“No, Miss-sahib.  I am no mail-carrier!  I brought those letters as a favor to Franklin-sahib at Peshawur; I was coming hither, and he had no man to send.  I will take letters, since I am now going, if there are letters ready; I ride to-night.”

“Thank you, Mahommed Gunga.  I have letters for England.  They are not yet sealed.  May I send them to you before you start?”

“I will send my man for them.  Also, Miss Maklin-sahib” (heavens! how much cleaner and better that sounded than the prince’s ironical “sahiba"!)

“If you wish it, I will escort you to Peshawur, or to any city between here and there.”

“But—­but why?”

“I saw Jaimihr.  I know Jaimihr.”

“And—­”

“And—­this is no place for a padre, or for the daughter of a padre.”

What he said was true, but it was also insolent, said insolently.

“Mahommed Gunga-sahib, what are those ribbons on your breast?” she asked him.

He glanced down at them, and his expression changed a trifle; it was scarcely perceptible, but underneath his fierce mustache the muscles of his mouth stiffened.

“They are medal ribbons—­for campaigns,” he answered.

“Three-four-five!  Then, you were a soldier a long time?  Did you—­ did you desert your post when there was danger?”

He flushed, and raised his hand as though about to speak.

“Or did people insult you when you chose to remain on duty?”

“Miss-sahib, I have not insulted you!” said Mahommed Gunga.  “I came here for another purpose.”

“You came, very kindly, to ask whether there were letters.  Thank you, Mahommed Gunga-sahib, for your courtesy.  There are letters, and I will give them to your man, if you will be good enough to send him for them.”

He still stood there, staring at her with eyes that did not blink.  He was too much of a soldier to admit himself at a loss what to say, yet he had no intention of leaving Howrah without saying it, for that, too, would have been unsoldierly.

“The reason why your countrymen have found men of this land before now to fight for them—­one reason, at least—­” he said gruffly, “is that hitherto they have not meddled with our religions.  It is not safe!  It would be better to come away, Miss-sahib.”

“Would you like to say that to my father?  He is—­”

“Allah forbid that I should argue with him!  I spoke to you, on your account!”

“You forget, I think,” she answered him gently, “that we had permission from the British Government to come here; it has not been withdrawn.  We are doing no harm here—­trying only to do good.  There is always danger when—­”

“I would speak of that,” he interrupted—­“You will not come away?”

She shook her head.

“Your father could remain.”

She shook her head again.  “I stay with him,” she answered.