CHAPTER VII
IN THE TEMPLE OF VISHNU
Nicholson rode his horse slowly through the crowd of dark, threatening
faces. He did not hurry or show any sign of impatience, anger or fear.
In his left hand he carried a riding-whip, but he made no use of it
except as an encouragement to his well-trained charger, whose nose and
broad breast forced a passage, like a ship through the waves of a
turbulent sea, and otherwise he was absolutely unarmed. A spectator
ignorant of the truth might have taken him for an officer riding out
on some ordinary duty, so little did the weight and seriousness of his
real errand appear written on the strong face beneath the shadow of
the helmet.
There was no opposition to his progress. His keen eyes noticed as he
passed out of the residential quarter that, on the contrary, the crowd
formed a sort of disordered escort which surged restlessly but
silently about him. One man even laid hold upon his hanging bridle and
led the horse through the less dense passages; but the action was not
a friendly one, and though no threats were uttered, Nicholson read a
passionate bitterness and distrust upon the faces that thrust
themselves across his path or sprang up unexpectedly at his knee. For
the most part they were men well known to him by sight. They belonged
to working caste whose circles had supplied Nehal Singh with his best
workmen, though here and there Nicholson caught sight of the turbaned
head of a small merchant or the naked body of a yogi.
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