Another murmur, somewhat more
articulate than the first,
passed round the
circle, and this time it was intended to imply
a
blessing on Mr Harding. It had, however, but little
cordiality
in it. Poor old men! how could they be
cordial with their
sore consciences and shamed faces? how could they bid God
bless him with
hearty voices and a true benison,
knowing, as
they did, that their vile cabal had
driven him from his happy
home, and sent him in his old age to seek shelter under a
strange roof-tree? They did their best, however; they drank
their wine, and withdrew.
As they left the hall-door, Mr Harding shook hands with
each of the men, and spoke a kind word to them about their
individual cases and ailments; and so they
departed, answering
his questions in the fewest words, and retreated to their
dens, a
sorrowful repentant crew.
All but Bunce, who still remained to make his own
farewell.
'There's poor old Bell,' said Mr Harding; 'I mustn't go
without
saying a word to him; come through with me, Bunce,
and bring the wine with you'; and so they went through to
the men's cottages, and found the old man propped up as usual
in his bed.
'I've come to say good-bye to you, Bell,' said Mr Harding,
speaking loud, for the old man was deaf.
'And are you going away, then, really?' asked Bell.
'Indeed I am, and I've brought you a glass of wine; so that
we may part friends, as we lived, you know.'
The old man took the proffered glass in his shaking hands,
and drank it
eagerly. 'God bless you, Bell!' said Mr
Harding; 'good-bye, my old friend.'
'And so you're really going?' the man again asked.
'Indeed I am, Bell.'
The poor old bed-ridden creature still kept Mr Harding's
hand in his own, and the
warden thought that he had met
with something like
warmth of feeling in the one of all his
subjects from whom it was the least likely to be expected; for
poor old Bell had nearly outlived all human feelings. 'And
your
reverence,' said he, and then he paused, while his old
palsied head shook
horribly, and his shrivelled cheeks sank
lower within his jaws, and his glazy eye gleamed with a
momentary light; 'and your
reverence, shall we get the
hundred a year, then?'
How
gently did Mr Harding try to
extinguish the false hope
of money which had been so wretchedly raised to
disturb the
quiet of the dying man! One other week and his
mortal coil
would be shuffled off; in one short week would God resume
his soul, and set it apart for its irrevocable doom; seven more
tedious days and nights of
senseless inactivity, and all would
be over for poor Bell in this world; and yet, with his last
audible words, he was demanding his moneyed rights, and
asserting himself to be the proper heir of John Hiram's bounty!
Not on him, poor
sinner as he was, be the load of such sin!
Mr Harding returned to his parlour, meditating with a sick
heart on what he had seen, and Bunce with him. We will not
describe the
parting of these two good men, for good men they
were. It was in vain that the late
warden endeavoured to
comfort the heart of the old bedesman; poor old Bunce felt
that his days of comfort were gone. The hospital had to him
been a happy home, but it could be so no longer. He had
had honour there, and friendship; he had recognised his
master, and been recognised; all his wants, both of soul and
body, had been supplied, and he had been a happy man. He
wept grievously as he parted from his friend, and the tears of
an old man are bitter. 'It is all over for me in this world,'
said he, as he gave the last
squeeze to Mr Harding's hand;
'I have now to
forgive those who have injured me--and to die.'
And so the old man went out, and then Mr Harding gave
way to his grief and he too wept aloud.
CHAPTER XXI
Conclusion
Our tale is now done, and it only remains to us to collect
the scattered threads of our little story, and to tie them
into a seemly knot. This will not be a work of labour, either
to the author or to his readers; we have not to deal with many
personages, or with
stirring events, and were it not for the custom
of the thing, we might leave it to the
imagination of all concerned
to
conceive how affairs at Barchester arranged themselves.
On the morning after the day last alluded to, Mr Harding,