“Behold, thou art fair, my beloved,
thou art fair!-S. of Solomon.

Yea! he is altogether lovely.-S. of Solomon.

With her bearer’s hand to balance her, Leonie stepped off the gangway into the rocking, canoe-shaped boat, made in the dim past by digging out the interior of some tree trunk, and in the bows of which were huddled the coolies with her luggage.

Two bronze-hued rowers, nude save for the loin cloth, paddled the boat round the bends of the narrow creek with a dexterity due to habit; and then by chance or misfortune wedged her firmly into a glutinous mud-bank from out of which it took the five men two hours and every ounce of their united strength to push her.

It is not wise to wade waist or knee deep in a Sunderbunds creek, and clear a boat with a yo-heave-ho, for fear of some festive mugger, which means alligator, lurking in the mud.

She had therefore no option but to pass the night well above the jungle perils in the suapattah hut, like a cockatoo screeching defiance at a cat from the safety of its perch; and to which safety you climb almost flat on your face by means of a rocking, slender bamboo ladder, and with about as much grace as a monkey manipulating a stick.

There was a sharp tussle of wills after the dinner of which Leonie partook on the small platform which comes between the top of the ladder and the low door of the hut.

Having arranged her bedding and mosquito curtains as best he could, and seen to it that one of the low caste coolies negotiated the ladder with a gourd of water upon his head and placed it upon the floor in the mem-sahib’s bed-chamber, her bearer, when Leonie retired for the night, drew up the ladder and curled himself up in a corner.

Almost stifled by the heat of the interior she came out again in search of fresh air, and stared in amazement at the white figure as he sprang to his feet perilously near the edge of the platform.

No! nothing would move him from his post during the night, nothing.

“But I am perfectly safe up here,” remonstrated Leonie, “when you have gone to the other hut I can quite easily pull the ladder up!”

“Even so, mem-sahib,” quietly replied the man, “but the mem-sahib is not accustomed to these heights; there are no railings to the platform, and one false step would send her crashing to the ground.”

“But I am going to bed,” Leonie persisted. “Besides, if I did move I can see quite plainly, it’s almost full moon!”

There was a barely perceptible pause and then;

“Yes, mem-sahib, it is the full moon!”

Leonie, stricken dumb in the belief that the story of her mental plight had reached even to the bazaar, turned back and re-entered her so-called bedroom, drawing a purdah made of golaputtah leaves across the door, and leaving her bearer to his own devices and thoughts.

Which were utterly of her as he divested himself of his outer raiment, and nude save for the loin cloth, sat like a bronze statue in the overpowering heat of the night; and even as “the eagle flying forth beats down his wings upon the earth,” his thoughts beat down so forcibly upon her mind that at midnight she arose in her sleep and lifting the purdah walked out on to the platform.

She walked straight forward, too far from the man for him to pull her back; and in too deep a trance for him to have stopped her with safety to her brain. His face was that of one tortured as he rose to his feet and threw out his hands; and the sweat came out in great beads upon his forehead under the supreme effort of will, which pulled her up within an inch of certain death.

For one long moment she stood with arms upstretched to the moon shining in all its glory, then swung round and crossed to where he stood against the hut.

“Yes?” she said gently. “You called me!”

The man drew his breath quickly as he looked at her, and forgot his gods in his love, and his passions in the innate nobility of his soul.

She looked for all the world like a mere schoolgirl in her over-long, kimono-shaped, diaphanous night garment, with her hair hanging in two great plaits, and her eyes and mouth lit by the suspicion of a smile.

“Sit down!” he said gently, and she sank to the ground as easily and with all the graceful suppleness of a native woman.

“Yes!” she repeated. “You called me! What is it you desire?”

She made a little gesture inviting him to sit beside her, and he sank to the ground, lying prone at her knees with his chin in his hands, staring straight into the green eyes which shone strangely, and looked at him unblinkingly.

“Tell me what you think of me,” he said, speaking in the merest whisper out of the depth of his love. “Tell me, and I will tell you what I think of you-thou lotus bud,” he finished desperately in his own tongue.

Leonie answered in the sweetest, purest Hindustani, using the beautiful strange metaphors of India to describe the human body.

“Thou art,” she said. “Thou art-how can I tell thee I-

She stopped, laughing down at him as she put both hands out on a level with her chin, palm upwards, towards him, in a little supplicating gesture.

“Tell me!”

“Behold,” she said softly as she passed the tips of her fingers from his forehead to his chin. “Behold is thy face softly rounded like the egg of a bird, and thy brow is even as a tautened bow-

A great tremor shook the man at the touch of her hand, but he made no movement as he broke across her words.

