Some time before I was taken ill I had written to Dr. Weir, the health officer of Bombay, to whom I had been introduced when in India, for some vaccine lymph, and a day or two after my “Royal visit” I received a letter from him. He said that all our mutual acquaintances were well, but that he himself was suffering from a recurrence of the fever he had caught some years before in Turkestan! This was cheerful news, seeing that I had had the Turkestan fever five weeks already. I said to the Armenian, “I suppose then this will stick to me for the rest of my days--even if I get better now, which seems doubtful”--for my liver was touched. But the Armenian was equal to the occasion. Oh, no: that fever my friend had was quite another kind: it was caught at such a place--I forget where he said--and was a very bad fever. Everybody knew that fever, it came on sometimes years after. But this fever it was no-thing. “Sir, if you very ill, how you can smoke papyrus--cigarette?” and with other specious words did he beguile me. I got better after some days, and wrapping up carefully, for I concluded I must have got a chill the time before, went for a short ride. I was all right that day, and went out the next day for two hours, and came home feeling utterly fagged and aching in every bone. Back came the fever. The temperature chart, this time, was quite different from either of the other two. The snow commenced, but we did not have very much, not more than we often have in England, but the winds sweeping across the plains were bitter. This attack lasted about a month. In the middle of it I heard that one of His Highness’s Page boys, rather a favourite one, named Samander, had met with an accident. While out riding his horse had become unmanageable, and the boy’s leg had been dashed against a tree. The Hindustanis, who had been sent for, came to me to make their report. There seemed some doubt whether the leg was broken or not. They had, however, put on a splint, but when I asked what kind of splint, I found that it was one that was quite unsuitable if the leg were broken. There seemed nothing for it but to get up and dress and go off and see. Wrapping up well, and taking a stick, I hobbled off with the Armenian for the Palace. The snow was not very deep, not more than six or seven inches. [Sidenote: Attempt upon the Life of the Amîr.] I found Samander living in a Turkoman khirgar, in the Palace gardens. The khirgar was a circular dome-shaped wigwam, about fourteen feet across by fourteen feet high, and was made of a number of light but strong wooden uprights, which bent inwards seven feet above the ground, their ends fitting into a wooden ring above. It was covered over with thick felt and then with canvas. A wooden door was fitted on one side--this is not used in the summer--and a carpet hung over the door.