Sir Dugald laughed pleasantly over this uncharitable wish as he handed his second gun to the _shikari_ who was to accompany him. The ponies were already saddled, and he had only time for a mouthful of food before starting, his last counsel to his wife being not to venture farther from the camp than the _jheel_ he had mentioned, as the sky was curiously hazy, and he thought the weather was going to break up. The winter rains had been unusually slight this year, so that the country was already beginning to look parched, and the forest foliage, which should still have been soft and fresh, was becoming quite stiff, and what Lady Haigh called “rattly,” though the heat was not yet too great for camping. The climate of Khemistan is so uncertain that a thunderstorm was at least possible; but after Sir Dugald had ridden away to the southward, his wife decided that the haze portended heat rather than thunder, and that it would be perfectly safe to undertake the expedition to the _jheel_. She and Penelope started soon after breakfast, attended only by their two grooms and Murtiza Khan, a stalwart trooper who was Sir Dugald’s orderly on occasions like the present, when he was in separate command. The _jheel_ proved a disappointment, for it was so dry that the delicate bog-plants Lady Haigh had hoped to secure were all dead, and the grasses were the ordinary coarse varieties to be found all over the country. Lady Haigh and Penelope soon tired of the fruitless search, and sat down to rest on a bank pleasantly scented with sweet basil before taking to the saddle again. They were conscious of a strong disinclination for the ride back, the air was so hot, the track so dusty, and the forest so shadeless. “It really is more like smoke than cloud,” said Lady Haigh, looking up at the lowering sky, “and whenever there is the least breeze one almost seems to smell smoke. I wish it wasn’t coming from the direction of the camp. It’s horrid to leave the clear sky behind, and ride straight into twilight. I wonder how far Dugald has got--whether he will be out of the storm. He is sure to have fever if he gets wet. I think I will send one of the servants after him with fresh clothes. They would keep dry if I packed them in a tin box----” “What can that boy be saying?” interrupted Penelope, pointing across the swamp to the belt of forest on the opposite side. A native boy, unkempt and lightly clad, had appeared from among the trees, and paused in apparent astonishment on catching sight of the two ladies sitting in the shade, and the horses feeding quietly close at hand under the charge of their grooms. Now he was shouting and gesticulating wildly, and Murtiza Khan had hurried to the brink of the reed-beds to hear what he was saying. “He must be warning us that the storm is coming on,” said Lady Haigh, as the boy pointed first at the darkening sky, and then back in the direction of the camp. “Pen! I am sure I smelt smoke at that moment. Did you notice it?”