His senses when he took a drop too much.
Drink
[677] did it all—drink made him mad when cross’d—
He was a poor man, and they’re hard
[678] on such.
O Nan! that night! that night!
When I was sitting in this
[679] very chair,
Watching and waiting in the candle-light,
And heard
[680] his foot come creaking up the stair,
And turned and saw him standing yonder,
[681] white
And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled hair!
And when I caught
[682] his arm and called in fright,
He pushed
[683] me, swore, and to the door
[684] he pass’d
To lock and bar
[685] it fast.
Then down he drops
[686] just like a lump of lead,
Holding his brow,
[687] shaking, and growing whiter,
And—Nan!—just then the light
[688] seem’d growing brighter,
And I could see the hands
[689] that held his head,
All red!
[690] all bloody red!
What could I do but scream? He groaned to hear,
Jump’d to his feet, and gripped
[691] me by the wrist;
“Be still,
[692] or I shall kill thee, Nell!” he hiss’d.
And I was still for fear.
“They’re after
[693] me—I’ve knifed a man!” he said,
“Be still!
[694]—the drink—drink did it!—he is dead!”
[695]Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn’t weep;
All I could do was cling
[696] to Ned and hark,
[697]And Ned was cold,
[698] cold, cold, as if asleep,
But breathing hard and deep.
The candle
[699] flicker’d out—the room grew dark
[700]And—Nan!—although my heart
[701] was true and tried—
When all grew cold
[702] and dim,
I shuddered
[703]—not for fear of them outside,
[704]But just afraid to be alone with him.
[705]“Ned! Ned!”
[706] I whisper’d—and he moan’d and shook,
But did not heed or look!
“Ned! Ned!
[707] speak, lad! tell me
[708] it is not true!”
At that he raised his head and look’d so wild;
Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he threw
His arms around
[709] me, crying like a child,
And held me close—and not a word was spoken,
While I clung tighter to his heart and press’d him,
And did not fear him, though my heart was broken,
But kiss’d his poor stain’d hands, and cried, and bless’d
[710] him!
Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming cold
With sound
[711] of falling rain—
When I could see his face,
[712] and it look’d old,
Like the pinch’d face of one that dies
[713] in pain;
Well, though we heard folk stirring
[714] in the sun,
We never thought to hide away or run,
Until we heard those voices
[715] in the street,
That hurrying of feet,
And Ned leap’d up,
[716] and knew that they had come.
“Run, Ned!”
[717] I cried, but he was deaf and dumb;
“Hide, Ned!”
[718] I scream’d, and held him; “Hide thee, man!”
[719]He stared with blood-shot eyes and hearken’d, Nan!
And all the rest
[720] is like a dream—the sound
Of knocking
[721] at the door—
A rush of men—a struggle on the ground
[722]—
A mist—a tramp—a roar;
For when I got my senses back again,
The room was empty,
[723] and my head
[724] went round!
God
[725] help him? God
will help him! Ay, no fear!
[726]It was the drink,
[727] not Ned
[728]—he meant no wrong;
So kind! So good!—and I am useless
[729] here,
Now he is lost that loved me true and long.
… That night before he died,
I didn’t cry—my heart
[730] was hard and dried;
But when the clocks
[731] went “one,” I took my shawl
To cover up my face, and stole away,
And walk’d
[732] along the silent streets, where all
Look’d cold
[733] and still and gray,
And on
[734] I went, and stood in Leicester Square,
But just as “three” was sounded close at hand
I started and turn’d east,
[735] before I knew,
Then down Saint Martin’s Lane, along the Strand,
And through the toll-gate on to Waterloo.
Some men and lads went by,
And turning round, I gazed,
[736] and watch’d ’em go,
Then felt that they were going to see him die,
[737]And drew my shawl
[738] more tight, and follow’d slow.
[739]More people pass’d me, a country cart with hay
Stopp’d close beside
[740] me, and two or three
Talk’d about
it!
[741] I moan’d, and crept
[742] away!
Next came a hollow sound
[743] I knew full well,
For something gripped
[744] me round the heart!—and then
There came the solemn tolling
[745] of a bell!
And neither scream nor cry?
As if I had been stone, all hard and cold,
I listen’d,
[748] listen’d, listen’d, still and dumb,
While the folk murmur’d, and the death-bell
[749] toll’d,
And the day brighten’d,
[750] and his time had come.
… Till, Nan!—all else was silent
[751] but the knell
And I could only wait, and wait, and wait,
And what I waited for
[753] I couldn’t tell—
At last there came a groaning deep and great—
St. Paul’s struck “eight”
[754]—
I scream’d, and seem’d to turn to fire and fell!
[755]God
[756] bless him, live or dead!
He never meant no wrong, was kind and true.
They’ve wrought their fill of spite
[757] upon his head.