The faces of the soldiers that had been wreathed in revenge and blood-lust when Barlow had been brought, were now friendly, and there were cries of “Salaam, brother! salaam, Flower of the Desert!” for it had been spread that the Gulab had discovered the murderer, had denounced him.

“Brave little Gulab!” Barlow said in a low voice, bending his head to look into her eyes, for he felt the arm trembling against his hand.

She did not answer, and he knew that she was sobbing.

When they were past the turbulent crowd he said, “Bootea, your people will all have fled or been captured.”

“Yes, Sahib,” she gasped.

“Perhaps even your maid servant will have been taken.”

“No, Sahib, they would not take her; her home is here.”

By her side he travelled to where the now deserted tents of the decoits stood silent and dark, like little pagodas of sullen crime.  A light flickered in one tent, and silhouetted against its canvas side they could see the form of a woman crouched with her head in her hands.

“The maid is there,” Barlow said:  “but it is not enough.  I will bring my blankets and sleep here at the door of your tent.”

“No, Sahib, it is not needed,” the girl protested.

“Yes, Bootea, I will come.”  Then with a little laugh he added; “The gods have ordained that we take turns at protecting each other.  It is now my turn; I will come soon.”

She turned her small oval face up to look at this wonderful man, to discover if he were really there, that it was not some kindly god who would vanish.  He clasped the face, with its soul of adoration, in his two palms and kissed her.  Then fearing that she would fall, for she had closed her eyes and reeled, he took her by the arm, opened the flap of the tent, and steadied her into the arms of her handmaid.