"'JOHN LAVENDER,
THE PUBLIC MAN, WHO DIED FOR HIS
COUNTRY'S GOOD, LIVED HERE.'
"In conclusion, I would say a word to that land I have loved and
served: 'Be not extreme! Distrust the words, of others. To
yourself be true! As you are strong be gentle, as you are brave be
modest! Beloved country, farewell!'"
Having written that final sentence he struggled long with himself before
he could lay down the pen. But by this time the port he had drunk had
begun to have its usual effect, and he fell into a doze, from which he
was awakened five hours later by the beams of a full moon striking in on
him.
"The hour has come," he thought, and, opening the French-window, he went
out on to the lawn, where the dew lay white. The freshness in the air,
the glamour of the moonlight, and the fumes of the port combined to
make him feel strangely rhumantic, and if he had possessed a musical
instrument he would very likely have begun to play on it. He spent some
moments tracking to and fro in the dew before he settled on the centre
of the lawn as the most suitable spot for the act which he contemplated,
for thence he would be able to turn his last looks towards Aurora's
bedroom-window without interference from foliage.
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