CHAPTER III.
THE BIG CHAPS.
"Love that is loud or light in all men's ears,
* * * * *
That binds on all men's feet, or chains, or wings."
—Swinburne.
Honor woke early, springing from dreamless sleep to alert wakefulness, as is the way of vivid natures, and the first sight that greeted her was the huddled form of Parbutti, her chin between her knees, her dark eyes bright and watchful.
Honor's smile was answered by a flash of light across the old woman's face as she arose and salaamed to the ground.
"Behold, while the Miss Sahib slept like a little child, I have laid out the riding-gear as of custom, and now I go to prepare the terail [5] for chota hazri. [6] They are not ill folk in this compound, Hazúr; and there goes but one word among them, that our Sahib is a diamond fit for a king's turban, understanding the heart of black men, giving no shame words, neither smiting with his foot as do many officer-sahibs. It is well for us, who come strangers to a country of murderers, to be of the household of such a Sahib. Nay, then, child of my heart, I will cease from idle talk, ... it is an order. Doth not my pearl and the light of my life await her chota hazri?"
And the old woman, whose garrulity was as dust in the balance when weighed against twenty years of faithful service, shuffled out of the room.
Half an hour later Honor was in the saddle—a gallant figure in well-cut brown habit and white helmet, the sunlight finding out gleams of bronze in her abundant hair, while all about her shone the uncompromising blue and gold of a mid-March morning—fresh without sharpness, and fragrant with the ethereal fragrance of dawn.
She followed the downward road, noting a landmark here and there for guidance. Her delight was in the rhythm of movement; in the waiting stillness of earth and sky; the momentous pause between all that has been, and all that shall be, which gives a dramatic sense of responsibility to the day's first hours.