Part 46 (1/2)

He thought of the past--of old Boston, of Pa.s.sy, of all his struggles--and he wished that he might feel again the sympathetic touch of the hand of his sister who had been so true to him, and who had loved him so long and well.

It was near sunset of one of the longest days of the year when he heard a carriage stop before the door.

”I can not see any one,” he said. ”I must have rest--I must have rest.”

There came a mechanical knock on his door. He did not respond.

A servant's voice said outside, ”There is a woman, master, that asks to see you.”

”I can not see any one,” answered the tortured old man.

”She is an old woman.”

”I could not see the queen.”

He heard an echo of the servant's voice in the hall.

”He says that he could not see the queen.”

”Well, tell him that I am something more than that to him. He will see me, or else I will die at his door.”

There came a tap on the door, very gentle.

”Who is there?”

”It is Jane.”

”What Jane--who?”

”She who folded the hands of your father for the last time. Open the door. There can be no No to me.”

The door opened.

”Jenny!”

”Ben--let all t.i.tles pa.s.s now--I have come to give you a surprise.”

The old woman sank into a chair.

”I have come to visit you for the last time,” she said, ”and to number with you our mercies of life. Let me rest before I talk. You are in pain.”

”Jenny, my pains have gone. I had sat down in agony in this new room; my head ached as well as my body. I am happy now that you have come.”

She moved her chair to his, and he took her hand again, saying:

”My sister's hand--your hand, Jenny, as when we were children. They are gone, all gone.”

He looked in her face.