I turned away and left her to
finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that
I had been an unutterably mean hound.
finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that
I had been an unutterably mean hound.
Kipling - Poems
When I think it over quietly in my sick-room,
the season of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and shade
were fantastically 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 a vision of a white
face flitting by in the 'rickshaw with the black and white liveries
I once watched for so earnestly; the wave of Mrs. Wessington's gloved
hand; and, when she met me alone, which was but seldom, the irksome
monotony of her appeal. I loved Kitty Mannering; honestly, heartily
loved her, and with my love for her grew my hatred for Agnes. In August
Kitty and I were engaged. The next day I met those accursed "magpie"
jhampanies at the back of Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of
pity, stopped to tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it already.
"So I hear you're engaged, Jack dear. " Then, without a moment's
pause--"I'm sure it's all a mistake--a hideous mistake. We shall be as
good friends some day, Jack, as we ever were. "
My answer might have made even a man wince. It cut the dying woman
before me like the blow of a whip. "Please forgive me, Jack; I didn't
mean to make you angry; but it's true, it's true! "
And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely.
I turned away and left her to
finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that
I had been an unutterably mean hound. I looked back, and saw that she
had turned her 'rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me.
The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory.
The rain-swept sky (we were at the end of the wet weather), the sodden,
dingy pines, the muddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed
a gloomy background against which the black and white liveries of
the jhampanies, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington's
down-bowed golden head stood out clearly. She was holding her
handkerchief in her left hand and was leaning back exhausted against
the 'rickshaw cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near the Sanjowlie
Reservoir and literally ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call
of "Jack! " This may have been imagination. I never stopped to verify it.
Ten minutes later I came across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delight
of a long ride with her, forgot all about the interview.
A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible burden of her
existence was removed from my life. I went Plainsward perfectly happy.
Before three months were over I had forgotten all about her, except
that at times the discovery of some of her old letters reminded me
unpleasantly of our bygone relationship. By January I had disinterred
what was left of our correspondence from among my scattered belongings
and had burned it.
the season of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and shade
were fantastically 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 a vision of a white
face flitting by in the 'rickshaw with the black and white liveries
I once watched for so earnestly; the wave of Mrs. Wessington's gloved
hand; and, when she met me alone, which was but seldom, the irksome
monotony of her appeal. I loved Kitty Mannering; honestly, heartily
loved her, and with my love for her grew my hatred for Agnes. In August
Kitty and I were engaged. The next day I met those accursed "magpie"
jhampanies at the back of Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of
pity, stopped to tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it already.
"So I hear you're engaged, Jack dear. " Then, without a moment's
pause--"I'm sure it's all a mistake--a hideous mistake. We shall be as
good friends some day, Jack, as we ever were. "
My answer might have made even a man wince. It cut the dying woman
before me like the blow of a whip. "Please forgive me, Jack; I didn't
mean to make you angry; but it's true, it's true! "
And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely.
I turned away and left her to
finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that
I had been an unutterably mean hound. I looked back, and saw that she
had turned her 'rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me.
The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory.
The rain-swept sky (we were at the end of the wet weather), the sodden,
dingy pines, the muddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed
a gloomy background against which the black and white liveries of
the jhampanies, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington's
down-bowed golden head stood out clearly. She was holding her
handkerchief in her left hand and was leaning back exhausted against
the 'rickshaw cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near the Sanjowlie
Reservoir and literally ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call
of "Jack! " This may have been imagination. I never stopped to verify it.
Ten minutes later I came across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delight
of a long ride with her, forgot all about the interview.
A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible burden of her
existence was removed from my life. I went Plainsward perfectly happy.
Before three months were over I had forgotten all about her, except
that at times the discovery of some of her old letters reminded me
unpleasantly of our bygone relationship. By January I had disinterred
what was left of our correspondence from among my scattered belongings
and had burned it.
