"
"All right, girl," he answered--"sorry."
As the grey plodded tiredly down the avenue of trees, a smooth road
bordered by a hedge of cactus and lanten, Barlow turned him to the
right up a drive of broken stone, and dropping to the ground at the
verandah of a white-waited bungalow, lifted the girl down, saying:
"Within it can be arranged for a rest place for you."
A _chowkidar_, lean, like a mummified mendicant, rose up from a
squeaking, roped _charpoy_ and salaamed.
"Take the horse to the stable, Jungwa, and tell the _syce_ to undress
him. Remember to keep that monkey tongue of yours between your teeth
for in my room hangs a bitter whip. It is a lie that I have not ridden
home alone," Barlow commanded.
CHAPTER XII
As Barlow led the Gulab within the bungalow she drew, as a veil, a
light silk scarf across her face.
Upon the floor of the front room a bearer, head buried in yards of pink
cotton cloth, his _puggri_, lay fast asleep.
As Barlow raised a foot to touch the sleeper in the ribs the girl drew
him back, put the tips of her finger to her lips, and pointed toward
the bedroom door.
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