And at the
same time I myself was watching myself faltering through the dark labyrinths
of doubt, misery, and utter despair. I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair
might have wondered, which dreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I
heard myself answering in a voice that I hardly recognized, "--They're
confoundedly particular about morality in these parts. Give 'em fits,
Heatherlegh, and my love. Now let me sleep a bit longer."
Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half crazed, devil-driven I)
that tossed in my bed, tracing step by step the history of the past month.
"But I am in Simla," I kept repeating to myself. "I, Jack Pansay, am in Simla
and there are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that woman to pretend there
are. Why couldn't Agnes have left me alone? I never did her any harm. It might
just as well have been me as Agnes. Only I'd never have come hack on purpose
to kill her. Why can't I be left alone--left alone and happy?"
It was high noon when I first awoke, and the sun was low in the sky before I
slept--slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too worn to feel
further pain.
Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh told me in the morning that he
had received an answer from Mr.
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