“Pig!  Pig!  Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.

She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one.  She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices.  Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy.  She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England.  The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother.  She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib—­Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—­was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes.  Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes.  All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.”  They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all.  They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer’s face.

“Is it so very bad?  Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say.

“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice.  “Awfully, Mrs. Lennox.  You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”

The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.

“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried.  “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party.  What a fool I was!”

At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot.  The wailing grew wilder and wilder.

“What is it?  What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.

“Some one has died,” answered the boy officer.  “You did not say it had broken out among your servants.”

“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried.  “Come with me!  Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.

After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary.  The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and people were dying like flies.  The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts.  Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror.  There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.

During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by every one.  Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing.  Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours.  She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening sounds.  Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily