“I loved her⁠—and I love the mem’ry of her⁠—too deep⁠—to be able to lead her to believe of my own self as I’m a happy man. I could only be happy⁠—by forgetting of her⁠—and I’m afeerd I couldn’t hardly bear as she should be told I done that. But if you, being so full of learning, Mas’r Davy, could think of anything to say as might bring her to believe I wasn’t greatly hurt: still loving of her, and mourning for her: anything as might bring her to believe as I was not tired of my life, and yet was hoping fur to see her without blame, wheer the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest⁠—anything as would ease her sorrowful mind, and yet not make her think as I could ever marry, or as ’twas possible that anyone could ever be to me what she was⁠—I should ask of you to say that⁠—with my prayers for her⁠—that was so dear.”

I pressed his manly hand again, and told him I would charge myself to do this as well as I could.