to the consciousness of the fact as it was. All
my life was filled by Inez Cameron--all my life seemed to centre
around her--all my future seemed as black as midnight apart from her.
Never before had I felt even a passing interest in any woman. Bound
as I had been all my life, in boyhood by honor, and in early manhood
by legal ties, I had never allowed myself to think of any other
woman; and I had always been on my guard so as not to drift into any
of those flirtations with which men in general, and especially we
officers, contrive to fritter away the freshness of affection.
Inexperience, combined with the influence of circumstances, caused me
to drift into this position; and the situation became one from which
it was hard indeed to extricate myself. I had, however, been on my
guard after a fashion. I had from the first scrupulously avoided
those _galanteries_ and _facons de parler_ which are more usual in
Indian society than elsewhere. Besides, I had long before made
Cameron acquainted with my marriage, and had taken it for granted
that Inez knew it also. I thought, even after I had found out that I
loved her, that there was no danger for her--and that she had always
merely regarded me as a married man and a friend. But one day an
accident revealed to me that she knew nothing about my marriage, and
had taken my attentions too favorably for her own peace of mind. Ah,
dear father, such a discovery was bitter indeed in many ways. I had
to crush out my love for my sake and for hers. One way only was
possible, and that was to leave her forever. I at once saw Cameron,
and told him frankly the state of the case, so far as I was
concerned. Like a good fellow, as he was, he blamed himself
altogether. 'You see, Molyneux,' he said, 'a fellow is very apt to
overlook the possible attractiveness of his own sister.' He made no
effort to prevent me from going, but evidently thought it my only
course. I accordingly applied at once for leave, and to-night I am
about to start for Calcutta, where I will wait till I gain a formal
permit, and I will never see Inez again. I have seen her for the last
time. Oh, father! those words of warning which you once spoke to me
have become fatally true. Chetwynde has been too dearly bought. At
this moment the weight of my chains is too heavy to be borne. If I
could feel myself free once more, how gladly would I give up all my
ancestral estates! What is Chetwynde to me? What happiness can I ever
have in