It was arran[-]ged that Haynes would move at the end of they month, ten days to come. [about a week and a half off.] The days passed, one by one, like the days before an execution. [operation.] Mrs. Rouse said little, practically nothing, but her smile and greeting two or three times a day triumphed over the nevelling gloom. [gleamed like streaks of sunshine on a rainy day: Haynes thought what an actress she would have been. She could storm like a hurricane a Clytemnestra but in the moments of calm afterwards she moved like the ripp moved like deep water, her smile like a ripple on the surface.] Miss Attewell [on the contrary] was [seemed very] preoccupied, [these days,] always apparently going somewhere or coming from there with great purposefulness. But it was soon obvious that there was nothing to it. Haynes's chief difficulty was the meals - they fed him as if he was being prepared for the sacrifice. Three times a day Haynes [he] laboured through the menu. What a help Maisie would have been! And she would have eaten everything.

Haynes was to leave on Tuesday. On Thursday night Mrs. Rouse came in to see him. She was not for long. But [, but] would Mr. Haynes mind if he took a photograph with her.[?] She hoped he would not mind. No. Haynes would not mind. He would be delighted. Mrs. Rou se said that she had arraged with a photographer. He[. He] would be there in the morning at 9. Near to tears she left.

Next morning the photographer came. Mrs. Haynes dressed in her new black mourning dress, her only ornament a heavy gold chain, retrieved for the occasion, Haynes learnt later, from the pawnshop. Her pince-nez were [was] on her nose and she held her head high. Haynes wore his tweed suit, three piece, coat, trousers, and the [usually discarded] waistcoat. Miss [At]Attwell was xx [not] even present.[, whether by accident or design Hayes did not know.] The photograph was taken on the front step, and Haynes placed his arm in Mrs. Rouse's. The photograp[her] said he would send proofs the next afternoon. They came punctually and were highly approved of by the three of them. [household.] Mrs. Rouse was photogenic and [Miss Atwell for once did not exaggerate when she said that Mrs Rouse] looked splendid.

On Saturday morning the photographs came. Haynes had [insisted on ordering] two, and as he was to lunch with them on Sunday x [it] struck him that it would be very nice to give a framed, signed picture to Mrs. Rouse. How to sign it.[?] [As he sat uncertain, a host of memories came thronging over him, and his father, his mother, Maisie, Maisie and her mother,] I[i]n a rush of feeling he sat and wrote: For Mrs. Rouse. From your loving and grateful son; and after some hesitation wrote his Christian name, Cyrus [Erasmus], the first time it had been used in the house. [To hell with it. It was his name]

Lunch which took place in Miss Attewell's room as on that distant Christmas Day, passed quietly and decorously, Haynes eating manfully, and even Miss Attewell making little attempt at sustained conversation. But t[T]here was no embarrassment. [need.] They all [The three of them] understood one another.

When l[L]unch was over, Haynes asked to be excused for a moment, and slipping over to his room, brought back the signed and framed photograph and handed it to Mrs. Rouse. She gave him a wonderful smile, and asked Miss Attewell to fetch her glasses to [“]read the writing.[”] While Miss Attewell went for the glasses, she sat looking at the photograph, but xx as if her thoughts were far. Miss Attewell brought the glasses, Mrs. Rouse put them on and holding up the picture, read the inscription aloud. At the xxxx words, grateful son, she faltered, but she managed to say Cyrus. [got only halfway with Erasmus.] then s[S]he [stopped and] looked at Haynes as if dazed, looked back at the picture, at Haynes again, then clutching it to her bosom, burst into such an uncontrollable storm of tears that Haynes and Miss Attewell could do nothing but sit and watch her until it worked itself out. After a while, she rose and still ho[lding] the picture[, without a word] with a faint smile went slowly down the ste[ps,] across the yard, up her own steps and disappeared into own room [the house]. Haynes went away, blaming himself, He (would not?) understand these people. [and Miss Atwell parted in silence. Haynes was upset, but not for long. “Not too much harm done he said to himself and repeated the phrase cheerfully.]

[And so it was.] Next morning however, Mrs. Rouse was composed and even gay. She made no reference to the episode of the day before [and helped with the packing]. Ella and Haynes finally drove away, Mrs. Rouse and Miss Attewell all smiles and waves[ing until they could no longer be seen]

Periodically Haynes visited Minty Alley, and Ella relented even to the extent of visiting them herself [and helping Mrs Rouse with the cakes]. Then late one afternoon, Haynes came home to find Miss Attewell waiting for her. Mrs. Rouse had fallen in a fit in the kitchen before her stove, and had been taken unconscious to the hospital. She never recovered consciousness and Haynes, Ella and Philomen went to the funeral, walking with Miss Attewell as chief mourners. Mrs. Rouse's relatives had remained either adamant or ignorant of her death.

