The Law whereby my lady moves
Was never Law to me,
But ’tis enough that she approves
Whatever Law it be.

For in that Law, and by that Law,
My constant course I’ll steer¹;
Not that I heed² or deem it dread³,
But that she holds it dear.

Tho’ Asia sent for my content
Her richest argosies,
Those would I spurn⁴, and bid return,
If that should give her ease.

With equal heart I’d watch depart
Each spiced sail from sight,
Sans bitterness, desiring less
Great gear than her delight.

Yet such am I, yea such am I—
Sore bond and freest free —
The Law that sways my lady’s ways
Is mystery to me!

To sit still, and to keep sitting still, is the first lesson that the young jockey must learn. Tarvin was learning it in bitterness of spirit. For the sake of his town, for the sake of his love, and, above all, for the sake of his love’s life, he must go. The town was waiting, his horse was saddled at the door, but his love would not come. He must sit still.

The burning desert wind blew through the open verandah as remorselessly as Sitabhai’s hate. Looking out, he saw nothing but the city asleep in the sunshine and the wheeling kites above it. Yet when evening fell, and a man might be able by bold riding to escape to the railway, certain shrouded⁶ figures would creep from the walls and take up their position within easy gunshot of the rest-house. One squatted⁷ at each point of the compass, and between them, all night long, came and went a man on horseback. Tarvin could hear the steady beat of the hoofs⁸ as he went his rounds, and the sound did not give him fresh hope. But for Kate — but for Kate, he repeated to himself, he would have been long since beyond reach of horse or bullet. The hours were very slow, and as he sat and watched the shadows grow and shorten it seemed to him, as it had seemed so often before, that this and no other was the moment that Topaz would choose to throw her chances from her.

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