my first entry in this Journal, I am barely able to use the pen
to add to my account. As far as I remember--for my head wanders
sadly at times--it happened thus: On the 23rd of May last, after
spending the greater part of the day in writing my Journal, and also
my first letter to my dear wife, I walked down in the cool of the
evening to the city, intending to post the latter; which I did, and
was returning to Mr. Sanderson's house, when I stopped to watch the
sun setting in this glorious Bay of Bengal. I was leaning over a low
wall, looking out on the open sea with its palm-fringed shores, when
suddenly the sun shot out a jagged flame; the sky heaved and turned
to blood--and I knew no more. I had been murderously struck from
behind. That I was found, lying to all appearance dead, with a
hideous zig-zag wound upon the scalp; that my pockets had been to all
appearance rifled (whether by the assassin or the natives that found
me is uncertain); that I was finally claimed and carried home by Mr.
Sanderson, who, growing uneasy at my absence, had set out to look for
me; that for more than a month, and then again for almost two months,
my life hung in the balance; and that I owe my recovery to Mr.
Sanderson's unceasing kindness--all this I have learnt but lately.
I can write no more at present.

"Oct. 3rd.--I am slightly better. My mental powers are slowly coming
back after the fever that followed the wound. I pass my days mostly
in speculating on the reason of this murderous attack, but am still
unable to account for it. It cannot have been for plunder, for I do
not look like a rich man. Mr. Sanderson has his theory, but I cannot
agree with him, for nobody but ourselves knew of my father's
manuscript. At any rate, it is fortunate that I left it in my chest,
together with this Journal, before I went down to Bombay. Margery
must have had my letter by this time; Mr. Sanderson very wisely
decided to wait the result of my illness before troubling her. As it
is she need know nothing about it until we meet.

"Oct. 14th.--Mr. Sanderson is everything that is good; indeed, had I
been a brother he could not have shown me more solicitude. But he is
obstinate in connecting my attack with the Great Ruby of Ceylon; it
is certainly a curious coincidence that this dark chapter of my life
should immediately follow my father's warning, but that is all one
can say. I shall give up trying to convince him.

"Oct. 31st.--I am now co