Our guide called a halt, and turned to us with a sudden peremptory air.
His servility had vanished. "You stoppee here," he said, slowly, in
broken English, "while me-a go on to see whether Lama-sahibs ready to
take you. Must ask leave from Lama-sahibs to visit village; if no
ask leave"--he drew his hand across his throat with a significant
gesture--"Lama-sahibs cuttee head off Eulopean."
"Goodness gracious!" Lady Meadowcroft cried, clinging tight to Hilda.
"Miss Wade, this is dreadful! Where on earth have you brought us to?"
"Oh, that's all right," Hilda answered, trying to soothe her, though she
herself began to look a trifle anxious. "That's only Ram Das's graphic
way of putting things."
We sat down on a bank of trailing club-moss by the side of the rough
track, for it was nothing more, and let our guide go on to negotiate
with the Lamas. "Well, to-night, anyhow," I exclaimed, looking up, "we
shall sleep on our own mattresses with a roof over our heads. These
monks will find us quarters. That's always something."
We got out our basket and made tea. In all moments of doubt, your
Englishwoman makes tea. As Hilda said, she will boil her Etna on
Vesuvius.
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