his manly hand again, and told him I would charge myself to do this as well as I could.
“I thankee, sir,” he answered. “ ’Twas kind of you to meet me. ’Twas kind of you to bear him company down. Mas’r Davy, I unnerstan’ very well, though my aunt will come to Lon’on afore they sail, and they’ll unite once more, that I am not like to see him agen. I fare to feel sure on’t. We doen’t say so, but so ’twill be, and better so. The last you see on him—the very last—will you give him the lovingest duty and thanks of the orphan, as he was ever more than a father to?”
This I also promised, faithfully.
“I thankee agen, sir,” he said, heartily shaking hands. “I know wheer you’re a-going. Goodbye!”
With a slight wave of his hand, as though to explain to me that he could not enter the old place, he turned away. As I looked after his figure, crossing the waste in the moonlight, I saw him turn his face towards a strip of silvery light upon the sea, and pass on, looking at it, until he was a shadow in the distance.