How did my dear Aunt’s eyes grow Redder than ever Mine had been!  How did my Proud Uncle find his Lofty Crest Lower’d, and was in that Honour of his Scourg’d more Cruelly than ever old Shooba’s Back had been!  How, too, was her Happiness burst like a Bubble, that had been so rainbow Bright!  In that house all wept save me alone.  Nor did one of them so much as dream in ’s sleep of suspecting Jessamine Hynds!

And then—­oh, God! oh, God—­Richard, my Richard, that I Lov’d more than mine own Soul, died!  As a Candle is snuff’d out, so went Richard that was so comely and so strong.  I had only thought to Punish him, Make them all Suffer to Pay me for mine own Suffering.  Never, never, had I meant that Richard should Die.  ’Twas a Thunder-bolt upon my Head, ’twas Lightning splitting my Heart.

     ’Twas I brought the News of Richard’s death to my Uncle
     James.  Was sitting in the Library pretending for to read. 
     Then came I in, and clos’d the Door, and said: 

     “Richard is dead.” How the man star’d!  Had a ruddy face,
     very Handsome.  Before my eyes it pal’d and pinch’d.  I said
     again:  “Don’t you understand? Richard is dead.”

As a tree falls, he fell.  I knew his Time was come, and gently I rais’d him.  He claw’d at his Breast and mouth’d “Richard—­Freeman—­Pocket-book—­The Key, the Key!” Look’d at me piteously.  ’Twould melt one’s Heart to see his Eyes.

I did thrust my hand into the breast of his blue Broad-cloath Coat, and draw forth his Pocket-Book.  ’Twas in Dark Green leather, & upon it the Arms of our House.  There were bank-notes in’t, some silver, two or three folded papers, and one in a small silk Cover, put by itself.  I saw his Fading Eyes brighten as I held it up.  He maw’d, “Key—­Freeman—­” and puff’d with his Lips, and fell Unconscious.  I slipt the Book back into his breast, put the silk-covered paper in mine own, and ran out of the Room, Calling Loudly for help.

     He dy’d that Night.  And when I look’d at the “Key” ’twas
     naught but a silly Verse.  Yet I was doubtful of Giving it to
     Freeman.  Instead, I did show it to old Shooba.

     “I will ask my Snake if he knows anything of Keyes,” said
     Shooba.  And remembering the Overseer, I did not smile, but
     gave him the Paper.  I like not to think of Shooba’s Snake.

     Then buried we mine Uncle in the Hynds tomb and my Aunt was
     left to wander ghostlike, seeking for what she should never
     find.—­Oh, why did not they leave Richard and me alone!