“Look!” she suddenly shrieked, and pointed to where, in the doorway, cutting them off from escape, was the mate of the cobra that lay mangled before them.  Had the injured reptile in some way called its mate—­or were they regular inhabitants of this deserted hut?

It was Lucille’s first experience of cobras and she shuddered to see the second—­evidently comprehending, aggressive, vengeful—­would it spring from there ... and the Sword lay on the bed, out of reach.

Dam arose with a laugh, picked up his heavy boot as he did so, and, all in one swift movement, hurled it at the half-coiled swaying creature, with the true aim of the first-class cricketer and trained athlete; then, following his boot with a leap, he snatched at the tail of the coiling, thrashing reptile and “cracked” the snake as a carter cracks a whip—­whereafter it dangled limp and dead from his hand!  Lucille shrieked, paled, and sprang towards him.

“Oh, Dam!” she cried, “how could you!”

“Pooh, Kiddy,” he replied.  “I’m going to invite the Harley Street cove to have a match at that—­and I’m going to give a little exhibition of it on the lawn at Monksmead—­to all the good folk who witnessed my disgrace....  What’s a snake after all?  It’s my turn now;” and Lucille’s heart was at rest and very thankful.  This was not a temporary “cure”.  Oh, thank God for her inspiration anent the Sword ...  Thank God, thank God!...

SEVEN YEARS AFTER.

A beautiful woman, whose face is that of one whose soul is full of peace and joy, passes up the great staircase of the stately mansion of Monksmead.  Slowly, because her hand holds that of a chubby youth of five, a picture of sturdy health, strength and happiness.  They pass beneath an ancient Sword and the boy wheels to the right, stiffens himself, brings his heels together, and raises a fat little hand to his forehead in solemn salute.  The journey is continued without remark until they reach the day nursery, a big, bright room of which a striking feature is the mural decoration in a conventional pattern of entwined serpents, the number of brilliant pictures of snakes, framed and hung upon the walls, and two glass cases, the one containing a pair of stuffed cobras and the other a finely-mounted specimen of a boa-constrictor (which had once been the pride of the heart of a Folkestone taxidermist).

“Go away, Mitthis Beaton,” says the small boy to a white-haired but fresh-looking and comely old dame; “I’se not going to bed till Mummy hath tolded me about ve bwacelet again.”

“But I’ve told you a thousand times, Dammykins,” says the lady.

“Well, now tell me ten hundred times,” replies the young man coolly, and attempts to draw from the lady’s wrist a huge and remarkable bracelet.

This uncommon ornament consists of a great ruby-eyed gold snake which coils around the lady’s arm and which is pierced through every coil by a platinum, diamond-hilted sword, an exact model of the Sword which hangs on the staircase.