“Should I be allowed to present books to the prison library? As you so seldom have a European here, your stock must be rather low.”
“That is so,” he admitted. “I don’t do much reading myself, but I think the books there are nearly all missionary stuff, sent in from somebody’s sale. You might be allowed to present a few, and you could forward them through me. You must cheer up a bit,” he added; “after all, the two years will soon run round.”
“Two years of a living death,” I protested; “what an awful punishment for a momentary madness! My brother was dreadfully in debt, the money tempted him; he meant of course to replace it, but there was no time. It has been paid back now.”
“Yes; I understand that it was gambling brought Captain Lingard to this. It has landed a good many natives here—chiefly Burmese and Malays. The Burman is an inveterate gambler, so are Chinamen. Most of our local cases are village brawls, theft and murder. Well now,” he said, rising, “I must ask you to excuse me; this is my very busy time. Would you like me to send for a gharry?”
I had intended to walk back, but I now felt so utterly shattered that this feat would be impossible, so I thankfully accepted the superintendent’s offer, and was presently being bowled away to Infantry Lines.
All that day I lay on my bed prostrate, for I now acutely realised the weight of Ronnie’s sentence. Would he ever survive to complete it? Could that convict with the fixed white face and the sunken staring eyes be my handsome, cheery brother?
I think Mrs. de Castro understood that I had recently received a terrible shock. She brought me her recipe for all trouble—a cup of the most excellent coffee—as well as a bottle of eau-de-Cologne with which to bathe my throbbing head. Kip also was tenderly attentive. He knew that I was in some sore grief; his eloquent eyes spoke volumes, and he licked my hand from time to time, doing all in his power to offer me his dumb sympathy.
No doubt it was the reaction from all I had gone through, culminating in my visit to the jail and sight of Ronnie as a convict, but after this expedition I broke down. I did not actually become a bedridden invalid, but I seemed to have lost all energy. I could not eat, I slept badly, and I was subject to exhaustive fits of crying. Mrs. de Castro was seriously concerned, and endeavoured to feed me, dose me, and scold me into a more cheerful frame of mind. She explained, with much wisdom, that I could do no good to my brother by starving and fretting and ruining my health.
One morning she threw two letters on my writing-table and said:
“These have just come by the dâk, and I expect they’ll cheer you a bit!”