The humble picture was no less an expression of goodness, than proof
of the cruel severity of the law. The news of death soon brought
curious debtors into the long aisle, while sorrow and sympathy might
be read on every face. But he was gone, and with him his wants and
grievances. A physician was called in, but he could not recall life,
and, after making a few very learned and unintelligible remarks on
the appearance of the body, took his departure, saying that they
must not grieve-that it was the way all flesh would go. "He, no
doubt, died of the black vomit, hastened by the want of care," he
concluded, as he left the cell.
"Want of care!" rejoins Franconia, again giving vent to her
feelings. How deeply did the arrow dart into the recesses of her
already wounded heart!
Mr. Moon, the methodical coroner, was not long repairing to the
spot. He felt, and felt, and felt the dead man's limbs, asked a few
questions, bared the cold breast, ordered the body to be
straightened a little, viewed it from several angles, and said an
inquest was unnecessary. It would reveal no new facts, and, as so
many were dying of the same disease, could give no more relief to
his friends. Concerning his death, no one could doubt the cause
being black vomit. With a frigid attempt at consolation for
Franconia, he will withdraw. He has not been long gone, when the
warden, a sheet over his left arm, again makes his appearance; he
passes the sheet to Harry, with a request that he will wind the dead
debtor up in it.
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