"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 pride, came with this, and were made a matter of sacrifice, perhaps twenty lives would have paid of the trying, but as it is, but one is the account." Barlow shot a quick searching look into the Pindari's eyes; was it a covert threat? But he answered: "It is even so, it was spoken of as a matter for two, but--" The Chief laughed: "I know, Sahib; thou art pleasing to me. Of the Sahibs I have little knowledge, but I have heard it said they were a race of white Rajputs, save that they did not kill a brother or a father for the love of killing. What service want they of Amir Khan?" "There are rumours that the Mahrattas, forgetting the lessons they have received--both Holkar and Sindhia having been thoroughly beaten by the British--are secretly preparing war." "A _johur_, a last death-rush, is it not?" "They will be smashed forever, and their lands taken." "But the King of Oudh has been promised a return to glory to join in this revolt. The fighting Rajputs--what of them? Backed by the English they should hold these black accursed Mahrattas in check." Barlow rose and, the wary eyes of the Chief on every move, stepped over to the table and pointed to a signature upon the document. "That," he said, "is the signature of the Rana of Mewar, meaning that he also passes the salt of friendship to Amir Khan."