In return, he had been a little more human to me than formerly, had shown some interest in my health, and continued appreciation of the fact that I was in the house.  Once he had talked to me, for perhaps half an hour, about my mother, for which I was unspeakably grateful.  Several times he had given me a good deal of money, which I had cared much less about.  Latterly he had permitted me to go to church alone, which had seemed to me must be owing to Richard’s intervention.

Richard had been almost as much as formerly at the house:  my uncle was becoming more and more dependent on him.  For myself, I did not see as much of him as the year before.  We were always together at the table, of course.  But the evenings that Richard was with my uncle, I thought it unnecessary for me to stay down-stairs.  Besides, now, they almost always had writing or business affairs to occupy them.

It was natural that I should go away, and no one seemed to notice it.  Richard still brought me books, still arranged things for me with my uncle (as in the matter of going to church alone), but we had no more talks together by ourselves, and he never asked me to go anywhere with him.  At Christmas he sent me beautiful flowers, and a picture for my room.  Sophie I rarely saw, and only longed never to see Benny was permitted to come and spend a day with me, at great intervals, and I enjoyed him more than his mother or his uncle.

One day my uncle went down to his office in his usual health; at three o’clock he was brought home senseless, and only lived till midnight, dying without recovering speech or consciousness.  It was a sudden seizure, but what everybody had expected; everybody was shocked for the moment, and then wondered that they were.  It was very appalling to me; I was so unhappy, I almost believed I loved him, and I certainly mourned for him with simplicity and affection.

The preparations for the funeral were so frightful, and all the thoughts it brought so unnerving, that I was almost ill.  A great deal came upon me, in trying to manage the wailing servants, and in helping Richard in arrangements.

It was the day after the funeral; I was tired, out, and had lain down on the sofa in the dining-room, partly because I hated to be alone up-stairs, and partly because it was not far from lunch-time, and I felt too weary to take any needless steps.  I don’t think ever in my life before I had lain down on that sofa, or had spent two hours except, at the table, in that room.  It was a most cheerless room, and no one ever thought of sitting down in it, except at mealtime.  I closed the shutters and darkened it to suit my eyes, which ached, and I think must have fallen asleep.

The parlor was the room which adjoined the dining-room (only two large rooms on one floor, as they used to build), and separated from it by heavy mahogany columns and sliding-doors.  These doors were half-way open, and I was roused by voices in the parlor.  As soon as I recovered myself from the sudden waking, I recognized Sophie’s and then Richard’s.  I wondered what Richard was doing up-town at that hour, and so Sophie did too, for she asked him very plainly.