File:Master Humphrey's clock (1840) (14579237359).jpg

Identifier: masterhumphreysc02dick (find matches)
Title: Master Humphrey's clock
Year: 1840 (1840s)
Authors: Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 Cattermole, George, 1800-1868, ill Browne, Hablot Knight, 1815-1882, ill
Subjects: Gordon Riots, 1780
Publisher: London : Chapman and Hall
Contributing Library: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

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alone; or with this pliant friend; or with those who would have given him, atany cost or sacrifice, some consolation or some peace of mind, if happily themeans could have been devised ; he was at all times the same—with no loveor care for anything in life—a broken-hearted man. At length they found one day that he had risen early, and, with his knap-sack on his back, his staff in hand, her own straw hat, and little basket full ofsuch things as she had been used to carry, was gone. As they were makingready to pursue him far and wide, a frightened schoolboy came who had seenhim, but a moment before, sitting in the church—upon her grave, he said. They hastened there, and going softly to the door, espied him in the atti-tude of one who waited patiently. They did not disturb him then, but kept a 216 MASTER HUMPHREYS CLOCK. watch upon him all that day. When it grew quite dark, he rose and rctnin(!(lhome, and went to bed, murmuring to himself, She will come to-morrow! 3, //• -v/. ~^^^
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Upon the morrow he was there again from sunrise until night; and still atnight he laid him down to rest, and muttered, She will come to-morrow! And thenceforth, every day, and all day long, he waited at her grave for her.How many pictures of new journeys over pleasant country, of resting-placesunder the free broad sky, of rambles in the fields and woods, and paths notoften trod—how many tones of that one well-remembered voice—how manyglimpses of the form, the fluttering dress, the hair that waved so gaily in thewind—how many visions of what had been, and what he hoped was yet to be—rose up before him, in the old, dull, silent church ! He never told them whathe thought, or where he went. He would sit with them at night, ponderingwith a secret satisfaction, they could see, upon the flight that he and she wouldtake before night came again; and still they would hear him whisper inhis prayers, Oh ! Let her come to-morrow ! The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not ret

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