“No, no, Moredock,” he said, recovering himself.
“But you’ll come and see me to-morrow, doctor, won’t you?”
North nodded, and walked away to Salis, who was waiting for him at the vestry door, and they entered one of the carriages to return to the Hall, while, after watching them go, the old man seated himself upon the mausoleum steps, where he could watch while his new grandson and deputy finished his duty, and the great door was closed.
“Too terrible to attempt,” muttered North to himself. “A narrow escape from a living death, but I still think that I was right.”
“Ay, Joe; ay, Dally; doctor’s a clever man, and I could tell you some strange tales about he; but no, no; no, no! Lock that gate quickly, and help me home. I’m a little stiff about the back. Lock him up, lad! lock him up! Now, Dally, let’s get back. Another Candlish there; eh! my lady, eh!”
“Gran’fa!” cried Dally furiously; and the old man broke out into a chuckling laugh, which nearly killed him, and he had to sit down on a tomb and be patted on the back, and his collar loosened, and then helped slowly home, looking very limp and strange, though with the doctor’s help he managed to survive another year.
The night of the funeral, when the doctor and his young wife returned from the Hall, where the handsome young widow sat alone with her weak, sickly child, North had a return of his imaginative malady; but Mary’s hand was talismanic still, and the shadow passed away, never to return.
The End
