Youghal said she was not going to throw her daughter into
the worst paid Department in the Empire, and old Youghal said, in so many
words, that he mistrusted Strickland's ways and works, and would thank him not
to speak or write to his daughter any more. "Very well," said Strickland, for
he did not wish to make his lady-love's life a burden. After one long talk
with Miss Youghal he dropped the business entirely.
The Youghals went up to Simla in April.
In July, Strickland secured three months' leave on "urgent private affairs."
He locked up his house--though not a native in the Providence would wittingly
have touched "Estreekin Sahib's" gear for the world--and went down to see a
friend of his, an old dyer, at Tarn Taran.
Here all trace of him was lost, until a sais met me on the Simla Mall with
this extraordinary note:
"Dear old man,
Please give bearer a box of cheroots--Supers, No. I, for preference. They are
freshest at the Club. I'll repay when I reappear; but at present I'm out of
Society.
Yours,
E. STRICKLAND."
I ordered two boxes, and handed them over to the sais with my love.
That sais was Strickland, and he was in old Youghal's employ, attached to Miss
Youghal's Arab. The poor fellow was suffering for an English smoke, and knew
that whatever happened I should hold my tongue till the business was over.
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