Aunt Jane's Nieces
A gleam of sunlight filtered through the bushes and
fell aslant Jane Merrick's eyes; but not a lash quivered.
James gave a scream that rang through the air and silenced even the
birds. Then, shrieking like the madman he was, he bounded away through
the hedge, sending old Martha whirling into a rose-bush, and fled as
if a thousand fiends were at his heels.
John Merrick and Mr. Watson, who were not far off, aroused by the
bloodcurdling screams, ran toward Aunt Jane's garden, and saw in a
glance what had happened.
"Poor Jane," whispered the brother, bending over to tenderly close the
staring eyes, "her fate has overtaken her unawares."
"Better so," said the lawyer, gently. "She has found Peace at last."
Together they wheeled her back into her chamber, and called the women
to care for their dead mistress.
CHAPTER XXI.
READING THE WILL.
Aunt Jane's funeral was extremely simple and quiet. The woman had
made no friends during her long residence in the neighborhood, having
isolated herself at "the big house" and refused to communicate in any
way with the families living near by. Therefore, although her death
undoubtedly aroused much interest and comment, no one cared to be
present at the obsequies.
So the minister came from Elmwood, and being unable to say much that
was good or bad of "the woman who had departed from this vale of
tears," he confined his remarks to generalities and made them as brief
as possible. Then the body was borne to the little graveyard a mile
away, followed by the state carriage, containing the three nieces
and Kenneth; the drag with Silas Watson and Uncle John, the former
driving; and then came the Elmhurst carryall with the servants. James
did not join these last; nor did he appear at the house after
that dreadful scene in the garden. He had a little room over the
tool-house, which Jane Merrick had had prepared for him years ago, and
here he locked himself in day and night, stealthily emerging but to
secure the food Susan carried and placed before his door.
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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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