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Mina Murray’s Journal

           Andwon’titmakeGabrielkecklewhenGeordiecomespantin’utthegreeswiththetompsteanbalancedonhishump,andaskstobetookasevidence!" 

           Ididnotknowwhattosay,butLucyturnedtheconversationasshesaid,risingup, "Oh,whydidyoutellusofthis? Itismyfavouriteseat,andIcannotleaveit,andnowIfindImustgoonsittingoverthegraveofasuicide." 

           "Thatwon’tharmye,mypretty,an’itmaymakepoorGeordiegladsometohavesotrimalasssittin’onhislap. Thatwon’thurtye. Why,I’vesathereoffan’onfornightwentyyearspast,an’ithasn’tdonemenoharm. Don’tyefashaboutthemasliesunderye,orthatdoesn’liethereeither! It’llbetimeforyetobegettingscartwhenyeseethetombsteansallrunawaywith,andtheplaceasbareasastubble-field. There’stheclock,and’Imustgang. Myservicetoye,ladies!" Andoffhehobbled. 

           LucyandIsatawhile,anditwasallsobeautifulbeforeusthatwetookhandsaswesat,andshetoldmealloveragainaboutArthurandtheircomingmarriage. Thatmademejustalittleheart-sick,forIhaven’theardfromJonathanforawholemonth. 

           Thesameday. Icameupherealone,forIamverysad. Therewasnoletterforme. IhopetherecannotbeanythingthematterwithJonathan. Theclockhasjuststrucknine. Iseethelightsscatteredalloverthetown,sometimesinrowswherethestreetsare,andsometimessingly.TheyrunrightuptheEskanddieawayinthecurveofthevalley. Tomylefttheviewiscutoffbyablacklineofroofoftheoldhousenexttotheabbey. Thesheepandlambsarebleatinginthefieldsawaybehindme,andthereisaclatterofdonkeys’hoofsupthepavedroadbelow. 

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