Now the priest was saying in the _asl_ (pure) Hindustani of the high-bred Brahmin: "The Sahib confers honour upon Sri Swami Sarasvati by this visit, for the woman has related that he is of high caste amongst the Englay and has been trusted by the Raj with a mission. That he comes in the garb of my people is consideration for it avoids outrage to their feelings. I am glad to know that the Englay are so considerate."
"I came, Swami, because of regard for Bootea for she is like a princess."
The priest shot a quick, searching look into the eyes of the speaker, then he asked, "And what service would the Sahib ask?"
The question caught Captain Barlow unaware; he had not formulated anything--it had all been nebulous, this dread. He hesitated, fearing to voice that which perhaps did not exist in the minds of either the priest or Bootea.
The girl perceived the hesitancy and spoke rapidly in a low voice to the priest.
"Captain Sahib," the Swami began, "I see that thy heart is inclined to the woman, and it is to be admired, for she is, as thou thinkest, like a flower of the forest. But also, Captain Sahib, thy heart is the heart of a soldier, of a brave man, the light of valour is in thine eyes, in thy face, and I would ask thee to be brave, and instead of being cast in sorrow because of what I am going to tell thee, thou must realise that it is for the good of the woman whose face is in thy heart. To-day she insures to her soul a place in kattas, the heaven of Siva, the abiding place of Brahm, the Creator of all that is."
Barlow felt himself reel at this sudden confirmation of his fears--the blow. The cry "_Kurban_" that he had heard on the bridge was a reality--a human sacrifice.
"God!" he cried in a voice of anguish, "it can't be. Young and beautiful and good, to die--it's wrong. I forbid such a cruel, wanton sacrifice of a sweet life."
The Swami, taking a step toward the door, swept his long thin arm with a gesture that embraced the thousands beyond.
"Captain Sahib," he said solemnly, "if thou wert to raise thy voice in anger against this holy, soul-redeeming observance thou wouldst be torn to pieces; not even I could stop them if insult were offered to Omkar. And, besides, the Englay Raj would call thee accursed for breeding hate in the hearts of the Hindus through the sacrilege of an insult to the High Priest of the Temple of Omkar. This is the territory of the Mahrattas, and the English have no authority here."