So I rose quickly, and explaining the circumstances to Janie’s ayah (an old woman with more sense than the generality of her tribe), directed her how to speak soothingly to the young lady, and persuade her to return to the house, where she need be none the wiser for the untimely stroll which she had taken; and after a little while I was relieved to see the white hand in the grasp of the dark one, and the two women, so unlike each other in all outward appearance, pass into the house together.
So now it is all over; and the grey dawn is here; and as it was not worth while for me to turn in before going to parade, I sit down to transcribe the particulars of this adventure before I forget it.
Shall I ever forget it?
I am aware that henceforward, and before the world, I must play a part; but it is useless to dissemble with my own heart. This night has revealed to me what I had rather have died than hear, but the truth will make itself known.
I love her with my whole heart—passionately, fervently, devotedly, as I have never loved before. What is to come of it? What is to become of her, of me, of Janie? Are we all to be sacrificed?
As I write, there come into my mind these sentences: one which fell from her mouth (sweet mouth, that shall never be mine!), and one which proceeded from my own:
‘We who are strong should shield them;’ and, ‘You shall not fall, trust to me—I will lead you the right way.’
No, dear Janie, poor innocent child! and you, my beloved one, do not fear. I will shield both the weak and the strong; you shall not suffer for my imprudence or my guilt.
Yet how to comfort, how to cure, how to make up to her for the misery I have entailed on her dear head? Oh, my God! the task will be a hard one!
