One morning, during the first years of my residence in Sarawak, my Malay maid, Ima, rushed into my room and told me that a friend of hers, living in a house near her own, was lying at the point of death owing to continuous attacks of this disease. I could well sympathize with the woman’s sufferings, and although powerless to cure myself in such emergencies, decided to try what I could do to help Ima’s friend. I took with me a box of pills, a bottle of meat juice, some milk and arrowroot, and, accompanied by Ima, sallied forth to the sick woman’s house. I climbed up the ladder that hencoop fashion led into her room, and pushing open the dried palm-leaf door saw a woman rolling about on the floor in paroxysms of agony. Here were the symptoms I knew so well--the bright yellow complexion and rash all over the face. The woman was so weak she could hardly move. Ima went up to her, and lifting her up in her arms said: “Rajah Ranee, who knows of medicines that will make you well, has come to see you.” The woman looked at me, and shook her head. I told her I had brought some marvellous remedies, known only to Europeans, and made her take two pills and a spoonful of Liebig. When her husband came in, I told him to give her a little milk every hour, and forbade her to touch or eat anything besides what I had prescribed for her. She was carried inside her mosquito curtains, bent double as she was, and gasping for breath. The next morning, when I visited her, I found her better, for the attack had not lasted so long as that of the previous day. I was delighted with the result of my doctoring, and for about a fortnight went to see this woman nearly every day. She was very poor, the wife of a man who earned his living by selling fish which he netted in the river and also by doing odd jobs in neighbouring pine-apple gardens. The woman finally recovered and remained quite well whilst I stayed in Kuching.