Snake and Sword | Page 2

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.
The worthy Antonio, fat, spectacled, bald and wheezy, hurried away
and peremptorily bade the hamal[2], son of a jungle-pig, to light and
bring a lamp quickly.
The hamal, respectfully pointing out to the Bootlair Sahib that the
daylight was yet strong and lusty enough to shame and smother any
lamp, complied with deliberation and care, polishing the chimney,
trimming the wick, pouring in oil and generally making a satisfactory
and commendable job of it.
Lenore de Warrenne, sick, faint, sinking, waited ... waited ... waited ...

gripping the shelf and fighting against her over-mastering weakness for
the life of the unborn child that, even in that awful moment, she prayed
might be a daughter.
After many cruelly long centuries, and as she swayed to fall, the good
Antonio entered with the lamp. Her will triumphed over her falling
body.
"Boy, I am standing on a snake!" said she coolly. "Put the lamp--"
But Antonio did not stay to "put" the lamp; incontinent he dropped it on
the floor and fled yelling "Sap! Sap!" and that the Mem-Sahib was
bitten, dying, dead--certainly dead; dead for hours.
And the brave soul in the little room waited ... waited ... waited ...
gripping the shelf, and thinking of the coming daughter, and wondering
whether she must die by snake-bite or fire--unborn--with her unhappy
mother. For the fallen lamp had burst, the oil had caught fire, and the
fire gave no light by which she could see what was beneath her
foot--head, body, or tail of the lashing, squirming snake--as the flame
flickered, rose and fell, burnt blue, swayed, roared in the draught of the
door--did anything but give a light by which she could see as she bent
over awkwardly, still gripping the shelf, one foot on the stool, further
prevented from seeing by her loose draperies.
Soon she realized that in any case she could not see her foot without
changing her position--a thing she would not do while there was
hope--and strength to hold on. For hope there was, inasmuch as she had
not yet felt the stroke of the reptile's fangs.
Again she reasoned calmly, though strength was ebbing fast; she must
remain as she was till death by fire or suffocation was the alternative to
flight--flight which was synonymous with death, for, as her other foot
came down and she stepped off the snake, in that instant it would
strike--if it had not struck already.
Meantime--to call steadily and coolly again.

This time she called to the hamal, a Bhil, engaged out of compassion,
and likely, as a son of the jungle's sons, to be of more courage than the
stall-fed butler in presence of dangerous beast or reptile.
"Hamal: I want you," she called coolly.
"Mem-Sahib?" came the reply from the lamp-room near by, and the
man approached.
"That stupid butler has dropped a lamp and run away. Bring a pail of
water quickly and call to the malli[3] to bring a pail of