Grief, and years, and humiliation, and care, and cruelty had been too
strong for him, and Thomas Newcome was stricken down.
Bayham's story told, I entered the room, over which the twilight was
falling, and saw the figures of Clive and Ethel seated at each end of the
bed. The poor old man within it was calling incoherent sentences. I had
to call Clive from the present grief before him, with intelligence of
further sickness awaiting him at home. Our poor patient did not heed what
I said to his son. "You must go home to Rosa," Ethel said. "She will be
sure to ask for her husband, and forgiveness is best, dear Clive. I will
stay with uncle. I will never leave him. Please God, he will be better in
the morning when you come back." So Clive's duty called him to his own
sad home; and, the bearer of dismal tidings, I returned to mine. The
fires were lit there and the table spread; and kind hearts were waiting
to welcome the friend who never more was to enter my door.
It may be imagined that the intelligence which I brought alarmed and
afflicted my wife and Madame de Florac, our guest.
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