Who shall be trusted to carry my trust?
(Hither, and answer me, stranger!)
Slow to give ground be he--swifter to thrust--
Instant,--yet wary o' danger!
Hand without craftiness, eye without lust,
Lip without flattery! Such an one must
Prove yet his worthiness--yet earn my trust!
(Closer, and answer me, stranger!)
First let me lead him alone, and apart;
There let me feel of his pulse and his heart!
(Hither, and play with me, stranger!)
CHAPTER XI
Men say Yasmini does not sleep. Of course, that is absurd. None the
less, it is certain she must do much of her plotting in the daytime,
for by night, until after midnight, she is always the Yasmini whom
the Northern gentry know, at home to all comers in her wonderful
apartment.
It is ever a mystery to them how she knows all that is going on in
Delhi, and in India, and in the greater outer world, although they
themselves bring her information that no government could ever suck
out of the silent hills. They know where she keeps her cobras--where
the strong-box is, in which her jewels lie crowded--who run her
errands--and some of her past history, for not even a mongoose is
more inquisitive than a man born in the hills, and Yasmini has many
maids. But none--not even her favorite, most confidential maids--know
what is in the little room that she reaches down a private flight of
stairs that have a steel door at the top.
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