daylight (in which, from that spot, they always looked exactly as
though cut out of cardboard); why Providence had not arranged for
perpetual full-moon; why the world looked such a place of peaceful,
glorious beauty by moonlight, the bare cruel mountains like diaphanous
clouds of tenderest soothing mist, the Judge's hideous bungalow like a
fairy palace, his own parched compound like a plot of Paradise, when
all was so abominable by day; and, as ever--why his darling, Lenore
Stukeley, had had to marry de Warrenne and die in the full flower and
promise of her beautiful womanhood.

Having finished his coffee and lighted his pipe (_vice_ the over-dry
friable cheroot, flung into the garden) the Major then turned his mind
to serious and consecutive thought on the subject of her son, his
beloved little pal, Dammy de Warrenne.

Poor little beggar! What an eternity it had seemed before he had got
him to sleep. How the child had suffered. Mad! Absolutely stark,
staring, raving _mad_ with sheer terror.... Had he acted rightly in
showing him the picture? He had meant well, anyhow. Cruel phrase,
that. How cuttingly his friend de Warrenne had observed, "You mean
well, doubtless," on more than one occasion. He could make it the most
stinging of insults.... Surely he had acted rightly.... Poor little
beggar--but he was bound to see a picture or a real live specimen,
sooner or later. Perhaps when there was no help at hand.... Would he
be like it always? _Might_ grow out of it as he grew older and
stronger. What would have happened if he had encountered a live snake?
Lost his reason permanently, perhaps.... What would happen when he
_did_ see one, as sooner or later, he certainly must?

What would be the best plan? To attempt gradually to inure him--or to