Caste | Page 6

"Yes," Baptiste declared; "it is said she dances wonderfully."
"You name her the Gulab Begum, General,--that is a Moslem title and,
from the turbans and caste-marks on the men, they seem to be Hindus; I
suppose Gulab Begum is her stage name, is it?"
Elizabeth was exhibiting unusual interest in a native--that is for
Elizabeth, and Nana Sahib chuckled softly as he answered: "Names
mean little in India; I know high-caste Brahmins who have given their
children low-caste names to make them less an object of temptation to
the gods of destruction. Also, the Gulab may have been stolen from the
harem of some Nawab by this bandit."
The Gulab suggested more a Rajput princess than a dancing girl. No
ring pierced the thin nostrils of her Grecian nose; neither from her ears
hung circles of gold or brass, or silver; and the slim ankles that peeped
from a rich skirt were guiltless of anklets. On the wrist of one arm was
a curious gold bangle that must have held a large ruby, for at times the
sun flicked from the moving wrist splashes of red wine. Indeed the
whole atmosphere of the girl was simplicity and beauty.
"No wonder they call her the Rose Queen," Barlow was communing
with himself. For the oval face with its olive skin, as fair as a Kashmiri

girl's, was certainly beautiful. The black hair was smoothed back from
a wide low forehead, after the habit of the Mahratti women; the prim
simplicity of this seeming to add to the girlish effect. A small
white-and-gold turban, even with its jauntiness, seemed just the very
thing to check the austere simplicity. The girl's eyes, like Ajeet's, were
the eyes of some one unafraid, of one born to a caste that felt equality.
When they turned to those who sat in the brake they were calmly
meditative; they were the eyes of a child, modest; but with the
unabashed confidence of youth.
Elizabeth, perhaps unreasonably, for the three of them sat so close
together in the brake, fancied that the Gulab's gaze constantly picked
out the handsome Captain Barlow.
An imp touched Nana Sahib, and he said: "I'd swear there was Rajput
blood in that girl. If I knew of some princess having been stolen I'd say
she stood yonder. The eyes are simply ripping; baby eyes, that, when
roused, assist in driving a knife under a man's fifth rib. I've seen a
sambhur doe with just such eyes cut into ribbons a Rampore hound
with her sharp hoofs."
"Well, Prince," Elizabeth said, "I suppose you know the women of this
land better than either Captain Barlow or myself, and you're probably
right, for I see in a belt at her waist the jewelled hilt of a dagger."
Nana Sahib laughed: "My dear Miss Hodson, I never play with edged
tools, and Captain--"
But Nana Sahib's raillery was cut short by a small turmoil as the
bleating goat of sacrifice was dragged forward to a stone daubed with
vermillion upon which rested a small black alabaster image of Kali;
while a guru, with sharpened knife, hung near like a falcon over a
quivering bird. Three times the goat's head was thrust downward in
obeisance to the black goddess; there was a flash of steel in the sunlight,
and hot blood gushed forth, to dye with its crimson flood the base of
the idol.
A Bagree darted forward and with a stroke of his tulwar clipped the

neck from a pitcher and held it beneath the gurgling flood till it was
filled.
From where Elizabeth sat she looked across the shoulder of Nana Sahib
as they watched the sacrifice; she saw him quiver and lean forward, his
shoulders tip as though he would spring from the brake. His face had
drawn into hard lines, his lips were set tight in intensity across the teeth
so that they showed between in a thin line of white. The blood seemed
to have fascinated him; he was oblivious of her presence. She heard
him murmur, "Parvati, Parvati! There is blood, blood--wait, thou,
Parvati."
The bay Arabs--perhaps their sensitive nostrils drank in the smell of
fresh blood--sprang into their collars as if they would bolt in fright. The
two syces, squatting on their heels at the horses' heads, had sprung to
their feet, and now were caressing the necks of the Arabs as they held
them each with a hand by the bit.
There was a curious look in the Prince's eyes as he turned them on
Elizabeth; a mingling of questioning and defiance was in them.
Now the holder of the pitcher stood up and the guru drew upon it four
red lines and dropped through its shattered mouth a woman's bracelet
of gold lacquer beads. Then the pitcher was placed upon