“Be still, or I shall kill thee, Nell!” he hissed.
And I was still for fear.
“They’re after me—I’ve knifed a man!” he said,
“Be still!—the drink—drink did it!—he is dead!”
Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn’t weep;
All I could do was cling to Ned and hark,
And Ned was cold, cold, cold, as if asleep,
But breathing hard and deep.
The candle flickered out—the room grew dark
And—Nan!—although my heart was true and tried—