This was of course an exaggeration, but not to so great an extent as my gentle reader may suppose.

We had just finished our cheroots after breakfast, when the young officer's servant drove up in the same dak gharry which had brought me from Attock, and in a few minutes my cheerful host was shaking hands with me.

'There's somebody in there,' said he, pointing to the next room, 'to whom I must say goodbye, and then I'm off.'

He was not long absent, again shook my hand, and in another minute a sea of dust hid him and the gharry from my sight.

I felt quite lonely and sad when he was gone, for, although the bungalow was full, I was left in a small portion of it walled off from the rest, so that I didn't see any of its other occupants – though I might occasionally hear them. I had forgotten to ask who my next door neighbour was, and indeed I did not much care as I was so bothered, wondering how I should get up to Cherat. It was now nearly ten o'clock, the sun was pouring sheets of killing rays of light on the parched plain in which Nowshera is situated, and the hot wind was beginning to blow, parching one up, and making lips and eyes quite sore as well as dry. I did not know what to do with myself. It was much too hot to think of going to the brigade major's, so I got another cheroot, and taking my delightful Mademoiselle de Maupin out of my bag, I went and sat behind a pillar on the verandah, to shelter myself from the full force of the blast and try to read; but even this most charming damsel failed to charm, and I sank back in my chair and smoked listlessly whilst my eyes wandered over the range of lofty mountains which I could just distinguish quivering through hot, yellow-looking air. I did not know at the time that I was looking at Cherat and had I had any prescience of what was waiting for me there, I should certainly have gazed upon those hills with far greater interest than I did.