The old man behind her nodded approvingly, hearing the sound but not sensing its import.
Ah, when the moment came, when the fool who bought her started to lead her home, she would beguile him and at the first sign of carelessness she would trust to her heels.

She knew that she was going to run as never a woman ran before; back to the beasts of the jungle, who at least made no effort to molest her so long as she kept out of their way.
Wild and beautiful she was as the old mahout turned her over to a professional seller.
"Circassian!" "From the north!" "A bride from the desert!" "A yellow-hair!" "A daughter of the north seas!" The old mahout squatted close by and rubbed his hands.

He would be a rich man that night; bags of rupees; a well thatched house to cover his gray hairs till that day they placed him on the pyre at the burning ghat.

The gods were good.
Durga Ram, known familiarly as Umballa, at this hour came forth into the sunshine, brooding.

He was not in a happy frame of mind.