One or two wore long
capes to the knees, with pointed hoods which fitted up over their
great turbans. Bearded men with straight, sensitive noses and oval
faces, even the absurdity of the cape and pointed hood failed to
lessen their dignity. They were tall, erect, soldierly looking, and
they gazed at me with the bland gravity of the East.
Makand Singh came hastily forward, a splendid figure of a man, six
foot two or thereabout, and appearing even taller by reason of his
turban. He spoke excellent English.
"It is very muddy for a lady to alight," he said, and instructed one
of the men to bring bags of sacking, which were laid in the road.
"You are seeing us under very unfavourable conditions," he said as he
helped me to alight. "But there is a fire if you are cold."
I was cold. So Makand Singh led the way to his living quarters. To go
to them it was necessary to pass through a long shed, which was now a
stable for perhaps a dozen horses. At a word of command the Indian
grooms threw themselves against the horses' heads and pushed them
back. By stepping over the ground pegs to which they were tethered I
got through the shed somehow and into a small yard.
Makand Singh turned to the right, and, throwing open the low door of a
peasant's house, stood aside to allow me to enter.
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