The poor old woman,
his mother, was mad with sorrow, and cast, through her tears,
reproachful, angry looks at Mr. Y - -, who, in his new capacity of
a heartless murderer, looked disgustingly composed.
But the affair was growing serious. The comical side of it
disappeared before the sincerity and the intensity of her
lamentations. Her descendants, grouped around her, were too
polite to reproach us openly, but the expression of their faces
was far from reassuring. The family priest and astrologer
stood by the old lady, Shastras in hand, ready to begin the
ceremony of purification. He solemnly covered the corpse with a
piece of new linen. and so hid from our eyes the sad remains on
which ants were literally swarming.
Mr. Y - - did his best to look unconcerned, but still, when the
tactless Miss X - - came to him, expressing her loud indignation
at all these superstitions of an inferior race, he at least seemed
to remember that our host knew English perfectly, and he did not
encourage her farther expressions of sympathy. He made no answer,
but smiled contemptuously. Our host approached the colonel with
respectful salaams and invited us to follow him.
"No doubt he is going to ask us to leave his house immediately!"
was my uncomfortable impression.
But my apprehension was not justified. At this epoch of my Indian
pilgrimage I was far, as yet, from having fathomed the metaphysical
depth of a Hindu heart.
