and partly in pure weariness, and then
he turned so as not to see us; and his white hair fell, like a shroud,
around him.

CHAPTER XLI

COLD COMFORT

[Illustration: 351.jpg Illustrated Capital]

All things being full of flaw, all things being full of holes, the
strength of all things is in shortness. If Sir Ensor Doone had dwelled
for half an hour upon himself, and an hour perhaps upon Lorna and me,
we must both have wearied of him, and required change of air. But now
I longed to see and know a great deal more about him, and hoped that he
might not go to Heaven for at least a week or more. However, he was too
good for this world (as we say of all people who leave it); and I verily
believe his heart was not a bad one, after all.

Evil he had done, no 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 take