I have not a word to say about my own sensations.

My impression is that the shock inflicted on me completely suspended my

thinking and feeling power. I certainly could not have known what I was

about when Betteredge joined me--for I have it on his authority that I

laughed, when he asked what was the matter, and putting the nightgown

into his hands, told him to read the riddle for himself.

Of what was said between us on the beach, I have not the faintest

recollection. The first place in which I can now see myself again

plainly is the plantation of firs. Betteredge and I are walking back

together to the house; and Betteredge is telling me that I shall be able

to face it, and he will be able to face it, when we have had a glass of

Advertisement..

grog.

The scene shifts from the plantation, to Betteredge's little

sitting-room. My resolution not to enter Rachel's house is forgotten.

I feel gratefully the coolness and shadiness and quiet of the room.

I drink the grog (a perfectly new luxury to me, at that time of day),

which my good old friend mixes with icy-cold water from the well. Under

any other circumstances, the drink would simply stupefy me. As things

are, it strings up my nerves. I begin to "face it," as Betteredge has

predicted. And Betteredge, on his side, begins to "face it," too.

The picture which I am now presenting of myself, will, I suspect,

be thought a very strange one, to say the least of it. Placed in a

situation which may, I think, be described as entirely without parallel,

what is the first proceeding to which I resort? Do I seclude myself

from all human society? Do I set my mind to analyse the abominable

impossibility which, nevertheless, confronts me as an undeniable fact?

Do I hurry back to London by the first train to consult the highest

authorities, and to set a searching inquiry on foot immediately? No.

I accept the shelter of a house which I had resolved never to degrade

myself by entering again; and I sit, tippling spirits and water in the

company of an old servant, at ten o'clock in the morning. Is this the

conduct that might have been expected from a man placed in my horrible

position? I can only answer that the sight of old Betteredge's familiar

face was an inexpressible comfort to me, and that the drinking of old

Betteredge's grog helped me, as I believe nothing else would have helped

me, in the state of complete bodily and mental prostration into which

I had fallen. I can only offer this excuse for myself; and I can only

admire that invariable preservation of dignity, and that strictly

logical consistency of conduct which distinguish every man and woman who

may read these lines, in every emergency of their lives from the cradle

to the grave.




Most Popular