One can mourn for the dead as David
mourned for Absalom, and trust that their sins may be forgiven them;
but, uncertain as I am of his death, I cannot so mourn, since it may
be that he still lives."
"Then, sir, I am in a position to set your mind at rest. I have known
for a long time that he died of the Plague, but I have kept it from
you, thinking that it was best you should still think that he might
be living. He fell dead beside me on the very day that I sickened of
the Plague, and, indeed, it was from him that I took it."
Mr. Harvey remained silent for a minute or two.
"'Tis better so," he said solemnly. "The sins of youth may be
forgiven, but, had he lived, his whole course might have been wicked.
How know you that it was he who gave you the Plague?"
"I met him in the street. He was tottering in his walk, and, as he
came up, he stumbled, and grasped me to save himself. I held him for
a moment, and then he slipped from my arms and fell on the pavement,
and died."
Mr. Harvey looked keenly at Cyril, and was about to ask a question,
but checked himself.
"He is dead," he said. "God rest his soul, and forgive him his sins!
Henceforth I shall strive to forget that he ever lived to manhood,
and seek to remember him as he was when a child."
Then he held out his hand to Cyril, to signify that he would fain be
alone.
On arriving in London, Cyril took up his abode at his former
lodgings, and the next day at twelve o'clock, the hour appointed in a
letter he found awaiting him on his arrival, he arrived in Tower
Street, having ridden through the City.
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