"You must cure him--you _must, for your own sake, Dick_!"  Exactly.  In uttering those words Ama unconsciously disclosed how slight was her confidence in the influence over her father, of which she had been boasting only a moment or two before the arrival of the summons for me to attend that father on his bed of sickness.  It was all very well for her to tell me that I _must_ cure him; but suppose that I could not, suppose that the sickness--whatever it might be--should run its course and fail to yield to my treatment, what then?  The reason, so urgently expressed by her, why I must effect a cure--"for your own sake, Dick,"-- was significant enough of the direction in which her apprehensions pointed; there was no necessity for me to inquire what she meant.  I _must_ cure the king, or it would be so much the worse for me!  And how was I to cure him?  My knowledge of disease was of the slightest and most amateurish kind, and, for aught that I could tell to the contrary, might not even be sufficient to enable me to diagnose the case correctly, much less to treat it successfully!  However, there was no use in meeting trouble half-way; the only possible course was to obey the summons forthwith, and do my best, leaving the result in the hands of Providence.  I accordingly rose to my feet and, motioning the guards to lead the way, followed them to the palace, with Ama walking by my side and holding my hand in a protective sort of way.