My early military drill now stood me in good stead, and to it I owe my life.Without the knowledge which I had derived from the use of the broadsword, I should have been all but certain to have attempted to strike him a downward blow upon the head.This is just what he was expecting, and it would have cost me my life.He would have had only to throw up his left arm to catch the blow, while with his right hand he plunged the knife into my heart.My experience had taught me how much easier it is to protect one's self from a cutting blow than from a thrust, and I determined to adopt this latter means of assault.Ragobah advanced upon me slowly, much as a cat steals upon an unsuspecting bird.I raised my stick as if to strike him, and he instinctively threw up his left arm, and advanced upon me.My opportunity had come; I lowered the point of my cane to the level of his face, and made a vigorous lunge forward, throwing my whole weight upon the thrust.As nearly as I could tell, the point of my stick caught him in the socket of the left eye, just as he sprang forward, and hurled him backward, blinded and stupefied.Before he had recovered sufficiently to protect himself, I dealt him a blow upon the head that brought him quickly to the earth.Without stopping to ascertain whether or not I had killed him, I fled precipitately to my lodgings, hastily packed my belongings, and set out for Matheron Station by the same train I had so fondly believed would convey Lona and me to our nuptial altar.Words cannot describe the suffering I endured upon that journey.For the first time since my terrible desertion I had an opportunity to think, and I did think, if the pulse of an overwhelming pain, perpetually recurring like the beat of a loaded wheel, can be called thought.Although there is no insanity in our family nearer than a great-uncle, I marvel that I retained my wits under this terrible blow.I seriously contemplated suicide, and probably should have taken my life had not my mental condition gradually undergone a change.I was no longer conscious of suffering, nor of a desire to end my life.I was simply indifferent.It was all one to me whether I lived or died.
The power of loving or caring for anything or anybody had entirely left me, and when I would reflect how utterly indifferent I was even to my own father and mother, I would regard myself as an unnatural monster.I tried to conceal my lack of affection by a greater attention to their wishes, and it was in this way that I yielded, without remonstrance, to those same views regarding my marriage, to which, but a little while before, I had made such strenuous objections as to quite enrage my father.I was an only child, and (as often happens in such cases) my father never could be brought to realise that I had many years since attained my majority.It had been his wish, ever since my boyhood, that I should marry your mother, and he made use, when I was nearly forty, of the selfsame insistent and coercive methods with which he had sought to subdue my will when I was but twenty, and at last he attained his end.I had learned from friends in Bombay that not only had Rama Ragobah recovered from the blows I had given him, but that, shortly after my encounter with him, he had married Lona, she whom I had loved, God only knows how madly! It was all one to me now whether I was married or single, living or dead.So it was all arranged.Imyself told the lady that, so far as I then understood my feelings, I had no affection for any person on earth; but it seemed only to pique her, and I think she determined then and there to make herself an exception to this universal rule.This is how I came to marry your mother.There was not the slightest community of thought, sentiment, or interest between us.The things I liked did not interest her; what she liked bored me; yet she was pre-eminently a sensible woman, and when she learned the real state of affairs was the first to suggest a separation, which was effected.We parted with the kindliest feelings, and, as you know, remained fast friends up to her death.
It was nearly a year after the affair on Malabar Hill before I had the heart to return with your mother to Bombay.I had thought all emotion forever dead within me, but, ah! how little do we understand ourselves.Twelve months had not passed, and already I was conscious of a vague ache - a feeling that something, I scarcely knew what, had gone wrong, so terribly wrong! I told myself that I was now married, and had a duty both to my wife and society, and I tried hard to ignore the ache, on the one hand, and not to permit myself to define and analyse it on the other.But a man does not have to understand anatomy in order to break his heart, and so my longing defined itself even by itself.The old fire, built on a virgin hearth, was far from out.Society had heaped a mouthful of conventional ashes upon it, but they had served only to preserve it.From the fiat of the human heart there is no court of appeal.
One night, to my utter amazement, I received a letter from Lona which you will find filed away among my other valuable documents.
It was addressed in her own quaint little hand, and I trembled violently as I opened the envelope.It was but a brief note, and ran as follows:
"I am dying, and have much to explain before I go.Be generous, and do not think too harshly of me.Suspend your judgment until I have spoken.You must come by stealth, or you will not be permitted to see me.Follow my directions carefully and you will have no trouble in reaching me.Go at once to the cave on Malabar Hill, whistle thrice, and one will appear who will conduct you safely to me.Follow him, and whatever happens, make no noise.
Do not delay - I can last but little longer.
"LONA."
