However, I consented to paint my neighbour the Mirza Abdur Rashid, and he gave me some sittings. He had good features, and was dark-skinned for an Afghan, so that when attired in green velvet and gold he made rather a striking picture. The matter reached the ears of His Highness the Amîr, and he sent for the two portraits. They were taken to the Palace just as they were, though the Mirza’s turban was unfinished. When the pictures were brought back I heard that His Highness was pleased with them. My own portrait I rolled up and addressed to England, intending to have it posted home by one of the British Agent’s men, who was returning to India on leave. In the evening, just as I had addressed it, His Highness sent for it again. [Illustration: Dr. Gray and his Armenian Interpreter, from a photograph by Van der Weyde.] I went to the military Durbar the next day, Tuesday: His Highness was very gracious. He spoke some time about the Moolah upon whom I had operated for goitre, and desired me to instruct the native dressers: then he spoke about the portraits, praising them highly, and finally told me that he would himself give me sittings for a portrait. A day or two afterwards a carpenter arrived to take instructions for the making of a frame to stretch the canvas upon. The next day I caught a most severe cold. It was the end of October, the sky was clouded for the first time, and the weather seemed suddenly to have become autumnal. [Sidenote: Dietary Difficulties.] Though the canvas was soon ready it was a long time before I began the Amîr’s portrait. The cold I had became better, but, after two or three days, instead of feeling well I felt much worse. I could not rouse myself to anything, and I had a constant backache. It struck me suddenly I might have fever. I had; rather severely. It was quite different in type from the first attack I had had. Unfortunately, a few days before, I had discharged my cook for some rascality or other, I do not remember what, and the only man who could cook in the European way for me was my syce, or groom. This was the man who had been in the Burmese Police, and who cooked dinner for me the day we went to Takh-ta-Pul. He could roast meat and make a rice pudding, but that was about the extent of his capabilities in the cooking line. With the fever on I did not seem to hanker after the grey, thin, greasy liquid he denominated “soup,” neither did I seem to desire the slippery, sloppy, watery dish he called “custard” pudding. As bread was not to be obtained, but only the leathery chupatti, which is not appetizing when you are ill, the fact began to force itself upon me that I should be obliged to undergo the Hakim’s treatment of fever--that of starvation.