Even castle-building—the last resource of imprisonment—ceased to interest. Life had also resolved itself into a successsion of dreary images, of which the voiceless prairie, the monotonous water-wheel, the darkened path of my midnight patrol, were the chief; and I felt myself sinking day by day, hour by hour, into that resistless apathy through which no ray of hope ever pierces.
At last I ceased even to pluck the flowers for the Señhora's window. I deemed any exertion which might be avoided, needless, and taxed my ingenuity to find out contrivances to escape my daily toil. The garden I neglected utterly; and in the wild luxuriance of the soil the rank weeds soon effaced every sign of former culture. What a strange frame of mind was mine! Even the progress of this ruin gave me a pleasure to the full as great as that once felt in witnessing the blooming beauty of its healthful vegetation. I used to walk among the rank and noisome weeds with the savage delight of some democratic leader who saw his triumph amid the downfall of the beautiful, the richly-prized, and the valued, experiencing a species of insane pleasure in the thought of some fancied vengeance.
How the wild growth of the valueless weed overtopped the tender excellence of the fragrant plant; how the noisome odor overpowered its rich perfume; how, in fact, barbarism lorded it over civilization, became a study to my distorted apprehension; and I felt a diabolical joy at the victory.
A little more, and this misanthropy had become madness; but a change was at hand. I was sitting one night in the garden: it was already the hour when my “patrol” should have begun; but latterly I had grown indifferent to the call of duty: as Hope died out within me, so did Fear also, and I cared little for the risk of punishment,—nay, more, a kind of rebellious spirit was gaining upon me, and I wished for some accident which might bring me into collision with some one. As I sat thus, I heard a footstep behind me: I turned, and saw the Señhora close to me. I did not rise to salute her, but gazed calmly and sternly, without speaking.
“Has the life of the dog imparted the dog's nature?” said she, scoffingly. “Why don't you speak?”
“I have almost forgotten how to do so,” said I, sulkily.
“You can hear, at least?”
I nodded assent.
“And understand what you hear?”
I nodded again.