Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

—128 WOTTON REINPEEDdid not love another ! Gracious Heaven ! She stillloved him ! Andwas she unfortunate ? Did she needhis help ? Could he assist her ; could his heart, hislife, have value to her ? And this thought, like alittle point of splendour, by degrees tinged in wildhues of beauty the whole chaos of his mind; thecruel became meek, the impossible easy ; all harshdiscordant shapes, expanding into infinitude, coalescedin friendly union, and his spirit sank into sleep asinto a sea of many-coloured lights.At an early hour he awoke from vague gorgeousdreams, but depressed and heavy-laden, and with thefeeling of a man who has much to do and suffer.Looking forth from his window across the wide courtyardwith its grooms in their miscellaneous occupation,he observed in the alleys of the garden twomen walking to and fro and earnestly conversing, oneof whom he directly recognised for Bernard. Theair of his friend seemed anxious and busy ; he wasbent forward and moving his hand as in the endeavourto persuade, while his companion, apparently a manof rank, seemed listening kindly rather than replying.Wotton drew back, for at present he dreaded interruptions,even from Bernard.He was scarcely dressed, when a servant whomhe had summoned for some other purpose deliveredhim a note. The handwriting Wotton knew of old :it was Jane Montagu's !'To Wotton Reinfred,Esquire.' He opened and read :