‘The mad woman, sir?’ said Mr Tapley. ‘Oh! she’s all right, sir.’
‘Did she find her husband?’
‘Yes, sir. Leastways she’s found his remains,’ said Mark, correcting himself.
‘The man’s not dead, I hope?’
‘Not altogether dead, sir,’ returned Mark; ‘but he’s had more fevers and agues than is quite reconcilable with being alive. When she didn’t see him a-waiting for her, I thought she’d have died herself, I did!’
‘Was he not here, then?’
‘He wasn’t here. There was a feeble old shadow come a-creeping down at last, as much like his substance when she know’d him, as your shadow when it’s drawn out to its very finest and longest by the sun, is like you. But it was his remains, there’s no doubt about that. She took on with joy, poor thing, as much as if it had been all of him!’
‘Had he bought land?’ asked Mr Bevan.
‘Ah! He’d bought land,’ said Mark, shaking his head, ‘and paid for it too. Every sort of nateral advantage was connected with it, the agents said; and there certainly was one, quite unlimited. No end to the water!’
‘It’s a thing he couldn’t have done without, I suppose,’ observed Martin, peevishly.