"It was not, Chief," Barlow answered. "A British officer on matters of
state, would break his _izzat_ (honour) if he trifled with women."

"Put thy hand upon thy beard, Afghan--though thou hast not one--and
swear by it that it was not thee the woman meant when she spoke of a
knife, for I like thee."

Barlow put his hand to his chin. "I swear that there was nothing of
evil intent against Amir Khan in my heart," he said; "and that is the
same as our oath, for it is but one God that we both worship."

The Chief again let float from his big throat his low, deep, musical
laugh.

"An oath is an oath, nothing more. To trust to it and go to sleep in
its guardianship, one may never wake up. Even the gods cannot bind a
heart that is black with words. It was one of my own name who swore on
the shrine of Eklinga at Udaipur friendship for a Prince of Marwar, and
changed turbans with him, which is more binding than eating opium
together, then slew him like a dog. Of my faith, an oath, 'by the
Beard of the Prophet,' is more binding, I think. Too many gods, such
as the men of Hind have, produce a wavering. But thou hast sworn to
the truth as I am a witness. The delay of an audience was that thou
mightst be well watched before much had been said, for a child at play
hides nothing, and if thou hadst gone but once to the tent of the
Gulab, Amir Khan would have known.

"But as to this,"--his hand tapped the document--"it has been said that
the British Raj doles out the lives of its servants as one doles grain
in a time of famine. If an envoy, such as a Raja sends in a way of