The Darrow Enigma by Melvin L. Severy (brene brown rising strong txt) 📕

let you come to me were my husband at home, so, I beseech you, come

at once lest he should return before I have had time to intrust to

you my last request. I am dying, Moro, and it is within your power

to say whether my spirit shall rest in peace, or be torn forever and

ever by the fangs of a horrible regret. My secret is as lead upon

my soul and to you only can I tell it. Come - come at once!

“LONA.”

You can imagine the effect of this revelation upon me better than

I can describe it. I did not even know she was seriously ill, and

with her urgent request for an interview came the sad tidings that

she was dying, and the confirmation of my fear - that she had adopted

the religion of her English lover. I lost no time in going to her.

I found her in a state of feverish expectation, fearful lest I should

either not be able to come at all, or her husband would return before

my arrival. She was worn to a shadow of her former self, and I

realised with a pang that she was indeed dying.

“I knew I could depend upon you, Moro,” she said as I entered, “even

though you think I have lost all claim upon your regard. I said to

myself, ‘He will come because of the respect he once had for me,’

and I was right. Yes,” she continued, noticing my astonishment at

the change in her condition, “I am almost gone. I should not have

lasted so long, were it not that I could not die till I had spoken.

Now I shall be free to go, and the horrible struggle will be over.

You have been much among the English, Moro, both here and in England,

and know they believe they will meet again in heaven those they have

loved on earth.”

She sank back exhausted from excitement and effort, as she said this,

and I feared for a moment she would be unable to proceed. I told

her what I knew about the Christian’s hope of heaven, and suggested

to her that, as her husband might return at any moment, she had best

confide to me at once any trust with which she wished to charge me.

For a moment she made no reply, but said at length:

“Yes, you are right. It is not a very long story, and I suppose I

had better begin at the beginning. You remember well my being rescued

by an English gentleman, a Mr. John Darrow. I afterward became well

acquainted, - in fact we were to be married. To this union my parents

strongly objected. They had promised me to Rama Ragobah, and were

horrified at my seeking to outrage the laws of caste by bestowing my

hand not only outside of my station but upon a foreigner and Christian

as well. This had only the effect of causing me to meet the Sahib

secretly. We chose for our meeting-place the great banyan on the top

of Malabar Hill, where I passed the happiest moments I have ever known.

Everything went well until the night on which we had planned to run

away. We were to meet at the usual place and hour, take the night

train for Matheron Station, and there be married.

“My heart bounded with joy as I climbed Malabar Hill on that fatal

evening, but my delight was of short duration. In my fear lest I

should keep my lover waiting I must have arrived fully fifteen

minutes before the appointed time. I was standing with my back

against the banyan tree, awaiting the first sound of his approach,

when my attention was attracted by what seemed to be two little

balls of fire shining from a clump of bushes almost directly in

front of me. They seemed to burn with a lurid and wicked glare, and,

as my gaze became entangled by them, a tremor ran through my frame

and a cold sweat bathed my entire body. Overcome by an unspeakable

dread I made one last frantic effort to withdraw my eyes, but could

not. Then gradually, by slow degrees, my terror was succeeded by an

overwhelming fascination. I felt myself drawn irresistibly toward

the thicket. Then came a vague sense of falling, falling, falling,

and I knew no more, at least for some little time.

“The next thing I remember is seeing my lover stretch out his arms

to me, while I was inspired with an unaccountable hatred of him so

bitter that it left me mute and transfixed. Then he sought to

embrace me, and I threw a young cobra, which, coiled in a wicker

basket, had been placed in my hand, full in his face. I think, also,

that I struck him, and then ran down the hill and straight to the

house of Ragobah. What happened during the next few months I know

not. I seemed to have been in a continual sleep full of dreams.

When I awoke I seemed conscious that I had dreamt, but could not

tell of what. You can imagine my horror, my despair, when I was

first addressed as Ragobah’s wife. I denied the relation, but

everyone told me the same story - I was Ragobah Sahibah. This shock,

coming as it did with the memory of my conduct that terrible night

on Malabar Hill, nearly killed me, and was followed by another long

period of the dream existence. I began to think I was a sufferer

from some terrible brain disease, and to doubt which was my real

existence, the dreams or the waking moments.

