“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:—­

MICHAEL HENCHARD’S WILL

“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.