But this was “super”-natural, abnormal, a terrible devastating agony of madness, inherited, incurable probably; part of mind and body and soul. Inherited, and integrally of him as were the colour of his eyes, his intelligence, his physique…. Heredity … pre-natal influence … breed…. Anyhow, nothing must be attempted yet awhile. Let the poor little chap get older and stronger, in mind and body, first. Brave as a little bull-dog in other directions! Absolutely devoid of fear otherwise, and with a natural bent for fighting and adventure. Climb anywhere, especially up the hind leg of a camel or a horse, fondle any strange dog, clamour to be put on any strange horse, go into any deep water, cheek anybody, bear any ordinary pain with a grin, thrill to any story of desperate deeds—a fine, brave, manly, hardy little chap, and with art extraordinary physique for strength and endurance. Whatever was to be attempted later, he must be watched, day and night, now. No unattended excursions into the compound, no uncensored picture-books, no juggling snake-charmers…. Yet it _must_ come, sooner or later. Would it ruin his life? Anyhow, he must never return to India when he grew up, or go to any snake-producing country, unless he could be cured. Would it make him that awful thing—a coward? Would it grow and wax till it dominated his mind—drive him mad? Would succeeding attacks, following encounters with picture or reality, progressively increase in severity? _Her_ boy in an asylum? No. He was exaggerating an almost expected consequence that might never be repeated—especially if the child were most carefully and gradually reintroduced to the present terror. Later though—much later on. Meanwhile, wait and hope: hope and wait…. CHAPTER III. THE SNAKE APPEARS. The European child who grows up in India, if only to the age of six or seven years, grows under a severe moral, physical, and mental handicap. However wise, devoted, and conscientious its parents may be, the evil is great, and remains one of the many heavy costs (or punishments) of Empire. When the child has no mother and an indifferent father, life’s handicap is even more severe. By his sixth birthday (the regiment being still in Bimariabad owing to the prevalence of drought, famine, and cholera elsewhere) Damocles de Warrenne, knowing the Urdu language and _argot_ perfectly, knew, in theory also, more of evil, in some directions, than did his own father. If the child who grows up absolutely straight-forward, honest, above-board and pure in thought, word, and deed, in England, deserves commendation, what does the child deserve who does so in India?