One oppressive June evening, Lenore de Warrenne returned from church (where she had, as usual, prayed fervently that her soon-expected first-born might be a daughter), and entered her dressing-room. Here her Ayah divested her of hat, dress, and boots, and helped her into the more easeful tea-gown and satin slippers. “Bootlair wanting ishweets for dinner-table from go-down,[1] please, Mem-Sahib,” observed Ayah, the change of garb accomplished. [1] Store-room. “The butler wants sweets, does he? Give me my keys, then,” replied Mrs. de Warrenne, and, rising with a sigh, she left the dressing-room and proceeded, _via_ the dining-room (where she procured some small silver bowls, sweet-dishes, and trays), to the go-down or store-room, situate at the back of the bungalow and adjoining the “dispense-khana”—the room in which assemble the materials and ministrants of meals from the extra-mural “bowachi-khana” or kitchen. Unlocking the door of the go-down, Mrs. de Warrenne entered the small shelf-encircled room, and, stepping on to a low stool proceeded to fill the sweet-trays from divers jars, tins and boxes, with guava-cheese, crystallized ginger, _kulwa_, preserved mango and certain of the more sophisticated sweetmeats of the West. It was after sunset and the _hamal_ had not yet lit the lamps, so that this pantry, a dark room at mid-day, was far from light at that time. But for the fact that she knew exactly where everything was, and could put her hand on what she wanted, she would not have entered without a light. For some minutes the unfortunate lady stood on the stool. Having completed her task she stepped down backwards and, as her foot touched the ground, she knew _that she had trodden upon a snake._ Even as she stood poised, one foot on the ground, the other on the stool, both hands gripping the high shelf, she felt the reptile whipping, writhing, jerking, lashing, flogging at her ankle and instep, coiling round her leg…. And in the fraction of a second the thought flashed through her mind: “If its head is under my foot, or too close to my foot for its fangs to reach me, I am safe while I remain as I am. If its head is free I am doomed—and matters cannot be any the worse for my keeping as I am.” _And she kept as she was,_ with one foot on the stool, out of reach, and one foot on the snake. And screamed? No, called quietly and coolly for the butler, remembering that she had sent Nurse Beaton out, that her husband was at polo, that there were none but native servants in the house, and that if she raised an alarm they would take it, and with single heart consider each the safety of Number One. “Boy!” she called calmly, though the room swam round her and a deadly faintness began to paralyse her limbs and loosen her hold upon the shelf—“Boy! Come here.” Antonio Ferdinand Xavier D’Souza, Goanese butler, heard and came. “Mem-Sahib?” quoth he, at the door of the go-down. “Bring a lamp quickly,” said Lenore de Warrenne in a level voice.