“Love—honour,” Lal repeated, strongly moved. “Do you give those to me, Dolly? You make me ashamed.”
“You know I give them. I give everything.”
“Even obedience? Dolly, will you ever obey anybody?”
“Certainly I shall,” Dolly said, with proud humility. “I take my stand with other women; we all promise to obey, and I shall obey. I always keep my promises. There, dearest, let me go now and write. Afterwards—”
Noel Farquhar came into his library at The Lilacs and unlocked his writing-table, one of those elegant roll-top American contrivances full of drawers and pigeon-holes. He took out his blotter, his writing-paper, and his revolver. He made sure that this was properly loaded, and then dipped pen in ink and began to write.
“TO THE CORONER
“Dear Sir,—I wish it clearly to be understood that I write in sound physical health, and that my brain is not, and never has been, in danger of insanity. I purpose shortly to commit suicide by shooting myself, and I do not wish my body to receive rites in which I never have had a shadow of belief. In plain English, I, not being a Christian, do not desire Christian burial. I have neither hope nor wish for a joyful resurrection. This has been my lifelong creed. I have been at the pains to belie it, and live as the model of virtue, both in public and private, in order to earn the esteem of my respectable British fellow-citizens. I challenge any man living to say I have not succeeded. Honesty is unquestionably the best policy for the man who wishes to thrive: experto crede. I would not wish to die with a lie on my lips; the taste of truth is pleasantly novel.
“Within the last few months the issue of a love-affair, together with certain pecuniary losses which endanger my political position, have contrived to make life uninteresting, and even burdensome. I see no chance of improvement, and have not the patience to undergo present discomfort in the vague hope of a problematical future gain. I take the only logical course. In shooting myself I carry out a purpose conditionally framed as soon as I was old enough to think for myself. Let me again repeat that I am not mad; and let me beg, let me beseech the twelve worthy gentlemen who shall sit upon my body to burden their consciences with no unnecessary perjury, but to cap the inquest with a truthful verdict of felo de se.
“In conclusion, I commend to my biographers the study of my birthplace, parentage, and nationality. I refer them for information to the records of the province of Kiew, South Russia.