“Oh, I forgot--of course not. Well, eight years ago this very month we were coming away from Mussouri to our place in the Doon; we were in the mail tonga, our ponies were half broken; though we had a good driver--the best on the road--it was all he could do to hold them, as they rattled down with the heavy steel bar, going clank, clank, clank. Just one mile out a goat on the cliff dropped suddenly into the road, the brutes shied wildly across, the strong wooden railings caught the side of the tonga, they strained--I hear them now--snapped, crashed, then there was a moment’s mad struggle of driver and ponies--too late, over we went! They show the place still, I dare say--a drop of two hundred feet. The ponies were killed, and the driver and my wife. How I escaped was a marvel. My leg was broken, my head cut about, but I survived. Osman, my orderly, who had been in the old regiment for twenty years, nursed me, at Mussouri; and, as soon as I could be moved, I came here. I remembered it as a retired, quiet spot, with a charming garden. I wanted rest; my head was injured, and I thought I would pull myself together here, and then go home--but here I am still.” “Yes, but not for much longer,” added his son, cheerily; “you will come home with me.” “Mércèdes’ will was produced,” he proceeded, calmly ignoring the question; “she had made it when she was not pleased with me, seemingly. This place and three hundred acres are mine, and one thousand rupees a month for life; also her jewels and gold ornaments--as much use to me as a heap of stones. Fernandez receives a fine income even now. All her wealth accumulates till my death, and then everything--jewels, rents, shares--goes to him. He is my heir. I cannot leave you a penny; nothing but the old Yellow House.” “I don’t want the Cardozo money, sir.” “No; and you will have plenty. Meanwhile Fuzzil Houssan spends my income on his relations to the third and fourth generation, and laughs and grows fat.” “Surely you do not leave it all in his hands?” asked his listener incredulously. “Yes, most of it. Only for that, I suppose he would poison me. I believe he is in Fernandez’ pay--Fernandez, who I am keeping out of thousands a year. Occasionally he comes in person to see if there is any chance of my dying? I have given him great hopes more than once. Now that Osman is dead, he and Fuzzil will certainly hurry me out of the world--and that speedily.” “Who was Osman?” “He was a sowar in my regiment--a Sikh--we had known each other for half a lifetime, and he was more to me than a brother. We joined the same month, we left the same day. He gave up home, country, people, and followed my fortunes, and died in my arms last week.” Here Major Jervis’s voice became almost inaudible.