"Dad, I'd like to send for Dr. Hicks, to have a look at your arm," she said, as they sat in the verandah after dinner.
"Certainly not, Nancy," he replied testily; "you have done everything that is necessary. I daresay I have brought a touch of fever from Holikul. That's all that ails me. The bite is nothing. Now look here, little girl, I won't have you worry."
As his tone was authoritative, Nancy, whatever she may have thought, said nothing further.
The next day Travers made a very early start, and did not return,—as was often the case,—in time for breakfast; and Nancy and Mayne were tête-à-tête.
"Father is so hardy and wiry, and so used to jungle accidents," she remarked, "he won't ever allow me to look after him properly. On Tuesday, only for him and his stick," she paused and glanced expressively at Mayne.
"Yes, by Jove! the panther would have had me! There's no doubt your father saved my life. That brute was making for my throat. I saw her yellow eyes glaring into mine, she had her claws dug into my shoulders, and, Lord, how her breath smelt! Yes, for once, I was face to face with death; and I'd be dead and buried now—only for that swinging stroke across her muzzle."
"The cubs made her savage," said Nancy. "Tipoo has shot them both—such well-fed, fat, little creatures. All the family skins are now being dried. Only for those cubs, the panther would never have faced you—they are such slinking, treacherous cowards."
"And only for your father, I'd not be sitting here."
"And how dreadful for your poor mother, if anything had happened to you! If I were to die, it would almost kill Daddy."
Mayne made no reply. Mentally, he was comparing his mother, with her father. Nancy looked as if she would still be flourishing at the end of half a century, but if anything were, as she expressed it, "to happen to her," it was quite possible, that Travers would go clean off his head.