'A very plain box for the poor soul--just the rough elm, you see.' The
corner of the cloth had blown aside.

'Yes, for a very poor man. Well, death's all the less insult to him. I
have often thought how much smaller the richer class are made to look
than the poor at last pinches like this. Perhaps the greatest of all
the reconcilers of a thoughtful man to poverty--and I speak from
experience--is the grand quiet it fills him with when the uncertainty of
his life shows itself more than usual.'

As Springrove finished speaking, the bearers of the coffin went across
a gravelled square facing the two men and approached a grim and heavy
archway. They paused beneath it, rang a bell, and waited.

Over the archway was written in Egyptian capitals,

'COUNTY GAOL.'

The small rectangular wicket, which was constructed in one of the
two iron-studded doors, was opened from the inside. The men severally
stepped over the threshold, the coffin dragged its melancholy length
through the aperture, and both entered the court, and were covered from
sight.

'Somebody in the gaol, then?'

'Yes, one of the prisoners,' said a boy, scudding by at the moment, who
passed on whistling.

'Do you know the name of the man who is dead?' inquired Baker of a third
bystander.

'Yes, 'tis all over town--surely you know, Mr. Springrove? Why, Manston,
Miss Aldclyffe's steward. He was found dead the first thing this
morning. He had hung himself behind the door of his cell, in some way,
by a handkerchief and some strips of his clothes. The turnkey says his
features were scarcely changed, as he looked at 'em with the early sun
a-shining in at the grating upon him. He has left a full account of the
murder, and all that led to it. So there's an end of him.'

It was perfectly true: Manston was dead.

The previous day he had been allowed the use of writing-materials, and
had occupied himself for nearly seven hours in preparing the following
confession:--

'LAST WORDS.

'Having found man's life to be a wretchedly conceived scheme, I renounce
it, and, to cause no further trouble, I write down the facts connected
with my past proceedings.

'After thanking God, on first entering my house, on the night of the
fire at Carriford, for my release from bondage to a woman I detested,
I went, a second time, to the scene of the disaster, and, finding that
nothing could be done by remaining there, shortly