Hearing her still entreating me to begone, Bhawanee begged her to let me stay and give the medicine to Govind; at which the poor old woman, shuddering, retreated to the inner apartment, resumed for a time her cries, uttering them in a loud voice and in a tone at once piercing and imperious, "You dare not come in here! you dare not! What reason have you for daring to give my son medicine? I want you hateful Injrage (English) to know that I would rather have him die, rather have him die, than be polluted by your vile drinks, made of devils' blood and pig's flesh; I would rather have him die." Rocking herself to and fro, she kept her strange glittering, dark eyes fixed upon me, and repeated, lowering her voice more and more gradually, "I would rather have him die," till she seemed to be talking to herself. I really thought she was delirious or perhaps out of her mind; but Bhawanee whispered to me, "She is very old and very cross, and sometimes possessed of a devil." All the noise made by the old woman did not seem to disturb her son, who was in a deep sleep, his respiration so heavy and labored, and his pallor so death-like, that I almost feared he was dying. But at the end of half an hour he stirred and made a vain attempt to turn on his side; failing, he gave a look toward the foot of the bed, where his sorrow-stricken wife sat still and mute. Meeting his gaze, she crept to the head of the bed, and, taking his hand tenderly in hers, sobbed out in broken accents, "Govind duva piuh, tora duva piuh" ("Govind, drink some medicine--just a little of the medicine"). The pundit opened wide his half-closed eyes, looked full and inquiringly into his wife's face, and then turned them upon me. If I had been the very lowest wretch on the face of the earth, he could not have been more startled and horrified than he seemed at my presence. He almost sprang up, but in another second fell back on the bed, and, putting his hands before his face, cried feebly to his wife, "Wife, wife, what have you done?" There was deep sympathy in the voice of the poor young woman as she exclaimed, "Oh, Govind, I thought you were dying. I did not know what else to do, and Doorah has been gone since morning, and is not yet returned. Oh, please take the lady's medicine. Never mind about caste; we can do 'puja' for it, and be restored;" and the poor woman began to sob as if her heart would break. "What are my sufferings and death, that you should create so much disturbance about them?" feebly moaned Govind. "Let me die, oh, let me die quietly!" and again the deadly pallor overspread his face. "Govind," said I in a very energetic tone, "drink this." I had already poured out a little brandy into an earthen lota or cup, which his wife handed me, and giving it back to her said, "Put it to his lips; he will be better as soon as he has swallowed a little of it."