Sad Memories
How clearly the tragedy stood before my eyes. Wimpole, mad cur that he was, had had his way! My first impulse was to shoot him down as he deserved. Second thought said no. Let him live out his wretched life until un-reason claimed him as she was bound to do. Within a year he was incarcerated, a hopeless maniac, fighting and biting at his keepers.
Time has softened the pain of this, my most tragic adventure. Out of the wreckage of my hopes and dreams the lovely moments rise like mountains from mist. Sitting alone in my study, brooding over the romances of my life, none has quite the charm of this, the most disastrous and incomplete.
It was my plan—after Lady Sarah’s divorce and our marriage—to return to the desert where we had great plans for commercial development, the building of sand-paper mills and hour-glass factories,—but there! These were but bubbles blown away by the touch of reality. With our few brief moments of complete joy I must be content.
That I should return to follow out our plans alone is inconceivable. All speaks too clearly of her influence who called me back to reign once more as El-Dhub ak Moplah. The sandy desert is her likeness. The smooth flowing Nile retains her reflection. The rocky features of the Sphinx are those of my Sarah of the Sahara. Wullahy!
THE END
A Selection from the
Catalogue of
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Complete Catalogues sent
on application