Zyarulla, entering soundlessly, set down the _chota hassri_ on a small table at his master's elbow without betraying his surprise and concern by so much as the flicker of an eyelash. For not even your immaculate family butler can excel, in dignity and true reserve, a bearer of the old school, whose Sahib stands only second to his God, and who would almost as soon think of defiling his caste as of entering another man's service. We have educated the grand old ideal of service out of our own land; and we are fast educating it out of India also: though it remains an open question whether the good wrought by over-civilisation can honestly be said to counterbalance the evil. A question few Anglo-Indians will be found to answer in the affirmative. Lenox poured out his tea, and drank it thirstily. But the first mouthful of toast was enough for him. He pushed the plate away; and his hand went out instinctively to the pipe Zyarulla, had laid beside it. "Damn!" he muttered between his teeth, almost flinging it from him; and at that instant the door opened. "_Desmin, Sahib argya_," [1] the Pathan announced; and with a startled sound, Lenox got upon his feet, and began fastening his waistcoat. "Good morning," he said quietly. "Made a night of it, as you see; and overslept myself." But beneath his quiet he was acutely aware of the contrast between his own dishevelled aspect, and Desmond's unobtrusive neatness and freshness. "Hope I don't intrude," the latter apologised, smiling: but his keen eyes searched the other's face, and read tragedy there. "As you hadn't turned up by ten-thirty, my wife was afraid something might have gone wrong. So I came over to set her mind at rest!" "Your wife? Why, of course! And I promised to be round by ten--ill-mannered cur that I am!" He sank wearily into his chair. "Truth is," he added in a changed tone, "I couldn't get a wink of sleep till near dawn; and then it came down on me like a sledge-hammer. You know the sort of thing." Desmond nodded, and took a seat on the edge of the table. "Are you often given that way?" he asked with seeming unconcern. "Now and again." "Ever been really bad with it?" "Pretty bad. Why d'you ask?" "Because from the looks of you, I should say it was wearing your nerves to fiddle-strings. Ever take anything for it?" Lenox frowned; and Desmond made haste to add: "No call, of course, to answer a question of that sort. But you look downright ill; and it's unwise to let that kind of thing become a habit." "Damned unwise!" Lenox answered, with a smile that did not lift the shadow from his eyes. "As I know to my cost. The thing has been a habit with me for longer than I care to reckon." Desmond raised his eyebrows. He had noticed the fragments in the fender: the faint suggestion of chlorodyne that still clung in the air. "My dear Lenox, I am sorry for that. And--the remedy? You must have tried something before now?"