Poor Bhawanee, nervous and trembling from head to foot, tried, and tried in vain, to persuade her husband to take even a mouthful of the medicine. Each time that she presented the lota to his lips he would put it aside, and turn away his face, muttering, "Better to die than pollute myself with what I am forbidden to touch." The old woman, who had never taken her eyes off me, hearing his voice, began to moan, "Oh, beloved son, die, die, but do not touch their unholy drinks." I did not know what to do, but, inspired by poor Bhawanee's entreating look, which, though she said not a word, plainly urged me to persevere, I once more endeavored to get the patient to swallow a little of the brandy. "Govind," said I, "do get over your scruples, which are well enough in health, but absurd in your fast-failing condition. Drink a mouthful of this; it will help to revive you until your doctor comes. No one need ever know that you have tasted brandy; I promise you to keep it a profound secret." "Do, oh do!" urged his wife--"eke gutta piuh--take only one gulp." "Much or little, a drop or a whole bottle, are all the same to me," groaned the poor pundit. "You may not speak of it, lady, and no one, no one may know it, but how can I conceal the fact from myself?" I felt it was useless to persuade the patient to try the remedies I had brought with me. At this moment we not only heard the sound of approaching feet, but a sudden clap of thunder, preceded by a flash of lightning, almost blinded us as we sat in the hut, and down came a deluging rain. Bhawanee rose, and in a state of great agitation begged me to retire by the back door; but, casting her eyes on my stocking feet, and apprehending that my European shoes on the threshold of her dwelling had already betrayed my presence to her friends, she begged me to keep my place, when in walked, all dripping, three strange-looking men, accompanied by Doorah, her sister, who had been despatched in the early morning in search of a doctor, a priest, and a soothsayer. Bhawanee rose and bowed before them, and so did the old woman from her place in the inner room. It was comforting to see the poor woman's expression, which till now had been full of despair, replaced by a look of child-like confidence and trust, though I doubted whether the Hindoo priest, doctor, or soothsayer could do much toward helping the sick man. The doctor, who was a tall, dark, and rather handsome high-caste Hindoo, placed himself near the bedside of Govind and proceeded to feel his skin, pulse, and chest and to examine the condition of his tongue, eyes, and nails.