I seized a small bottle of brandy, a physician's mixture at hand for cholera morbus, and some quinine, and started with the Brahmanee for the home of Govind the pundit. In less than half an hour we stood before a mean, wretched-looking bamboo dwelling, the walls of which were plastered with mud and covered over with an attap[27] roof. It stood in the middle of a small patch of ground neatly smeared over with cowordure. In the centre of this yard was a flourishing plant growing out of a large earthen pot buried in the ground--the Indian "mehndee"[28] (sacred to the goddess Bhawanee), called _Lawsonia_ by English botanists. It was in full blossom, with small delicate, fragrant flowers resembling the clematis. The sky was very much overcast, portending soon a shower or thunderstorm; the air was hot and sultry. I stood for a moment or two before the half-open door of the little hut, whence proceeded a low, faint, tremulous sound which I recognized as the voice of Govind, my teacher, enfeebled by his illness. As I stood there hesitating to enter, the pretty little Brahmanee dropped on her knees before the door, and, having saluted the presiding genius of the dwelling three times, advanced, creeping softly in on her knees. At length I summoned courage enough to walk in, but I did so in my stockings, leaving my shoes on the doorsill. Even this was, as I afterward learned, desecration to the Brahman's household. On a low charpie, or native cot, standing apart within an enclosure formed by a mud wall a few inches in height, lay the pundit, his eyes closed, his features shrunk and wasted. The little woman, who I divined was his wife, had already taken her place at his feet, which she kept rubbing in a listless way, the sad expression deepening on her dark but beautiful face, the great tears brimming her eyes and coursing one after another all unheeded down her cheeks. The dwelling consisted of two apartments. Through a doorway to which there was no door I saw an old woman seated by a rude fire on the floor in the adjoining room cooking some rice in an earthen pot, and before her on the floor were a board and a rolling-pin, with which she had been rolling out some wheaten cakes, piled, already baked, in a copper platter by the fire. The moment I entered the hut she turned her shrivelled features, and, seeing a white woman, she gave a shrill cry; then, stretching out her bare, bony arms, implored me in piteous tones to begone. "But, lady," said I, trying to appease her, "I cannot go away. Govind is very ill, and I have some medicine here that may cure him."