doubt, as evil had been done to him; yet how many
have done evil, while receiving only good! Be that as it may; and not
vexing a question (settled for ever without our votes), let us own that
he was, at least, a brave and courteous gentleman.

And his loss aroused great lamentation, not among the Doones alone, and
the women they had carried off, but also of the general public, and many
even of the magistrates, for several miles round Exmoor. And this,
not only from fear lest one more wicked might succeed him (as appeared
indeed too probable), but from true admiration of his strong will, and
sympathy with his misfortunes.

I will not deceive any one, by saying that Sir Ensor Doone gave (in so
many words) his consent to my resolve about Lorna. This he never did,
except by his speech last written down; from which as he mentioned
grandchildren, a lawyer perhaps might have argued it. Not but what he
may have meant to bestow on us his blessing; only that he died next day,
without taking the trouble to do it.

He called indeed for his box of snuff, which was a very high thing to
take; and which he never took without being in very good humour, at
least for him. And though it would not go up his nostrils, through the
failure of his breath, he was pleased to have it there, and not to think
of dying.

'Will your honour have it wiped?' I asked him very softly, for the
brown appearance of it spoiled (to my idea) his white mostacchio; but
he seemed to shake his head; and I thought it kept his spirits up. I had
never before seen any one do, what all of us have to do some day; and it
greatly kept my spirits down, although it did not so very much frighten
me.

For it takes a man but a little while, his instinct being of death
perhaps, at least as much as of life (which accounts for his slaying his
fellow men so, and every other creature), it does not take a man very
long to enter into another man's death, and bring his own mood to suit
it. He knows that his own is sure to come; and nature is fond of the
practice. Hence it came to pass that I, after easing my mother's fears,
and seeing a little to business, returned (as if drawn by a polar
needle) to the death-bed of Sir Ensor.

There was some little confusion, people wanting to get away, and people
trying to come in, from downright curiosity (of all things the most
hateful), and others making great to-do, and talking of their own time
to come, telling their own age, and so on. B