The old man peered at the grim features of his visitor with his half-blind eyes. “You appear to be simple and gentle,” he said softly. “Perhaps you will follow.”
The old man led his visitor into the shop, into the little room, which was now deserted, and thence up the stairs, into the small chamber lighted with dim candles, in which the poet lay.
As soon as the visitor beheld that which was therein contained, he sank to his knees by its side. He remained in that attitude a long while.
When he arose the aged man was gazing upon him with his half-blind eyes. They confronted one another like a pair of children.
Suddenly the visitor leaned across the bed in an act of further homage to the lifeless clay.
“Why do you do that?” said the white-haired man at his side.
“Why do I do this?” said the other, and his powerful spreading northern speech appeared to strike the walls of the tiny chamber. “Why do I do this? I am afraid, sir, it must be left to my great great grandchildren to answer your question.”
THE END
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.