belt.

"What then do you fear, Gulab?" he queried.

"The Sahib."

"_Me_, Gulab?"

"Yes, Khudawand. To see you and not be permitted to hear your voice,
nor feel your hand upon my face, would be worse than sacrifice. Bootea
would rather die, slip off into death with the goodness, the sweetness
of to-night upon her soul. There, where the Sahib would be, Bootea's
heart would be full of evil, the evil of craving for him. No, this is
the end, and Bootea will make offering of thanks--marigolds and a
cocoanut to Omkar, and sprinkle attar upon his shrine in thankfulness
for the joy of the Sahib's presence. It is said!" and the girl nestled
down against Barlow's breast again as though she had gone to sleep in
content.

But he groaned inwardly: there was something of dread in his heart, her
resignation was so deep--suggesting an utter giving up, a helplessness.
She had named sacrifice; the word rang ominously in his mind, beating
at his fears. And yet, what she had said was philosophy--wise; a
something that had been worded, perhaps differently, for a million
years; the brave acceptance of Fate's decree--something that always
triumphed over the weak longings of humans.