What with
you--and Nance--and the little 'uns, I ain't scarcely give a thought
to poor mother. But you'll let her know, won't you, miss?...
"Think 'ow good you was to your old father down in Wales, 'im as you
called your father--an' 'oo's to say 'e wasn't? You never know....
Miss Warren! what a pity it is you never married. There's lots was
sweet on you, I'll bet. Yet I remember I used to 'ate the idea of
your doin' so, and was glad you dressed up as a man, an' took 'em
all in.... I may tell you all, miss, now I'm goin' to die, day after
to-morrow. My poor Nance! She see there was some one that always
occupied my mind, and she used to get jealous-like, at times. But
never did I let on it was you. Why I wouldn't even 'av said it to
myself--I respected you more than--than--"
And Bertie, at a loss for a parallel, ceased speaking for a time,
and gulped down the sobs that were mastering him.
Then, after this pause--"I haven't a word to say against Nance. No
one could 'a bin a better wife. I know, miss, if you get away from
here you'll look after her and my kids? I ain't bin much of a father
to 'em lately. P'raps this is a punishment for neglecting my home
duties--As they used to say to you when you was Suffragin'." He gave
a bitter laugh--"Two such _nice_ kids.... I ain't seen 'em since
last February twelve-month ... more'n a year ago .
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