“One day when, for the first time in several weeks, I was in

possession of my normal faculties, Ragobah came into my room and

sat down beside me. I arose instantly and fled to the farther

corner of the apartment. He pursued me and sought to conquer my all

too apparent aversion for him by terms of endearment, but the more

he pressed his suit the more my loathing grew until, maddened by

references made to Darrow Sahib, I lost all self-control and

permitted him to learn my detestation of him. He heard me through

in silence, his face growing darker with every word, and when I had

finished said with slow and studied malice:

“‘You forget that you are my wife and that I can follow my entreaty

by command. You spurn my love. You are not yet weaned from that

English cur whose life, let me tell you, is in my hands. Fool, can

you not see how powerless you are? I have but to will you to kill

him and your first cursed failure on Malabar Hill will be washed out

with his infidel blood. You will do well to yield peaceably. The

thread of your very existence passes through my hands, to cut or

tangle it as I list - yield you must!’ With this he strode

frantically from the room, leaving me more dead than alive. As

he disclosed his fiendish secret something about my heart kept

tightening with every word till, at length, it seemed as if it must

burst, so terrible was the pressure. I could not breathe. My lungs

seemed filled with molten lead. How long this agony continued I do

not know, for the thread of consciousness broke under its terrible

tension and I fell senseless upon the floor.

“When I recovered from my swoon the inexpressible horror of my

situation again descended upon my spirit like a snuffer upon a

candle. I was Ragobah’s wife, his slave, his tool, as powerless to

resist his will as if I were one of his limbs. All was now clear.

The long sleep, crowded with unremembered dreams, represented the

period when I was under Ragobah’s control, - the horrible night on

Malabar Hill being one of them, - and the waking moments, those

periods when my feeble, overridden consciousness flickered back to

dimly light for a time the gloom of this intellectual night. There

was no hope for me. Already had I been so dominated by his will and

inspired by his malice as to attempt the life of my lover. What

might I not be made to do in future? As I thought of this, Ragobah’s

last threat rang with a sinister warning upon my ears till it seemed

as if it would drive me into madness. The suspicion grew to be a

certainty from which there was but one means of escape - death - and

I determined at once to embrace it before I could be made the

instrument for the infliction of further injury upon my lover. I

seized a little dagger which in my normal moments I always kept

concealed about me, and was about to plunge it into my bosom when I

was smitten by the thought, - and it cut me as the steel could not

have done, - that Darrow Sahib would never know the truth, and that

his love for me would be forever buried beneath a mass of black

misgivings. The certainty of this conviction paralysed my will, and

my arm dropped nervelessly at my side. It would be a simple matter,

I thought, to find some way of confiding my story to you and pledging

you to explain everything to Darrow Sahib, after which I could die

in peace, if not without regret. But it was not so easy to

communicate with you as I had expected. Days passed before I had a

chance to make the attempt, and the only result of it was to show

me how closely I was watched. If Ragobah were absent, there was

always someone in his employ who made it his business to acquaint

himself with my every movement. I dare not take the time to tell

you how I succeeded in obtaining this interview further than to say

that I was able to win to my cause the man who bore my message to

you - a servant in whom Ragobah has the utmost confidence. When my

husband departed this morning Kandia was left in charge of me, and

so your visit was made possible.

“You are now acquainted with the trust I would impose upon you: swear

to me, Moro, that you will make this explanation for me to John

Darrow and to no other human being! Swear it by the love you once

said you bore me!” She sank back exhausted and awaited my response.

For a moment I dared not trust myself to speak, yet something must

be said. As I noted her impatience I replied: “Lona, you have lifted

a great weight from my heart and placed a lesser one upon it.

Forgive me that I have ever doubted you. Even as you have been true

to yourself, I swear by the love I still bear you to deliver your

message to Darrow Sahib and to no other human being. I shall commit

your words at once to writing that nothing may be lost through the

failure of my memory.”

She reached her hand out feebly to me, and never shall I forget the

look of gratitude which accompanied its tremulous pressure as she

murmured: “After John, Moro, you are dearest. I shall not try to

thank you. May the ineffable peace which you bring my aching heart

return a thousand-fold into your own. Farewell. Ragobah may return

at any moment. Let us not needlessly imperil your safety. Once

more goodbye. The dew-drop now may freely fall into the shining

sea.” Poor distraught child! She had tried to adopt her lover’s

religion without abandoning her own. I bent over and kissed her.

It was my first and last kiss and she gave it with a sweet sadness,

the memory of