Dale of course apologized, but went on pleading.  It was all no use.  Obviously Mr. Bates’ pride had been wounded to the quick.  He was white, shaky, so old, so feeble, and yet firm as a rock.  Never till now had he spoken to Dale in such tones of stiff reproof.

“William, we’ll say no more.  I have paid my way all my days, and at my present age it’s a bit too late to start differently.”

His last words were:  “I shall write next post to confirm the notice.”

And he did so.

Then the tale ran round that Mr. Bates was going to the workhouse.  People declared that he had ceded all his furniture to the landlord, who could now sell it quietly and advantageously, in a manner which would yield more than enough to wipe out the debt.  Perhaps there might even be a trifling balance in the debtor’s favor eventually; but meanwhile the homeless and stickless old gentleman would fall as another burden on the rates to which he had so long subscribed.

It was curious, perhaps, but the humble folk spoke of him as the old gentleman, and not as the old man, all at once giving him the title which they only now began to think he had fairly earned as a master and employer, an important personage who used to drive about in gigs, wear a black coat at church, and always have a kind word for you when you touched your cap to him.

“’Tis all a pity but so ‘tis, and can’t be gainsaid.  Th’ old gentleman hev come down so low, that ’tis the Union and nought else.”

“Is that for sure?”

“Oh, yes, for certain sure.  He is a-goin’ into workhouse to-morrow maarning.”

But he did not go there.

In the morning some one came running into Dale’s yard, and shouted what had happened since dark last night.

“Th’ old gentleman hev a done fer hisself.”

He had been found hanging from the biggest of the apple trees behind his cottage.  He had set a ladder against the tree, gone up it, fixed the rope firmly, put the noose round his neck, and stepped off into the air.  That was the way they did for themselves in this part of Hampshire.

XXVI

The suicide of Mr. Bates had a great effect on Dale.  The sadness and regret that he felt at the time continued to tinge his thoughts for a long while afterward.  He could not shake off the horror of that midnight scene, as he imagined it—­the God-fearing man breaking the divine laws, the man full of years who was so near the grave and yet could not wait till it received him naturally, the poor feeble old creature taxing all his remnant of strength to knock out the small spark of life that already had begun to gleam so dimly.  How long did he take to drag and raise the ladder, pausing to recover breath, holding his side and coughing, then again toiling?

Another thing that depressed Dale’s spirits was the departure of Mr. Osborn, who had gone to the Midlands to take up the ministry of a large church in a large town.  And never had Dale more felt the want of priestly support than at this period.  The new pastor was a young man who preached eloquently, but Dale would not be able to talk to him as he had talked to Osborn.