"We must remain here," he said, and I dropped back beside him, and waited
in a kind of stupor.

Presently they brought the coffin down, the negroes who carried it
wreathing themselves in tobacco smoke, and placed it in a cart. We
followed at a distance as it rolled slowly toward the Wyeth
burying-ground in the grove of willows near the road. The thought came to
me that my father should lie with the Stewarts, not with the Wyeths, and
then suddenly a great sickness and faintness came upon me, and I remember
nothing of what followed until I found Miss Fontaine lifting me from the
chaise at the door. I was put to bed, and not until the next day was I
able to crawl forth again.

Then came days of anguish and suspense, days spent by me roaming the
woods, or lying face downward beneath the trees, and praying that God
would spare my mother's life. Bulletins were brought me from her
bedside,--she was better, she was worse, she was better,--how shall I
tell the rest?--until at last one day came my dear friend, his lips
quivering, the tears streaming down his face unrestrained, and told me
that she was dead. I think the sight of his great sorrow frightened me,
and I bore the blow with greater composure than I had thought possible.
Had she sent me no message? Yes, she had sent me a message,--her last
thought had been of me. She asked me to be a good boy and an honest man,
to follow the counsel of Mr. Fontaine in all things, and to keep my
promise to my father. So, even in death her love for him and for the
honor of his memory triumphed, as I would have had it do.

Again there was a dismal procession through the gray morning to the
willow grove, where we stood beneath the dripping branches, while afar