There was one thing more that I had to ask of you, relating to a poor lost creature who is in the room with us at this moment.  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.  I prefer 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 I may regret it, but to send him to the workhouse of this town, on his way, probably, to the public asylum.