Having still a short time to spare, he got the keys of St Michael's
church and went to have a farewell practice upon the organ, which he
could now play fairly well. He walked up and down the aisle for a while
in a meditative mood, and then, settling down to the organ, played "They
loathed to drink of the river" about six times over, after which he felt
more composed and happier; then, tearing himself away from the instrument
he loved so well, he hurried to the station.
As the train drew out he looked down from a high embankment on to the
little house his aunt had taken, and where it might be said she had died
through her desire to do him a kindness. There were the two well-known
bow windows, out of which he had often stepped to run across the lawn
into the workshop. He reproached himself with the little gratitude he
had shown towards this kind lady--the only one of his relations whom he
had ever felt as though he could have taken into his confidence. Dearly
as he loved her memory, he was glad she had not known the scrapes he had
got into since she died; perhaps she might not have forgiven them--and
how awful that would have been! But then, if she had lived, perhaps many
of his ills would have been spared him.
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