With infinite relief, still following her unseen guide, at last she
began to descend. The ground sloped sharply downwards, and creeping
undergrowth began to make her progress difficult. She pressed on,
however, and at length, hearing the tinkle of running water, realised
that she was approaching one of the snow-fed mountain streams that went
to swell the sacred waters that flowed by the temple at Farabad.
She plunged downwards eagerly, for she was hot and thirsty, coming out
at last upon the brink of a stream that gurgled over stones between
great masses of undergrowth.
"Will the _mem-sahib_ deign to drink?" a deferential voice asked behind
her.
She looked round sharply to see the old snake-charmer, bent nearly
double with age and humility, meekly offering her a small brass
drinking-vessel.
His offer surprised her, knowing the Hindu's horror of a stranger's
polluting touch, but she accepted it without question. Stooping, she
scooped up a cupful of the clean water and drank.
The draught was cold as ice and refreshed her marvellously. She thanked
him for it with a smile.
"And now?" she said.
He bowed profoundly, and taking the cup he washed it very carefully in
the stream. Then, deprecatingly, he spoke.
"_Mem-sahib_, it is here that we cross the water."
She looked at the rushing stream with dismay. It was not very wide but
she saw at once that it was beyond a leap.
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