The sight of this man, sobbing and crying like an infant, so affected Jamblin, that he was fairly overcome, and had not the power to move.
He looked at Joe, and then at the vault of heaven.
“He be taken from us, measter,” said the latter, still sobbing; “and he was the best an’ truest friend I ha’ ever known; an’ I would ha’ given my life—ten lives, if I ’ad ’em—only to ha’ saved his. But it’s no yoose a bellowin’ or a crying, it be all over now.”
“All over!” said the farmer. “What is over?”
“He be dead and gone, measter.”
When he heard these last words, Mr. Jamblin made a movement towards the scene of the tragedy.
Joe rose suddenly, and caught him by the skirts of his coat.
“Ye mustn’t go there, measter, indeed you mustn’t. ’Twill break your heart to see the sight I ha’ seen. Bide where ye be.”
“Let me go,” cried the farmer. Do ’e think I am afraid to look the worst in the face?”
“Bide here awhile,” repeated the man.