After a time—it was toward midnight now—Mr.
Hawkins roused out of a doze, looked about him and
was evidently trying to speak. Instantly Laura
lifted his head and in a failing voice he said, while
something of the old light shone in his eyes:
“Wife—children—come nearer—nearer.
The darkness grows. Let me see you all, once
more.”
The group closed together at the bedside, and their
tears and sobs came now without restraint.
“I am leaving you in cruel poverty. I
have been—so foolish—so short-sighted.
But courage! A better day is—is coming.
Never lose sight of the Tennessee Land! Be
wary. There is wealth stored up for you there
—wealth that is boundless! The children
shall hold up their heads with the best in the land,
yet. Where are the papers?—Have you
got the papers safe? Show them—show
them to me!”
Under his strong excitement his voice had gathered
power and his last sentences were spoken with scarcely
a perceptible halt or hindrance. With an effort
he had raised himself almost without assistance to
a sitting posture. But now the fire faded out
of his eyes and be fell back exhausted. The
papers were brought and held before him, and the answering
smile that flitted across his face showed that he was
satisfied. He closed his eyes, and the signs
of approaching dissolution multiplied rapidly.
He lay almost motionless for a little while, then
suddenly partly raised his head and looked about him
as one who peers into a dim uncertain light.
He muttered:
“Gone? No—I see you—still. It is—it is-over. But you are—safe.
Safe. The Ten-----”
The voice died out in a whisper; the sentence was
never finished. The emaciated fingers began
to pick at the coverlet, a fatal sign. After
a time there were no sounds but the cries of the mourners
within and the gusty turmoil of the wind without.
Laura had bent down and kissed her father’s
lips as the spirit left the body; but she did not sob,
or utter any ejaculation; her tears flowed silently.
Then she closed the dead eyes, and crossed the hands
upon the breast; after a season, she kissed the forehead
reverently, drew the sheet up over the face, and then
walked apart and sat down with the look of one who
is done with life and has no further interest in its
joys and sorrows, its hopes or its ambitions.
Clay buried his face in the coverlet of the bed; when
the other children and the mother realized that death
was indeed come at last, they threw themselves into
each others’ arms and gave way to a frenzy of
grief.
Only two or three days had elapsed since the funeral,
when something happened which was to change the drift
of Laura’s life somewhat, and influence in a
greater or lesser degree the formation of her character.
