Aunt Jane's Nieces
"Leave me, now," said Aunt Jane, in a husky voice. "I want time to
think."
Patricia hobbled forward, placed one hand caressingly upon the gray
head, and then bent and kissed Aunt Jane's withered cheek.
"That's right," she whispered. "Think it over, dear. It's all past
and done, now, and I'm sorry I had to hurt you. But--not a penny,
aunt--remember, not a penny will I take!"
Then she left the room, followed by Louise and Beth, both of whom were
glad to be alone that they might conquer their bitter disappointment.
Louise, however, managed to accept the matter philosophically, as the
following extract from her letter to her mother will prove:
"After all, it isn't so bad as it might be, mater, dear," she wrote.
"I'll get five thousand, at the very worst, and that will help us on
our way considerably. But I am quite sure that Patsy means just what
she says, and that she will yet induce Aunt Jane to alter her will. In
that case I believe the estate will either be divided between Beth and
me, or I will get it all. Anyway, I shall stay here and play my best
cards until the game is finished."
CHAPTER XIX.
DUPLICITY.
Aunt Jane had a bad night, as might have been expected after her
trials of the previous day.
She sent for Patricia early in the forenoon, and when the girl arrived
she was almost shocked by the change in her aunt's appearance. The
invalid's face seemed drawn and gray, and she lay upon her cushions
breathing heavily and without any appearance of vitality or strength.
Even the sharpness and piercing quality of her hard gray eyes was
lacking and the glance she cast at her niece was rather pleading than
defiant.
"I want you to reconsider your decision of yesterday, Patricia," she
begun.
"Don't ask me to do that, aunt," replied the girl, firmly. "My mind is
fully made up."
"I have made mistakes, I know," continued the woman feebly; "but I
want to do the right thing, at last."
"Then I will show you how," said Patricia, quickly. "You mustn't think
me impertinent, aunt, for I don't mean to be so at all.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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