"Here, let me see," cried Sir John excitedly. "Yes, look, Instow, the swollen glands at the back of the jaw, and here they are like bits of glass--the poison fangs. Jack, lad, where did it strike you?" "Strike me?" said the lad feebly, and shuddering slightly, as he stood with his eyes half-closed, and dropped the cluster of orchids. "Yes; speak out, quick!" cried the doctor, grasping the lad by the arm. "Where are you hurt?" "Twined round my hand, and bit at my arm twice--just there." He stood pointing dreamily at the thickest part of his forearm, just where the jacket-sleeve went into wrinkles through the bending of the joint. "Yes, I see," cried the doctor. "Here, Ned, man, jump down there and get my flask. You'll find it in my coat. A plated one full of ammonia." Ned leaped in a break-neck way down the lava wall, and the doctor forced his patient into a sitting position and stripped off his jacket. Then he snapped off the wrist button and turned up the shirt-sleeve, to begin examining the white skin for the tiny punctures made by the two bites, while Sir John knelt by him, supporting his son, who looked very white and strange, and as if he were trying to master the sense of horror from which he now suffered. "See the places?" said Sir John hoarsely. "No," replied the doctor, shifting his position and raising the arm a little. "The fangs are like needle-points, and make so small a wound. Can't see anything. Whereabouts was it, Jack?" "Just there," said the lad, speaking more decisively; and he laid his left finger on his arm. "Two sharp blows." "And a keen pricking sensation each time?" said the doctor, looking curiously at his patient. "No; I did not feel anything but the blows." "Here's the silver bottle, sir," panted Ned. "Hold it," said the doctor. Then to Jack, "Did the snake strike at you anywhere else?" "No." "Pray, pray give him something," cried Sir John impatiently; "the poison runs through the veins so quickly." "Yes," said the doctor quietly, as he wrinkled up his forehead, and, dropping the boy's arm, he caught the jacket from where it lay. "Nothing here," he muttered. "Pish! Wrong sleeve." He hastily took the other, and turned the sleeve up to the light. "Hah!" he cried; "here we are. Look, Meadows!" "Never mind the jacket, man," cried Sir John passionately. "Why not?" said the doctor coolly. "Nothing the matter with the lad. Touch of nerves. Horribly startling for him. See this?" He held up the sleeve, and there upon the puckered part were two almost imperceptible yellowish stains, in each case upon the raised folds. [Half a page of text missing here.] "I couldn't help it," said Jack. "Of course you couldn't," said the doctor. "But father thinks that I was a dreadful coward."