William Smith came to the tent, but when Margaret saw him she shivered, and held her hands before her eyes to shut him from her sight. The man needed no other sign; straight from the tent he walked and sat outside, talking to Mr. Hart. He was not angry with her; his heart was very tender to her and Philip.
"It is natural that she should not wish to see me," he said to Mr. Hart; "it was in the house that once was mine that Philip met his death. If I had not wanted Philip's claim, they might have lived together happily."
After this touch of sentiment he became practical. "Have you any money?"
"A few shillings."
William Smith put a hundred pounds into Mr. Hart's hands.
"Let him want nothing," he said.
"He will want nothing presently," sighed Mr. Hart, beneath his breath.
You who know what beautiful tenderness lies in human nature can imagine in what ways it was shown to Margaret and Philip. Women came with sweet offerings during all the day. Had fifty men been dying instead of one, there would have been supplies for them all. Milk, honey, flowers, jellies, broths, were sent from all quarters; they were laid aside, for there was no use for them, but they were good tokens to give and to receive.
In the night, about eleven o'clock, Mr. Hart observed Margaret's head move closer to Philip's lips; he knelt on the ground on the other side of Philip's bed, and heard the dying man whisper:
"Margaret, my beloved--my darling--Margaret, my heart! Margaret, I love you--love you--love you!"