I don't
blame the feeling; though with a man like him it was very apt to be
a false or mistaken one; but, at any rate, its exhibition wasn't
sensible. Well, as I was saying, he buffeted about in this world a long
time, poorly paid, fed, and clad; taking more care of other people than
he did of himself. Then mental suffering, physical exposure, and want
killed him."
The stern voice had grown softer than a child's. The same look of
unutterable tenderness brooded on the mournful face of the phantom by
his side; but its thin, shining hand was laid upon his head, and its
countenance had undergone a change. The form was still undefined; but
the features had become distinct. They were those of a young man,
beautiful and wan, and marked with great suffering.
A pause had fallen on the conversation, in which the father and daughter
heard the solemn sighing of the wintry wind around the dwelling. The
silence seemed scarcely broken by the voice of the young girl.
"Dear father, this was very sad. Did you say he died of want?"
"Of want, my child, of hunger and cold.
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