The Rajah's Heir / A Novel in 3 volumes

'A dream and a forgetting. Is our life that? The sages who have searched into the past and future say that it is even so. A dream—another dream; a beginning—an ending; a beginning again—an ending again; in all the world no halt for the trembling spirit until the dizzy height be reached. And that—when will it be? I accept not the priceless boon alone. Ye Holy Ones, who have been my companions from my boyhood, whose wills have wrought upon my will, whose bodiless voices have counselled me, ye know what is in my heart. If I had separated myself from my kind, from the children who depend upon me for their daily bread, I might now have attained to the goal of my spiritual desire; instead of going forth upon this weary flight I might have been basking in the light of knowledge, as the Divine—nay, the very Divine myself. But it cannot be. For their sakes I must begin again.'
Slowly and brokenly the words fell upon the silence. He who spoke them—a man but a few hours ago in the full pride and glory of life—was dying. Early that morning he had gone out as was his wont from his palace, he had ridden over fields which he had redeemed from the wilderness, he had visited the fair markets that his munificence had opened; he had gone on foot, as he had often done before, through the crowded streets of the city he governed, when the hand of an assassin struck him down. The blow was dealt before the eyes of the loyal throngs that pressed round their rajah; yet the miscreant who did the foul deed made no effort to escape.
'He is a Feringhee,' he muttered as (the wounded prince having forbidden violence) the people led the assassin to prison. 'He is a Feringhee. He will take away from us our religion and customs, and give us foreigners to rule over us.'
Weeping and moaning, the attendants of the rajah had dressed his wound with such cool unguents as they could procure on the instant, and, while some carried him to his palace, others went in hot haste for the European doctor at the Residency. He let them do what they would, knowing that the doing would ease their pain; but, for himself, he was well aware that the end of his life, as master of these good people and lord of loyal Gumilcund, had come.