She knew, as all the people of that land knew, that the sahibs
went where their Raja told them was their mission, and laughed at death;
and the face of this one spoke of strength, and the eyes of placid
fearlessness; so she said nothing.
The sandal soles that pinched her soft flesh she felt were a
reproach--they had something to do with the thing that was between the
Sahib and the dead soldiers. There were tears in her eyes and she
shivered.
Barlow, feeling this, said: "You're cold, Gulab, the night-wind that
comes up from the black muck of the cotton fields and across the river is
raw. Hang on for a minute," he added, as he slipped his arm from about
her shoulders and fumbled at the back of his saddle. A couple of buckles
were unclasped, and he swung loose a warm military cloak and wrapped it
about her, as he did so his cheek brushing hers.
Then she was like a bird lying against his chest, closed in from
everything but just this Sahib who was like a god.
A faint perfume lingered in Barlow's nostrils from the contact; it was
the perfume of attar, of the true oil of rose, such as only princes use
because of its costliness, and he wondered a little.
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