“Ay, yes sir! You see he was kind-like
to mother when she wer here below, though ’a
was rough to me.”
“Who are you talking of?”
“O sir—Mr. Henchet! Didn’t
ye know it? He’s just gone—about
half-an-hour ago, by the sun; for I’ve got no
watch to my name.”
“Not—dead?” faltered Elizabeth-Jane.
“Yes, ma’am, he’s gone! He
was kind-like to mother when she wer here below, sending
her the best ship-coal, and hardly any ashes from it
at all; and taties, and such-like that were very needful
to her. I seed en go down street on the night
of your worshipful’s wedding to the lady at
yer side, and I thought he looked low and faltering.
And I followed en over Grey’s Bridge, and he
turned and zeed me, and said, ‘You go back!’
But I followed, and he turned again, and said, ’Do
you hear, sir? Go back!’ But I zeed that
he was low, and I followed on still. Then ’a
said, ’Whittle, what do ye follow me for when
I’ve told ye to go back all these times?’
And I said, ’Because, sir, I see things be bad
with ’ee, and ye wer kind-like to mother if
ye wer rough to me, and I would fain be kind-like
to you.’ Then he walked on, and I followed;
and he never complained at me no more. We walked
on like that all night; and in the blue o’ the
morning, when ‘twas hardly day, I looked ahead
o’ me, and I zeed that he wambled, and could
hardly drag along. By the time we had got past
here, but I had seen that this house was empty as I
went by, and I got him to come back; and I took down
the boards from the windows, and helped him inside.
‘What, Whittle,’ he said, ’and can
ye really be such a poor fond fool as to care for
such a wretch as I!’ Then I went on further,
and some neighbourly woodmen lent me a bed, and a
chair, and a few other traps, and we brought ’em
here, and made him as comfortable as we could.
But he didn’t gain strength, for you see, ma’am,
he couldn’t eat—no appetite at all—and
he got weaker; and to-day he died. One of the
neighbours have gone to get a man to measure him.”
“Dear me—is that so!” said
Farfrae.
As for Elizabeth, she said nothing.
“Upon the head of his bed he pinned a piece
of paper, with some writing upon it,” continued
Abel Whittle. “But not being a man o’
letters, I can’t read writing; so I don’t
know what it is. I can get it and show ye.”
They stood in silence while he ran into the cottage;
returning in a moment with a crumpled scrap of paper.
On it there was pencilled as follows:—
“That Elizabeth-Jane Farfrae be not told of
my death, or made to grieve on account of me. “&
that I be not bury’d in consecrated ground.
“& that no sexton be asked to toll the bell.
“& that nobody is wished to see my dead body.
“& that no murners walk behind me at my funeral.
“& that no flours be planted on my grave, “&
that no man remember me. “To this I put
my name.
