me to the rajah’s service, but Salaman fastened the magnificent belt, and, for the life of me, I could not refrain from drawing the flashing blade from its sheath, and holding it quivering in my trembling hand, from which it sent a thrill right to my heart.
“If it is a bond between us forced upon me,” I thought, “this can cut us apart;” and at this I thrust it back into its sheath, allowed Salaman to alter the buckle a little, and then took the helmet and gloves, putting both on, and involuntarily turning to see if there was a looking-glass.
Vanity? Well, perhaps so; but what lad of my years would not have done the same?
But there was no glass. I had to be contented by seeing myself in imagination with my attendants’ eyes as they drew back and gazed at me as proudly as if my appearance was entirely their work.
“Ah!” exclaimed Salaman. “Now my lord looks indeed my lord. Who could call him sahib when he is like that?”
I winced at the man’s flattery, and yet it was hardly that, and I laughed to myself as I felt that it was the clothes they were admiring and not the wearer.
“If the holy man could see my lord now,” said Salaman, in a whisper, lest his words should be heard in the next tent, “he would not dare to curse again.”
These words made me wince once more; and in imagination I saw poor Dost in his ragged fakir’s garb staring at me wildly in disappointment because I was going away. Worse still, that busy imagination called up the face of Brace, pointing scornfully at my gay unspecked attire, and asking me whether it would not have been more honourable to have clung to the torn and stained uniform which was mine by right.
But these musings were cut short by Salaman and his assistant drawing back the curtains over the tent door and admitting a flood of light, which half startled me, and I turned to Salaman, asking if one of the tents was blazing.