Mr. Eden, who had already saluted Mr. Hawes with grave politeness, though without any affectation of good-will, came slowly up, and sinking his voice to a whisper in presence of death said in pitiful accents, “Poor child! he was always sickly. Six weeks ago I feared we should lose him, but he seemed to get better.” He was now kneeling beside him. “Was he long ill, sir?” asked he of Hawes. “Probably he was, for he is much wasted. I can feel all his bones.” Hardened as they were, Hawes and Fry looked at one another in some confusion. Presently Mr. Eden started back. “Why, what is this? he is wet. He is wet from head to foot. What is the cause of this? Can you tell me, Mr. Hawes?”
Mr. Hawes did not answer, but Evans did.
“I am afraid it is the bucket, your reverence. They soused him in the yard late last night.”
“Did they?” said Mr. Eden, looking the men full in the face. “Then they have the more to repent of this morning. But stay. Why then he was not under the doctor's hands, Evans?”
“La! bless you, no. He was harder worked and worse fed than any man in the jail.”
“At work last night! Then at what hour did he die? He is stiff and cold. This is a very sudden death. Did any one see this boy die?”
The men gave no answer, but the last words—“Did any one see this boy die?”—seemed to give Evans a new light.
“No!” he cried. “No one saw him die. Look here, sir. See what is dangling from the window—his handkerchief.”
“And this mark round his throat, Evans. He has destroyed himself.” And Mr. Eden recoiled from the corpse.
“Oh! you may forgive him, sir,” said Evans. “We should all have done the same. No human creature could live the life they led him. Who could live upon bread and water and punishment? It is a sorrowful sight, but it is a happy release for him. Eh! poor lad,” said Evans, laying his hand upon the body; “I liked thee well, but I am glad thou art gone. Thou hast escaped away from worse trouble.”