The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1899-04-21


tell me the like. Two months ago was
the happiest man in India. Today, from
Peshawur to the sea, there is no one
more wretched My doctor and 1 are
the only two who know this. His ex-
PLANTATION is that my brain, digestion
and eyesight are all slightly affected,
giving rise to my frequent and persist
emit Exclusions. Decisions, indeed /
call him a fool, but he attends me still
with the same unwearied smile, the
same bland professional manner, the
same neatly trimmed red whiskers, till
begin to suspect that am an migrate
full, evil tempered invalid But you
shall judge for yourselves.
Three years ago it was my fortune
my great misfortune-to sail from
Gravesend to Bombay. on return from
long leave, with one Agnes Keith
Washington, wife of an officer on the
Bombay side. 1t does not in the least
concern you to know what manner of
woman she was Be content with the
knowledge that ere the voyage had
ended, both she and / We're desperately
and INCREASINGLY in love With one an
other. Heaven knows that can make
the admission now without one particle
of vanity. In matters of this sort there
is always one who gives and another
who accepts. From the first day of our
ill omened attachment was conscious
that Agnes passion was stronger, a
more dominant and-if I may use the
expression - a purer sentiment than
mine. Whether she recognized the fact
then, do not know Afterward it was
bitterly plain to both of us.
Arrived at Bombay in the spring of
the year. we went our respective ways,
| to meet no more for the next three or
four months, when my leave and her
love took us both to Simla There we
! spent the season together, and there my
fire of straw burned itself out to pitt
full end with the closing year I at
tempted no excuse. 1 make no apology
Mrs. Washington had given up much for
my sake and was prepared to give up
all From my own lips, in August.
1882, she learned that was sick of her
presence, tired of her company and
weary of the sound of her voice. Nine
| ty-nine women out of hundred would
have wearied of me as I wearied of
them; 70 OF that number would have
promptly avenged themselves by active
and cbtrusive Irritation with other men.
Mrs. Washington was the hundredth.
On her neither my openly expressed
aversion nor the cutting brutalities
with which garnished our interviews
had the least effect.
"Jack, darling" was her one eternal
cuckoo cry, sI'm sure it's all mis-
take, hideous mistake, and Veil be
good friends again some day. Please
forgive me- Jack, dearl'
was the offender, and I knew it.
That knowledge transformed my pity
| into passive endurance, and, eventual
| ly, into blind hate-the same instinct.
suppose, which prompts man to saw
agely stamp on the spider he has but
half killed And with this hate in my
bosom the season of 1882 came to an
end.
Next year we met again at Simla-
she with her monotonous face and
tlmid attempts at reconciliation and |
with loathing of her in every fiber of
my frame Several times l could not
avoid meeting her alone, and on each
occasion her words We're identically the
same-still the unreasoning vail that
it was all mistake and still the
hope of eventually making friends.
l might have seen, had l cared to look,
that that hope only was keeping her
alive. She grew moro wan and thin
month by month. You will agree with
me at least that such conduct would
have driven any one to despair. 1t was
uncalled for, childish, unwomanly. /
| maintain that she was much to blame.
And again, sometimes in the black, fe-
yer stricken night watches, have be-
gun to think that I might have been a
little kinder to her. But that really is
"delusion. (" l could not have contin-
| ued pretending to love her when l
didn t, could L? 1t would have been un-
fair to Us both.
Last year we met again-on the
same terms as before, the same weary
appeals and the same curt answers
from my lips. At least would make
her see how wholly wrong and hopeless
were her attempts at resuming the old
relationship. AS the season wore on we
fell apart-that is to say, she found it
difficult to meet me, for l had other
and more absorbing interests to attend
to. When think it over quietly in my
sickroom, the season of 1884 seems
confused nightmare wherein light and
shade were Enthusiastically intermingled-
my courtship of little Kitty Mannering;
my hopes, doubts and fears; our long
rides together; my trembling avowal of
attachment; her reply, and now and
again vision of white face fitting
by in the rickshaw with the black and
white liveries l once watched for so
earnestly: the wave of Mrs. Messing
ton gloved hand. and when she met
me alone, which was but seldom, the
irksome monotony Of her appeal.
loved Kitty Mannering honestly.
heartily loved her-and with my love
fol- her grew my hatred for Agnes. In
August Kitty and were engaged. The
next day | met those accursed "mag-