That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

But to my story. The young woman was really handsome, and quite well educated, though to be truthful, her education was somewhat artificial, as the most of her life had been spent in a convent school. On her father’s side of French descent; she was born of lawful wedlock, and in a happy, well-to-do, prosperous family. Cupid shot me with one of his best arrows soon after we became acquainted, and I think she was also hit with the same kind of weapon from the quiver of the famous little sportsman. There seemed to be a mutual sympathy for each other in our wounded hearts. The result was, as it generally happens in such cases, we concluded to cure each other’s wounds, by joining hands and hearts. The wedding took place at the home of the bride, with great ceremony, and a large gathering of friends, and then this Adam and his Eve returned to their garden of Eden, and all went merry as a marriage bell.

It seemed as if I had now reached the acme of my desires, wealth enough, a beautiful home, a fine library, flowers in our garden, and above all—a wife. I had forgotten the story, as probably most of us have, that there was a serpent even in the garden of Eden, and I never thought that one could enter mine.

I had fine horses and carriages, so we could enjoy our drives. As I have said, I subscribed liberally to all games and entertainments, so we had frequent invitations, and were well received. We also gave our little parties, which were well enjoyed. My wife was an excellent pianist, and entertained our guests with music, in which some of them took part. One of the most frequent callers was an Hon. a young officer of one of the regiments, very gentlemanly in appearance, of a high society family, well read, and one who had traveled and seen the world. He had a good ear for music, and played well, so he and my wife had something in common to interest them, with which I was well pleased. He not only often dined with us alone and with others, but before our evening drives he frequently took tea with us on our veranda, and we talked on various subjects, for he was an excellent conversationalist, full of anecdotes and incidents, which he related in a very fascinating manner. He had style, a quick appreciation of things, and what interested me was his remarks on moral and religious subjects, not connected with churches or creeds, but in their widest meaning, and frequently with me alone he spoke of the beauty of virtue and honor. He seemed to be a devoted church-goer, belonged to the High Church party, was a stickler for ecclesiastical forms, and often talked of the beauty of the services, and the value of the sacraments.

Both my wife and myself were greatly pleased to have such an acquaintance to relieve the monotony that rules even in our best India stations. We had other friends whom we often saw, each excellent in his way. We were happy and time passed rapidly. One of the largest gatherings in the station was at the Birthday Ball, when guests came from outside places. We attended the ball, though I could not dance, yet I was very fond of music, and the social part. My wife excelled in dancing and took great delight in it, so she had plenty of partners, one of whom was our Hon. friend, and he was about the best dancer of them all.

I had frequently to be absent for several days, to visit my villages, and to look after my investments. I regretted these absences for my wife’s sake, as she was timid at night, and besides she appeared fond of my company, as I know I was of hers. One day, as I was about to leave, our Hon. friend called, and during our conversation asked me if he could take my wife out driving during my absence. I replied that I would be most pleased to have him do so, and suggested that they should use the phaeton, as it would be more comfortable than a cart, and the horses needed exercise. During my absence I congratulated myself on our happiness and prosperity, and thought with pride of the pleasant reception of my wife in the station.

So the months passed with nothing to cloud my happiness. One day when I was in the garden, looking over my trees and flowers, pruning a limb here and there, my head man or durwan, an elderly Hindu, whom I had kept in my service for years, followed me around. I saw by his manner that he had something to say to me, so I asked “What is it, Ram Kishn?” He replied, “I have been with the Sahib for years and have eaten his salt, and I would shed my blood for him.”

“I know that, Ram Kishn, but what do you wish to say?”

“Sahib!” he said with hesitation, “I have often thought of telling you something, but I was afraid. I have seen something that even we poor ignorant idol worshipers—Kam ackl, bhut parast log, as the Sahibs call us, think is not right.”

I quickly asked, “Has somebody been stealing my fruit or flowers, or the bearer been cheating with the grain?”

“No, Sahib! nothing of that kind, something worse than that.”