The Moonstone

by Wilkie Collins

  SEVENTH NARRATIVE

  In a Letter from MR. CANDY

  Frizinghall, Wednesday, September 26th, 1849.--Dear Mr. Franklin Blake,you will anticipate the sad news I have to tell you, on finding yourletter to Ezra Jennings returned to you, unopened, in this enclosure. Hedied in my arms, at sunrise, on Wednesday last.

  I am not to blame for having failed to warn you that his end was athand. He expressly forbade me to write to you. "I am indebted to Mr.Franklin Blake," he said, "for having seen some happy days. Don'tdistress him, Mr. Candy--don't distress him."

  His sufferings, up to the last six hours of his life, were terrible tosee. In the intervals of remission, when his mind was clear, I entreatedhim to tell me of any relatives of his to whom I might write. He askedto be forgiven for refusing anything to me. And then he said--notbitterly--that he would die as he had lived, forgotten and unknown. Hemaintained that resolution to the last. There is no hope now of makingany discoveries concerning him. His story is a blank.

  The day before he died, he told me where to find all his papers. Ibrought them to him on his bed. There was a little bundle of oldletters which he put aside. There was his unfinished book. There was hisDiary--in many locked volumes. He opened the volume for this year, andtore out, one by one, the pages relating to the time when you and hewere together. "Give those," he said, "to Mr. Franklin Blake. In yearsto come, he may feel an interest in looking back at what is writtenthere." Then he clasped his hands, and prayed God fervently to blessyou, and those dear to you. He said he should like to see you again. Butthe next moment he altered his mind. "No," he answered when I offered towrite. "I won't distress him! I won't distress him!"

  At his request I next collected the other papers--that is to say, thebundle of letters, the unfinished book and the volumes of the Diary--andenclosed them all in one wrapper, sealed with my own seal. "Promise,"he said, "that you will put this into my coffin with your own hand; andthat you will see that no other hand touches it afterwards."

  I gave him my promise. And the promise has been performed.

  He asked me to do one other thing for him--which it cost me a hardstruggle to comply with. He said, "Let my grave be forgotten. Give meyour word of honour that you will allow no monument of any sort--noteven the commonest tombstone--to mark the place of my burial. Let mesleep, nameless. Let me rest, unknown." When I tried to plead withhim to alter his resolution, he became for the first, and only time,violently agitated. I could not bear to see it; and I gave way. Nothingbut a little grass mound marks the place of his rest. In time, thetombstones will rise round it. And the people who come after us willlook and wonder at the nameless grave.

  As I have told you, for six hours before his death his sufferingsceased. He dozed a little. I think he dreamed. Once or twice he smiled.A woman's name, as I suppose--the name of "Ella"--was often on his lipsat this time. A few minutes before the end he asked me to lift him onhis pillow, to see the sun rise through the window. He was very weak.His head fell on my shoulder. He whispered, "It's coming!" Then he said,"Kiss me!" I kissed his forehead. On a sudden he lifted his head.The sunlight touched his face. A beautiful expression, an angelicexpression, came over it. He cried out three times, "Peace! peace!peace!" His head sank back again on my shoulder, and the long trouble ofhis life was at an end.

  So he has gone from us. This was, as I think, a great man--though theworld never knew him. He had the sweetest temper I have ever met with.The loss of him makes me feel very lonely. Perhaps I have never beenquite myself since my illness. Sometimes, I think of giving up mypractice, and going away, and trying what some of the foreign baths andwaters will do for me.

  It is reported here, that you and Miss Verinder are to be married nextmonth. Please to accept my best congratulations.

  The pages of my poor friend's Journal are waiting for you at myhouse--sealed up, with your name on the wrapper. I was afraid to trustthem to the post.

  My best respects and good wishes attend Miss Verinder. I remain, dearMr. Franklin Blake, truly yours,

  THOMAS CANDY.