Ramsa Lal was the first to recover himself. He leapt forward, seized the prostrate man by the shoulders and dragged him into the tent, past Moreen. Having effected this he raised his eyes in a mute question. She nodded, and whilst Ramsa Lal seized the Major's shoulders, Moreen grasped his ankles, and together they lifted him up on to the bed. He lay there, rolling from side to side. His eyes were wide open, glassy and unseeing; a slight froth was upon his lips, his fists rose and fell in regular, mechanical beats, corresponding with the convulsive movements of his knees. Moreen dropped down beside him. "Ramsa Lal! Ramsa Lal! What shall I do? What has happened to him?" Ramsa Lal ripped the collar from Major Fayne's neck in order to aid his respiration. Then, quietly signing to Moreen to hold the lamp, he began to search the entire exposed surface of the Major's skin. Evidently he failed to find that for which he was looking. He glanced down at the ankles, but the Major wore thick putties and Ramsa Lal shook his head in a puzzled way. "It is like the bite of a hamadryad," he said softly, "but there is no mark." "What shall I do!" moaned Moreen--"what shall I do!" There was a frightened murmur from the entrance, where the native servants stood in a group, peering in. Moreen stood up. "Hot water, Ramsa Lal!" she said. "We must give him brandy." "But it is useless, Mem Sahib; he has not been bitten--there is no mark; it may be a fever from the jungle." Moreen beat her hands together helplessly. "We must do _something_!" she said; "we must do _something_." A sudden change took place in Major Fayne. The convulsive movements ceased and he lay quiet, and breathing quite regularly. The glassy look began to fade from his eyes, and with every appearance of being in full possession of his senses, he stared at Moreen and spoke: "You shall repent of your words, Harringay," he said in a quiet voice. "You have deliberately accused me of faking the cards. I care nothing for any of you. Why should I attempt such a thing? I could buy and sell you all!..." Moreen dropped slowly back upon her knees again, white to the lips, watching her husband. With the same appearance of perfect sanity, but now addressing the empty air, he continued: "In my tent--my wife will tell you it is true--my wife, Harringay, do you hear?--I have jewelled cups and strings of rubies, enough to buy up Mandalay! I blundered on to them in that old ruined temple back in the jungle, not five hundred yards from your bungalow. Harringay--think of it--a treasure-room like that within sight of your verandah! There are snakes there, snakes, you understand, in hundreds; but it is worth risking for a big fortune like mine." "He mixes time and place," murmured Ramsa Lal. "He talks to the Commissioner Sahib in Mandalay of what is here in the Valley of the Just." Moreen nodded, catching her breath hysterically.