"It all seems like a dream now," she says, "but it's a dream I can never forget."
And Sir John presses her hand, for perhaps he guesses what she has not told him.
His daughter wrote on his tomb nothing except his name; but a wandering Englishman, who heard his story, and recollected the grave of another who died with his work undone, has rudely scratched at the base, near the ground, where the grass half hides it, an epitaph for him—Plura moliebatur.
And he told Big Todd, whom he chanced to find smoking his evening pipe hard by, that it meant "He had more work in hand."
"Ay, trust old Jimmy!" said Big Todd, with a curious wave of his great hand towards the grave. Had such a thing been at all in his way, one might have thought it was a benediction.
THE END.
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.