“Please, mum, it is true.  I seed it myself,” and he shuddered at the recollection.  “The Captain was a-reading some new book as he was deep in, a-waiting for the down train; and there was a little lass as wanted to come to its mammy, and gave its sister the slip, and came toddling across the line.  And he looked up sudden, at the sound of the train coming, and seed the child, and he darted on the line and cotched it up, and his foot slipped, and the train came over him in no time.  O Lord, Lord!  Mum, it’s quite true, and they’ve come over to tell his daughters.  The child’s safe, though, with only a bang on its shoulder as he threw it to its mammy.  Poor Captain would be glad of that, mum, wouldn’t he?  God bless him!” The great rough carter puckered up his manly face, and turned away to hide his tears.  I turned to Miss Jenkyns.  She looked very ill, as if she were going to faint, and signed to me to open the window.

“Matilda, bring me my bonnet.  I must go to those girls.  God pardon me, if ever I have spoken contemptuously to the Captain!”

Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda to give the man a glass of wine.  While she was away, Miss Matty and I huddled over the fire, talking in a low and awe-struck voice.  I know we cried quietly all the time.

Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask her many questions.  She told us that Miss Jessie had fainted, and that she and Miss Pole had had some difficulty in bringing her round; but that, as soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and sit with her sister.

“Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she shall be spared this shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering with feelings to which she dared not give way.

“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss Jenkyns; “you cannot bear up, she must see your tears.”

“God will help me—­I will not give way—­she was asleep when the news came; she may be asleep yet.  She would be so utterly miserable, not merely at my father’s death, but to think of what would become of me; she is so good to me.”  She looked up earnestly in their faces with her soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyns afterwards she could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, how Miss Brown treated her sister.

However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s wish.  Miss Brown was to be told her father had been summoned to take a short journey on railway business.  They had managed it in some way—­Miss Jenkyns could not exactly say how.  Miss Pole was to stop with Miss Jessie.  Mrs Jamieson had sent to inquire.  And this was all we heard that night; and a sorrowful night it was.  The next day a full account of the fatal accident was in the county paper which Miss Jenkyns took in.  Her eyes were very weak, she said, and she asked me to read it.  When I came to the “gallant gentleman was deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of ‘Pickwick,’ which he had just received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head long and solemnly, and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, infatuated man!”