But, oh, I am so weary! Mr.Fennick will tell you what it is.Say to yourself sometimes--perhaps when you have married some lady who is worthy of you--There was good as well as bad in poor Emma.
Farewell.
_Number Two--From The Rev.Charles Fennick to Bernard Winterfield._The Rectory, Belhaven.
Sir--It is my sad duty to inform you that Mrs.Emma Winterfield died this morning, a little before five o'clock.I will add no comment of mine to the touching language in which she has addressed you.God has, I most sincerely believe, accepted the poor sinner's repentance.Her contrite spirit is at peace, among the forgiven ones in the world beyond the grave.
In consideration of her wish that you should see her in death, the coffin will be kept open until the last moment.The medical man in attendance has kindly given me a copy of his certificate, which I inclose.You will see that the remains are identified by the description of a small silver plate on the right parietal bone of the skull.
I need hardly add that all the information I can give you is willingly at your service.
She mentions, poor soul, something which she had to ask of you.Iprefer the request which, in her exhausted state, she was unable to address to you in her own words.
While the performances of the circus were taking place in the next county to ours, a wandering lad, evidently of deficient intelligence, was discovered, trying to creep under the tent to see what was going on.He could give no intelligible account of himself.The late Mrs.Winterfield (who was born and brought up, as I understand, in France) discovered that the boy was French, and felt interested in the unfortunate creature, from former happy association with kind friends of his nation.She took care of him from that time to the day of her death--and he appeared to be gratefully attached to her.
I say "appeared," because an inveterate reserve marks one of the peculiarities of the mental affliction from which he suffers.
Even his benefactress never could persuade him to take her into his confidence.In other respects, her influence (so far as I can learn) had been successfully exerted in restraining certain mischievous propensities in him, which occasionally showed themselves.The effect of her death has been to intensify that reserve to which I have already alluded.He is sullen and irritable--and the good landlady at the lodgings does not disguise that she shrinks from taking care of him, even for a few days.Until I hear from you, he will remain under the charge of my housekeeper at the rectory.
You have, no doubt, anticipated the request which the poor sufferer wished to address to you but a few hours before her death.She hoped that you might be willing to place this friendless and helpless creature under competent protection.
Failing your assistance, I shall have no alternative, however Imay regret it, but to send him to the workhouse of this town, on his way, probably, to the public asylum.
Believe me, sir, your faithful servant,CHARLES FENNICK.
P.S.--I fear my letter and its inclosures may be delayed in reaching you.
Yesterday evening, I had returned to my house, before it occurred to me that Mrs.Winterfield had not mentioned your address.My only excuse for this forgetfulness is, that I was very much distressed while I was writing by her bedside.I at once went back to the lodgings, but she had fallen asleep, and I dared not disturb her.This morning, when I returned to the house, she was dead.There is an allusion to Devonshire in her letter, which suggests that your residence may be in that county; and I think she once spoke of you as a person of rank and fortune.Having failed to find your name in a London Directory, I am now about to search our free library here for a county history of Devon, on the chance that it may assist me.Let me add, for your own satisfaction, that no eyes but mine will see these papers.For security's sake, I shall seal them at once, and write your name on the envelope.
_Added by Father Benwell._
How the boy contrived to possess himself of the sealed packet we shall probably never discover.Anyhow, we know that he must have escaped from the rectory, with the papers in his possession, and that he did certainly get back to his mother and sister in London.
With such complete information as I now have at my disposal, the prospect is as clear again as we can desire.The separation of Romayne from his wife, and the alteration of his will in favor of the Church, seem to be now merely questions of time.