For thirty-six hours the unconsciousness for which she had longed cradled Rosamond, and when she came to herself it was slowly and with dimness. Three times, indeed, did day and night slip by her in her darkened and silent room before she even began to wonder how it was she should be left in such peace. But upon the fourth dawn, as the sun set to work to paint once more the jewel glories of her walls, memory came back upon her like a torrent. She sat up, wildly crying: "Jani, the box! What have they done with the box?" The ayah’s arms were round her in a second. Jani whispered and soothed her mistress as, long ago, she had soothed her nursling. Safe was the mem sahib’s box; no one should lay finger on it but herself. But the mem sahib must be good and sleep, for Jani was by her. And Rosamond let her head rest gratefully upon the wasted bosom that once had held such loving bounties for her, and from thence slid back upon her pillows into forgetfulness again. She was weary still, with a great and blessed weariness. * * * * * Dr. Saunders paid brief daily visits. In Sir Arthur’s opinion he was inclined to make culpably light of the whole affair—to allow those unimportant fever cases in the compound to weigh against the indisposition of the Lieutenant-Governor’s wife. It is a notable fact that the medical man treats the feminine syncope as not calling for much notice. And though the excellent Scot conceded that there might be some shock caused by the fall, to account for the prolonged unconsciousness, he declined to admit to Sir Arthur there was ground for anxiety or to recommend any treatment but quiet—absolute quiet. The preliminary symptom of irritability towards himself which Sir Arthur commented upon as extraordinary and alarming, Dr. Saunders in so many words declined, as a waste of time, even to discuss. Nevertheless, as days succeeded each other and the patient’s languor, not to say apathy, continued unabated, Dr. Saunders abruptly changed his tactics and informed his Excellency that he had better lose no time in sending his wife home. "Pack her off," he said brusquely. "Pack her off!" The choice of words was as unfitting as the idea they embodied was distasteful. "I thought," said Sir Arthur, loftily, "that you were aware, Dr. Saunders, of my intention of progressing homewards next month." "Well, I should pack off Lady Gerardine by the next boat," said the doctor, no whit abashed. "There’s a good deal of sickness about, and I should not like to take the responsibility of keeping her on here in this condition. She’s in a queer low state—damn queer low state, Sir Arthur." Sir Arthur puffed an angry breath down his nostrils and fixed a withering gaze on the other’s dry, impassive countenance.