Then, too, the moon, that is the soul of Purusha, smiled upon her.
Would it be permitted to Bootea just one more happiness, for
to-morrow--to-morrow--"
The girl turned away, and seemed busy adjusting her gold-embroidered
jacket.
"So you shall, Gulab," Barlow declared. And he, too, thought of the
sweetness of that ride where she lay like a confiding child in his
arms; and also for him, too, was to-morrow--to-morrow; and for him,
too, just one more foolish, useless happiness--just a sensuous burying
of his face in flowers that on the morrow would have shrivelled.
"I'll send the _tonga_ on ahead," he declared, "and we'll just have
that jolly old farewell ride together, girl--I'd love it."
Now she turned back to him and her face was placid, soft, content, as
though Mona Lisa had stepped out from the painted canvas, and, now
embodied, was there listening to the sigh of the night-wind through the
feathered _sal_ forest.
With ejaculations of "Bap, bap, bap! _Shabaz_!" and queer gurgling
clucking of the throat, and a sonorous rumble from the wide, low
wheels, the driver drove the tonga on into the moonlight.
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