There was nothing to lay hold of. The head swayed and twisted, the
forked tongue shooting out; and at last the snake fell away from its
hold, and splashed right into the basin of water on the top of the frog.
There was a wild shooting this way and that--but Macleod did not see the
end of it. He had uttered some slight exclamation, and got into the open
air, as one being suffocated: and there were drops of perspiration on
his forehead, and a trembling of horror and disgust had seized him. His
two companions followed him out.

"I felt rather faint," said he, in a low voice--and he did not turn to
look at them as he spoke--"the air is close in that room."

They moved away. He looked around--at the beautiful green of the trees,
and the blue sky, and the sunlight on the path--God's world was getting
to be more wholesome again, and the choking sensation of disgust was
going from his throat. He seemed, however, rather anxious to get away
from this place. There was a gate close by; he proposed they should go
out by that. As he walked back with them to South Bank, they chatted
about many of the animals--the two girls in especial being much
interested in certain pheasants, whose colors of plumage they thought
would look very pretty in a dress--but he never referred, either then or
at any future time, to his visit to the reptile house. Nor did it occur
to Miss White, in this idle conversation, to ask him whether his
Highland blood had inherited any other qualities besides that
instinctive and deadly horror of serpents.




CHAPTER X.