Three days afterwards Haynes received a letter from Robert Murch, Solicitor and Conveyancer, asking him to call at his office at his convenience [Minty Alley at four o'clock on Monday] in connection with the last will and testament of the late [Alice] Rouse. What in the name of Heaven, Haynes asked himself. Did Mrs. Rouse leave him a fortune? Half the night he lay and wondered, the old scenes and memories t     through his mind. [Haynes knew old Murch with his perpetual elastic-sided boots, his striped pants and his black jacket: Maisie used to say that he slept in them. He was Mrs. Rouse's legal adviser, and visited Minty Alley at times to see Mrs Rouse on business. More than once Haynes had had to go and see him urgently on Mrs. Rouse's behalf. Haynes was not altogether surprised at the summons. Mrs Rouse had probably made him an executor]

Mrs. Rouse had not left him any fortune. Old Mr. Murch made that very clearx to him and Miss Attewell who had also been summoned. [At four sharp, Haynes, Miss Atwell and Philomen were self-consciously seated] All her furniture and personal effects she [Mrs Rouse] had left for Miss Attewell. Her gold chain she had willed to Philomen. When the house was sold and all the debts were paid there would be very little remaining. But whatever there was, it had been left for him. [remained she had left to Mr. Haynes.]

Haynes sat silent, gripping his teeth tightly together.

“There is something else,” he heard Murch say. “She asked that this be given to you.” He handed Haynes a parcel, obviously a framed picture. Haynes did not need to open it. “And she xxxx said further that Miss Attewell would explain [further]. [There were matters she did not feel to write down should be put on paper”] She was very precise and particular.”

Fig. 1.

The first page of the alternative ending to Minty Alley.

He looked at Miss Attewell and Haynes looked at her. The tears streaming down her face [Murch paused and looked at Miss Atwell. She looked at Haynes who nodded. Thus encouraged], Miss Attewell, her volubility deserting her at last, stammered out her message.

Mrs. Rouse's son who died had been called Cyrus named Erasmus, named after the same famous lawyer and politician after whom Haynes had been named. Hiss Attewell continued to stammer and begin sentences which never ended. But somehow she managed to convey the sense of long conversations with Mrs. Rouse. Mrs. Rouse had seen and understood what her life with Benoit had meant to her. If her son had lived she would have worked and slaved for him, to make him a gentleman and send him to England and give him a profession. She [Miss Atwell] gave the names of single women and deserted mothers who had done it and had gone down to the wharf to meet the lawyer or doctor returning home. She had had no regrets. “She had xxxxxx sinned and God had punished her,” said Miss Attewell. “But He sent Mr. Haynes to comfort her in her old age. . .” Miss Attewell could go no further.

Haynes rose and bade good-bye to Mr. Murch. Then taking Miss Attewell by the arm, he led her away, holding his picture in the other hand. They drove to the house in Minty Alley where Philomen and Ella were waiting. They sat in the kitchen silent, a silence broken only when Philomen rose and busied herself preparing a meal. Mechanically Haynes unfolded the cover from the picture and xx propped it on the dresser.

[There was a silence.]

[Murch broke it by pa beginning to pack his papers. By way of conversation he said “There will be quite a few hundred dollars left, Mr Haynes, but it wouldn't go very far towards a medical profession. I have a son at Edinburgh. Though I presume—” Haynes cut him short with an abruptness that startled everyone, including himself.

“I am not going to America, to work my way through” he said. And never afterwards could explain even to himself why he had said it. Never before had the thought crossed his mind.

Murch left and the three of them sat looking at each other.

“When you going, Mr. Haynes,” asked Miss A.

“As soon as I can get a passage.” Philomen rose.

“Mr Haynes, you will have something to eat before you go?”

“Certainly” said Haynes

“I'll get it ready” said Philomen, obviously intending to xx Haynes

“Miss A, you wait here with Mr Haynes”

But Haynes rose and the three of them went into the kitchen. Haynes sat on a bench. He had entered the kitchen less half-a-dozen times and had never sat there. Philomen busied herself. Miss A was silent.

Haynes suddenly was aware of the parcel he was holding in his hand. Slowly he untied the string and unfolded the paper. He looked at the photograph and for a minute, then placed it upright against a biscuit-tin on the dresser. Miss Atwell and Philomen looked at Mrs Rouse, in her black silk, gold chain and pince-nez. They smiled at her and turned to smile at Haynes.]