Striding to the wall he tore the sword down, drew it and, with raised arm, sprang towards the cobra. A good “Cut Three” across the coils would carve it into a dozen pieces. No. Lenore made that cushion—and Lenore’s cushion made more appeal to Colonel de Warrenne than did Lenore’s son. No. A neat horizontal “Cut Two,” just below the head, with the deadly “drawing” motion on it, would meet the case nicely. Swinging it to the left, the Colonel subconsciously placed the sword, “resting flat on the left shoulder, edge to the left, hand in front of the shoulder and square with the elbow, elbow as high as the hand,” as per drill-book, and delivered a lightning stroke—thinking as he did so that the Afghan _tulwar_ is an uncommonly well-balanced, handy cutting-weapon, though infernally small in the hilt. The snake’s head fell with a thud upon the polished boards between the tiger-skins, and the body dropped writhing and twitching on to the settee. Damocles appeared to be dead. Picking him up, the callous-hearted father strode out to where Khodadad Khan held “Fire’s” bridle, handed him to the orderly, mounted, received him again from the man, and, holding him in his strong right arm, cantered to the bungalow of Major John Decies—since it lay on the road to the parade-ground. Would the jerking hurt the little beggar in his present comatose state? Well, brats that couldn’t stand a little jerking were better dead, especially when they screamed and threw fits at the sight of a common snake. Turning into Major Decies’ compound and riding up to his porch, the Colonel saw the object of his search, arrayed in pyjamas, seated in his long cane chair beside a tray of tea, toast, and fruit, in the verandah. “Morning, de Warrenne,” he cried cheerily. “How’s little—” and caught sight of the inanimate child. “Little coward’s fainted after throwing a fit—over a common snake,” observed the Colonel coolly. “Give him here,” answered the Major, taking the boy tenderly in his arms,—“and kindly—er—clear out.” He did not wish to strike his friend and senior. How the black rage welled up in his heart against the callous brute who had dared to marry Lenore Seymour Stukeley. Colonel de Warrenne wheeled his horse without a word, and rode out of Major Decies’ life and that of his son.