“I mean to sit up with him to-night,” said Luke, quietly; “but ought he to sleep so long as this at once?”
“Old people often do, sir, and it does ’em good. If you lean over him, sir, you can hear how softly he is a breath—Oh, Mr Luke, sir!”
“Quick! the doctor,” cried Luke, excitedly. “No; I’ll go,” and he rushed to the door.
There was no need, for old Michael Ross was fast asleep—sleeping as peacefully and well as those sleep who calmly drop into the gentle rest prepared for the weary when the fulness of time has come.
Part 3, Chapter XIII.
Sounds in the Fog.
A week had passed since old Michael Ross had been conveyed to his final resting-place, followed by all the tradesmen of the place, and a goodly gathering beside, for in the Woldshire towns a neighbour is looked upon as a neighbour indeed. While he lives he may be severely criticised, perhaps hardly dealt with; but come sickness or sorrow, willing hands are always ready with assistance; and when the saddest trial of all has passed, there is always a display of general sympathy for the bereft.
On this occasion pretty well every shop was closed and blind drawn down.