“Oh, I say,” he whispered, eagerly, “I have to tell some member of this family how sorry I am for losing my temper and my manners the other day.  It was awfully fresh of me.  Poor old boy!  Do say that you forgive me.”

A smile crept between her red lids.

“He had a good heart,” she said.  “He would have forgiven you.”  And then the long and impressive ceremony began.

All the great company followed the dead autocrat to the cemetery, regardless of the damaging skies.  Miss Williams, as chief mourner, rode in a hack, alone, directly behind the hearse.  During the dreary ride she labored conscientiously to stifle an unseemly hope.  In the other carriages conversation flowed freely, and no attempt was made to discourage expectations.

Two evenings later, as the crowd of weary business men boarded the train that met the boat from the great city across the bay, it was greeted as usual by the cry of the local newsboys.  This afternoon the youngsters had a rare bait, and they offered it at the top of their shrill worn voices: 

“Will of Dr. Hiram Webster!  Full account of Dr. Hiram Webster’s lastwillundtestermint.”

A moment later the long rows of seats looked as if buried beneath an electrified avalanche of newspapers.  At the end of five minutes the papers were fluttering on the floor amid the peanut-shells and orange-skins of the earlier travellers.  There was an impressive silence, then an animated, terse, and shockingly expressive conversation.  Only a dozen or more sat with drawn faces and white lips.  They were the dwellers by the lake.  Hiram Webster had left every cent of his large fortune to his sister.

For two weeks Webster Lake did not call on the heiress.  It was too sore.  At the end of that period philosophy and decency came to the rescue.  Moreover, cupidity:  Miss Webster too must make a will, and before long.

They called.  Miss Webster received them amiably.  Her eyes were red, but the visitors observed that her mourning was very rich; they had never seen richer.  They also remarked that she held her gray old head with a loftiness that she must have acquired in the past two weeks; no one of them had ever seen it before.  She did not exactly patronize them; but that she appreciated her four millions there could be no doubt.

Strowbridge glanced about in search of Miss Williams.  She was not in the room.  He sauntered out to the garden and saw her coming from the dairy.  She wore a black alpaca frock and a dark apron.  Her face was weary and sad.

“Could any one look more hopeless!” he thought.  “The selfish old curmudgeon, not to leave her independent!  How her face can light up!  She looks almost young.”