Part 16 (2/2)
She was not willing to return to Woodville till she had seen the mortal part of Jenny laid away in its final resting-place. But Mr. Grant, who was at Hudson with his daughters, might already have been informed of her wicked conduct; and Mr. Long was probably still engaged in the search for her. There was a duty she owed to her friends which her awakened conscience would not permit her to neglect. The family would be very anxious about her, for wayward and wilful as she had been, she felt that they still loved her. Procuring pen and paper, she wrote a letter to Mrs. Green, informing her that she should return home on Friday; that she would submit to any punishment, and endeavor to be good in the future. She sealed the note, and put it in the post-office, with a feeling that it was all she could do at present as an atonement for her faults. If it was not all she could do, it was an error of judgment, not of the heart.
On Thursday the form of Jenny was placed in the coffin. It was not a pauper's coffin; it was a black-walnut casket--plain, but rich--selected by Mrs. Porter, the physician's lady, who could not permit the form of one so beautiful to be enclosed in a less appropriate receptacle. The choicest flowers lay upon her breast, and a beautiful wreath and cross were placed upon the casket before the funeral services commenced.
The clergyman was a friend of Dr. Porter, and he was worthy to be the friend of so true a man. The service was solemn and touching; no word of hope and consolation was omitted because they stood in the humble abode of poverty and want. He spoke of the beautiful life and the happy death of Jenny, and prayed that her parents might be comforted; that the little brother might be blessed by her short life, and that ”the devoted young friend, who had so tenderly watched over the last hours of the departed,” might be sanctified by her holy ministrations. The father, living or dead, wherever suffering, or wherever battling against the foes of his country, was remembered.
f.a.n.n.y wept, as all in the house wept, when the good man feelingly delineated the lovely character of her who was still so beautiful in her marble silence; when he recalled those tender scenes on the evening of her death, which had been faithfully described to him by f.a.n.n.y. The casket was placed in the funeral car, and followed by two carriages,--one of which contained Mrs. Kent, Eddy, and f.a.n.n.y, and the other the family of Dr. Porter,--to Greenwood Cemetery. Sadly the poor mother turned away from the resting-place of her earthly treasure, and the little _cortege_ returned to the house from which the light had gone out. The last solemn, sacred duty had been performed; Jenny had gone, but her pure influence was still to live on, and bless those who had never even known her.
When the little party reached the house, Dr. Porter, after some remarks about the solemn scenes through which they had just pa.s.sed, inquired more particularly than he had been permitted to do before into the circ.u.mstances of the family. He promised to procure for her the money due to her as a soldier's wife, and to obtain some light employment for her. Mrs. Kent was very grateful to him for his kind interest in herself, and in her lost one, a.s.suring him that she did not ask for charity, and was willing to work hard for a support.
”You have been a blessing to me, f.a.n.n.y,” said Mrs. Kent, when the physician and his family had departed. ”I am sure that G.o.d sent you here to save me from misery and despair. What should I have done if you had not come?”
”I think I was sent for my own sake, rather than for yours, for I know that it has been a greater blessing to me than to you,” replied f.a.n.n.y.
”That can't be.”
”It is so. When I told Jenny that I had been a very wicked girl, I meant so.”
”I'm sure that one who has been so kind can't be very bad,” added Mrs.
Kent, rather bewildered by the confession of her benefactor. ”Where did you say you lived, f.a.n.n.y?”
The wanderer had been obliged to invent a story in the beginning to account for her absence from home, and the poor woman's heart had been too full of grat.i.tude to permit any doubt to enter there.
”I have deceived you, Mrs. Kent,” replied f.a.n.n.y, bursting into tears.
”I do not live in the city; my home is twenty-five miles up the river.
But I did not mean to deceive poor Jenny. I wanted to tell her what a wicked deed I had done, but she would not let me.”
”She was too good to think evil of any one, and especially of you, who have been so generous to us.”
”You know the paper she wrote and gave to me?”
”Yes.”
”I know from that she believed I had done something very bad.”
”Perhaps she did.”
”She told me how to be good. The very sight of her made me feel how wicked I was. I mean to be good.”
”Then I am sure you will be.”
”I shall always think of Jenny, and the anchor she gave me, when I am tempted to do wrong. I feel that Jenny has saved me, and made me a new being.”
”I'm sure I hope so; and I am glad you came here for your own sake, as well as for mine. But I can't believe that one who has been good to my dear lost one can be very bad,” replied Mrs. Kent, gloomily.
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