I was badly burnt, and what handsomeness there was about my face was
pretty well scorched out of it by that night's work; and I didn't
know anything for a bit.

When I come to myself, they had got me into bed bound up with
cotton-wool and oil and things. And the first thing I did was to sit
up and try to tear them off.

'You'll kill yourself,' says the nurse.

'Thank you,' says I, 'that's the best thing I can do, now Lilian is
dead.'

And with that the nurse gives a laugh. 'Oh, that's what's on your
mind, is it?' says she. 'Doctor said there was something. Miss
Lilian had run away that night to her young man. Lucky for her!
She's luckier than you, poor thing! And they're married and living
in lodgings at Brighton, and she's been over to see you every day.'

That day she came again. I lay still and let her thank me for having
tried to save her; for the farm men had seen the fire, and had come
up in time to see me go up the staircase to her room, and they had
pulled me out. She believes to this day the fire was an accident,
and that I would have sacrificed my life for her. And so I would;
she's right there.

I wasn't going to make her unhappy by telling her the real truth,
because she was as fond of me as I was of her; and she has been as
happy as the day is long, all her life long, and so she deserves.