grubbing into
the deplorable details of an occurrence which, after all, concerned me
no more than as a member of an obscure body of men held together by a
community of inglorious toil and by fidelity to a certain standard of
conduct, I can't explain. You may call it an unhealthy curiosity if you
like; but I have a distinct notion I wished to find something. Perhaps,
unconsciously, I hoped I would find that something, some profound and
redeeming cause, some merciful explanation, some convincing shadow of an
excuse. I see well enough now that I hoped for the impossible--for the
laying of what is the most obstinate ghost of man's creation, of the
uneasy doubt uprising like a mist, secret and gnawing like a worm, and
more chilling than the certitude of death--the doubt of the sovereign
power enthroned in a fixed standard of conduct. It is the hardest thing
to stumble against; it is the thing that breeds yelling panics and good
little quiet villainies; it's the true shadow of calamity. Did I believe
in a miracle? and why did I desire it so ardently? Was it for my own
sake that I wished to find some shadow of an excuse for that young
fellow whom I had never seen before, but whose appearance alone added a
touch of personal concern to the thoughts suggested by the knowledge of
his weakness--made it a thing of mystery and terror--like a hint of a
destructive fate ready for us all whose youth--in its day--had resembled
his youth? I fear that such was the secret motive of my prying. I was,
and no mistake, looking for a miracle. The only thing that at
this distance of time strikes me as miraculous is the extent of my
imbecility. I positively hoped to obtain from that battered and shady
invalid some exorcism against the ghost of doubt. I must have been
pretty desperate too, for, without loss of time, after a few indifferent
and friendly sentences which he answered with languid readiness, just as
any decent sick man would do, I produced the word Patna wrapped up in a
delicate question as in a wisp of floss silk. I was delicate selfishly;
I did not want to startle him; I had no solicitude for him; I was not
furious with him and sorry for him: his experience was of no importance,
his redemption would have had no point for me. He had grown old in minor
iniquities, and could no longer inspire aversion or pity. He repeated
Patna? interrogatively, seemed to make a short effort of memory, and
said: "Quite right. I am an old stager out here.