“And thy face so fair, so dear, is even like the pan leaf, and thy dark brows like the neem leaf disturbed by the wind, when thou art displeased with him who so loveth thee. Yet when thou art not angry, are thy drooping lids like the water-lily in their sweet repose. Thy ears, those can I not see-ah!”

Leonie laughed softly as the very tips of her fingers passed down the side of his face.

“And thine are like vultures with drooping head, and thy nose-

“Thine,” he interrupted, twisting his head to evade the exquisite agony of her touch, “is like a sesame flower, and thy nostrils even unto the seed of the barbarti, and thy lips-oh! thy lips are the bandihuli flower.”

He raised his face with agony in his eyes, closing them as she lightly touched his mouth.

“Thy mouth is even as the bimba fruit, which is warm and soft, and thy chin is like a mango stone, and thy neck like unto a conch shell which I encircle with both hands.”

She spanned his neck with the outspread thumbs and little fingers of both hands, and laughed as he pulled them apart and buried his face in his arms.

“Dost fear?” she said. “Dost fear that I shall strangle thee? Dost fear?” she repeated with a certain sharp note in the voice which caused the man to look up quickly and straight into her eyes, upon which she laughed quietly.

“Tell me,” he insisted gently, “tell me what thou thinkest of me!”

“Ah!” she whispered, “thy shoulders are like the head of an elephant and thy long arms are as the trunk, and the strength of thy breast is even as that of a fastened door-which love perchance may open,” the heavy lids half-closed over her eyes as she slowly drew the finger-tips of both hands down towards the slim waist, and the man’s teeth drew blood from his under lip.

“Thy middle is like a lion’s, so slender is it, and-

He stopped her fiercely as he twisted on to his right elbow and seized both her hands in his left.

“And the suppleness of thy arms, and the softness of thy limbs are like the young plaintain tree, and thy fingers are the buds of the champaka flower.” He spoke rapidly, crushing her hands cruelly. “The bone of thy knee showing whitely through thy garment is shaped even as the shell of a crab, and the whiteness of the bone from thy knee to thy slender ankle is like a full-roed fish-

“And thy feet and thy hands, O Lord, are as the young leaves of plants!”

To which he replied through the teeth that were closed.

“And thine so small, so dear, are as lotus buds-lotus buds swaying at dawn in the wind of love.”

She smiled divinely as she stretched one perfect bare foot from under her garment, and bent her head to catch the words as he passionately whispered the Vega hymn.

“Want thou the body of me, the feet; want thou the eyes; want the thighs; let the eyes, the hair of thee, desiring me, dry up in love.

“I make thee cling to my arm, cling to my heart; that thou mayest be in my power, come unto my intent.

“They-

He stopped, convulsed with passion, and bending kissed her feet.

“Ah! thy hands, thy feet, are like lotus buds-lotus buds which I love, even if they be drenched in blood.”

He leapt to his feet and caught Leonie’s wrist in the vice of his hand as she sprang upright in one movement, laughing as she pointed at his mouth.

“Blood,” she whispered, “blood-it is warm-it drops slowly-slowly-

She ran her fingers across his mouth, and shook with hideous silent laughter as she showed him the tips stained red.

“Come,” she said, “come-she is calling-calling-” and she struck at the hand which gripped her shoulder, and tried to shake herself free.

“Come!” said the man, looking straight into her eyes, “come with me.”

She slid her hand into his, and followed him docilely as he lifted the reed purdah and entered her bedroom.

“Lie down!”

He lifted the netting and pointed to the bed.

As he towered above her the scarlet mouth in the uplifted face was on a level with his shoulder, as she smiled distractingly and raised her hands palm upwards in a little supplicating gesture.

“My Lord!” she whispered. “My Lord!”

The temptations of all the ages, and the overpowering passion of his own glowing East rose about him like a flood; he shook from head to foot as she laid herself down and drawing the sheet about her whispered again, “My Lord!”

They were alone in the jungle, and his will was hers; she was as a bit of wax upon which he might imprint his seal; there was no one to say him nay if he should draw her unto his intent.

And he loved her.

Yes! he loved her, and because of the overpowering strength of this love he knelt beside her and placed his fingers upon her temples.

“Sleep, beloved,” he whispered, “sleep-the women that are of pure odour-all of them-we-make-sleep.”

And Leonie slept peacefully and undisturbed until the dawn, because Madhu Krishnaghar, with his face buried in his arms, who lay across the threshold of her bedroom, was one of the splendid type that India breeds-an Indian nobleman.