For five days and five nights I have watched, and his bloodshot
eye has not closed, no, not for a moment, from its horrible task of gazing
on the dead face of the father that cursed him. He sleeps now, if sleep it
can be called, that is rather the torpor of exhaustion; but his rest is
taken on that father's death-bed. Oh! young man, feel for me! Do your task
in such a manner, that my wretched boy may not awake till it is over, and
the blessing of the widow be on you for ever!' To this strange prayer I
could only offer a solemn assurance that I would do my utmost to obey her;
and with slow creeping steps we ascended the narrow stairs which led to
the chamber of death. It was a dark, wretched-looking, ill-furnished room,
and a drizzling November rain pattered unceasingly at the latticed window,
which was shaken from time to time by the fitful gusts of a moaning wind.
A damp chillness pervaded the atmosphere, and rotted the falling paper
from the walls; and, as I looked towards the hearth, (for there was no
grate,) I felt painfully convinced that the old man had died without the
common comforts his situation imperiously demanded. The white-washed sides
of the narrow fire-place were encrusted with a green damp, and the
chimney-vent was stuffed with straw and fragments of old carpet, to
prevent the cold wind from whistling through the aperture. The common
expression, 'He has seen better days,' never so forcibly occurred to me as
at that moment.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48