th
day and night, this love is degraded, and woman's nature finds not the
joy of its perfection.

I spent some months here. Then it was time for my brother to return
home, and my father wrote to me to accompany him. I was delighted at the
prospect. The light of my country, the sky of my country, had been
silently calling me. When I said good bye Mrs. Scott took me by the hand
and wept. "Why did you come to us," she said, "if you must go so soon?"
That household no longer exists in London. Some of the members of the
Doctor's family have departed to the other world, others are scattered
in places unknown to me. But it will always live in my memory.

One winter's day, as I was passing through a street in Tunbridge Wells,
I saw a man standing on the road side. His bare toes were showing
through his gaping boots, his breast was partly uncovered. He said
nothing to me, perhaps because begging was forbidden, but he looked up
at my face just for a moment. The coin I gave him was perhaps more
valuable than he expected, for, after I had gone on a bit, he came after
me and said: "Sir, you have given me a gold piece by mistake," with
which he offered to return it to me. I might not have particularly
remembered this, but for a similar thing which happened on another
occasion. When I first reached the Torquay railway station a porter took
my luggage to the cab outside. After searching my purse for small change
in vain, I gave him half-a-crown as the cab started. After a while he
came running after us, shouting to the cabman to stop. I thought to
myself that finding me to be such an innocent he had hit upon some
excuse for demanding more. As the cab stopped he said: "You must have
mistaken a half-crown piece for a penny, Sir!"

I cannot say that I have never been cheated while in England, but not in
any way which it would be fair to hold in remembrance. What grew chiefly
upon me, rather, was the conviction that only those who are trustworthy
know how to trust. I was an unknown foreigner, and could have easily
evaded payment with impunity, yet no London shopkeeper ever mistrusted
me.

During the whole period of my stay in England I was mixed up in a
farcical comedy which I had to play out from start to finish. I happened
to get acquainted with the widow of some departed high Anglo-Indian
official. She was good enough to call me by the pet-name Ruby. Some
Indian friend of hers had composed a doleful poem in English in memory
of her