THE RIVER OF DEATH Dressed now in the Punjabi costume with gorgeous silk turbans, we walked side by side up the marble steps and knocked on the brass-bound, teak front door at the top.

Exactly as when we arrived on the previous day, the door was immediately opened by two women.
The Mahatma was in there ahead of us, and had evidently told Yasmini sufficient of our adventures to make her laugh.

She squealed with delight at sight of us.
"Come! Sit beside me in the window, both of you! My women will bring food.

Afterward you shall sleep--poor things, you look as if you need it! O, what is that, Ganesha-ji?
Blood on your linen?
Were you hurt ?" Her swift, restless fingers drew the cloth aside and showed a few inches of where my bare skin should have been.
"It is nothing.

My women shall dress it.