"Thou hadst no Past, but thou hast a Future. Thou didst say: 'Bury me in Westminster, never! where the mob surges, cursed with idle curiosity to see the graves of kings and nobodies? No! Take me back to rugged Scotland and lay my tired form to rest by the side of an honest man—my father.'
"Thou didst refuse the Knighthood offered thee by royalty, saying, 'I am not the founder of the house of Carlyle and I have no sons to be pauperized by a title,' True, thou didst leave no sons after the flesh to mourn thy loss, nor fair daughters to bedeck thy grave with garlands, but thou didst reproduce thyself in thought, and on the minds of men thou didst leave thy impress. And thy ten thousand sons will keep thy memory green so long as men shall work, and toil, and strive, and hope."
The wind still howled. I looked out and saw watery clouds scudding athwart the face of the murky sky. The shutters banged, and shut me in the dark. I made haste to find the door, reached the stairway—slid down the banisters to where Mrs. Brown was waiting for me at the threshold.
We locked the door. She went across to her little bakeshop and I stopped a passing policeman to ask the way to Westminster. He told me.
"Did you visit Carlyle's 'ouse?" he asked.
"Yes."
"With old Mrs. Brown?"
"Yes, she waited for me in the doorway—she had the rheumatism so she could not climb the stairs."
"Rheumatism? Huh!—you couldn't 'ire 'er to go inside. Why, don't you know? They say the 'ouse is 'aunted!"