reincarnations, as I related to the Sahib."

A curious superstitious chill struck with full force upon the heart of
Barlow. Kassim's story of Kumari revivified itself with startling
remembrance. Was this the priest that, to save Kumari's sacrifice, had
wafted her by occult or drug method from one embodied form into
another, from Kumari to Bootea? It was so confusing, so overpowering
in its clutch that he did not speak of it.

The girl was adding: "It is on the Sahib's way to Poona; there will be
many from Karowlee at Mandhatta and I can return with them."

This seemed reasonable to Barlow; she would there be in the company of
people not at war. And then, erratically, rebelliously, he felt a
heart hunger; but he cursed this feeling as being vicious--it was. He
smothered it, shoving it back into a niche of his mind, thinking he had
locked it up--had turned a key in the door of the closet to hide the
skeleton.

He temporised, saying; "Well, we'll see, Gulab; perhaps at Mandhatta I
could wait while you made an offering and a prayer to Omkar, and then
you could journey on to Chunda." To himself he muttered in English:
"By God! I'll not stand for that slimy brute, Nana Sahib's, possession
of the girl--she's too good. I know enough now to denounce him."

In council with himself, standing Captain Barlow firmly on his feet to
face the realities, he realised the impossibility of being anything
more to Bootea than just a Sahib who had by fate been thrown into her
path temporarily. And then, feeling the sway, the compelling force of
a fascinating femininity he almost trembled for himself. Weaker