He then went into his study adjoining and locked the door behind
him. Bhani heard him walking up and down for awhile, and then caught
the sound of a creaking as of a drawer being opened. She knew what
that meant and heaved a deep sigh. He was taking out the great
leather book with metal-bound corners; his diary, which had become
his sole confidant now that Wilhelm was dead. Guided by the delicate
tact of the Oriental, the poor simple creature divined easily enough
that her sahib had cares which she could not understand and sorrows
which she might not share, and yet how happy she would be if he
would but deign to enlighten her ignorance, to explain it all to her
and disclose his heart to her fully. But, proud and reserved, he
scorned to acknowledge his troubles to any but himself, and it was
only in his diary that he unburdened himself of all that weighed
upon his heart and mind.
And now he sat at his study table and wrote in the big book.
"My poor Eynhardt! Only a year since he departed, and already it is
as if he had never been. What remains of him? A book that bears a
stranger's name upon the title-page; a little dog that is perhaps
happier now than when it belonged to him; a child like a dozen
others, who will presumably grow up to be a man like a dozen other
men; and a memory in my heart which will cease with the day, not far
hence, when this heart shall cease to beat.
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