"I've been feeling so ill, ma'am," she moaned, "such a turn as I've had. It's this climate as does not suit me. I feel like dying and I was—coming to ask if you had such a thing as a medicine chest?" "Of course I have," replied Mrs. Gascoigne, profoundly relieved; "it is in my own room. Come with me and I will doctor you," turning back as she spoke. "How do you feel?" "All cold and shivers like—and a sort of quaking in my inside." "Oh then, perhaps," opening a cupboard, "this cordial will do you good. At least it will do you no harm." As Angel spoke, she seized a bottle, and a measuring-glass. By-and-by, as Tile crept stealthily to her own quarters, she encountered her mistress, who had been extinguishing lamps and candles, and setting the drawing-room straight. "I met her in the doorway," she whispered with a scared face. "I told her I was took ill, and she gave me a cordial—she is as innocent as a lamb." "My goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Waldershare, her eyes widening in alarm, "that _was_ a narrow escape." CHAPTER XXXVII INTO GARHWAL ROCKSTONE Chotah-Bilat, the joint address of Mrs. Gascoigne and Mrs. Waldershare, was a large well-appointed bungalow, overlooking the prettiest side of the station, approached through a steep terraced garden, full of great bushes of ancient geraniums, and straggling rose trees, and flanked by a few pines. The house was sufficiently roomy to accommodate half a dozen people; and here the two inmates lived their separate lives, together and yet apart. The partnership was so harmonious as to excite a certain degree of admiration as well as envy; for it is a painful fact that these house-sharing schemes are not invariably a success.