But the man was a fool.
"The thing that vexed him most was her horror of snakes. He was
unblessed--or uncursed, whichever you may prefer--with imagination of any
kind. There was no special enmity between him and the seed of the
serpent. A creature that crawled upon its belly was no more terrible to
him than a creature that walked upon its legs; indeed, less so, for he
knew that, as a rule, there was less danger to be apprehended from them.
A reptile is only too eager at all times to escape from man. Unless
attacked or frightened, it will make no onset. Most people are content
to acquire their knowledge of this fact from the natural history books.
He had proved it for himself. His servant, an old sergeant of dragoons,
has told me that he has seen him stop with his face six inches from the
head of a hooded cobra, and stand watching it through his eye-glass as it
crawled away from him, knowing that one touch of its fangs would mean
death from which there could be no possible escape. That any reasoning
being should be inspired with terror--sickening, deadly terror--by such
pitifully harmless things, seemed to him monstrous; and he determined to
try and cure her of her fear of them.
"He succeeded in doing this eventually somewhat more thoroughly than he
had anticipated, but it left a terror in his own eyes that has not gone
out of them to this day, and that never will.
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