Then I saw an old gentleman, named Saîf Ullah Khan, one of the high officials of Jelalabad, who was on a visit to Kabul. He had fever. He was a very gentlemanly old man, and asked if he could do anything for me in Jelalabad. I said he could send me some honey if he wished; for a delicious honey is obtained from a village near Jelalabad. He promised; but did not send it. I dined with Mr. Pyne soon after this, and an excellent dinner he gave me. He had brought a large stock of tinned provisions from India during his last trip. Pastry, asparagus, green peas, cheese, cocoa, and Swiss milk were novelties to me. He was lucky enough to get away every cold season, and generally journeyed to England for more machinery. It had been thought that little Prince Aziz Ullah was becoming somewhat better, but in spite of colour in the cheeks he had the greyness about the nostrils that is so ominous of evil in a child, and I sent word to his mother that his life was in great danger. He died the next morning; five days after my first visit. The Chief with fever became well, but he would not take advice and wrap himself up. Either from that, or some other cause, he developed acute intestinal catarrh; and the Amîr sent word to me to visit him. He became well eventually, and went back to his province. Just at this time--the end of November--the weather was most disagreeable. There were heavy clouds and constant rain. This is bad enough in England, but in Kabul it is abominable. The rain made havoc with the roads and houses. Very few of the roads were in any sense “macadamized,” and one splashed and slipped along through quagmires and pools. The houses, especially of the poorer people, slightly built of mud with wooden supports, were, some of them, literally washed down. I went about my daily work in Kabul, seeing patients, performing surgical operations where necessary; and in the evenings I smoked and read my old books over and over again, little knowing that the Amîr had had a severe return of gout and was lying dangerously ill at the Palace. News leaks out in time, chiefly by means of the Page boys, but it is little outsiders know at first of what is going on in the Palace. [Sidenote: The Call at Night.] On December 2nd, at nine p.m., just as I had turned in, there came a hammering at the gates. Presently one of the soldiers of the guard came hurrying to my room and said, in Persian, “Rise! Amîr Sahib calls you.”