"Mrs. Putnam! Mrs. Putnam!! Aunt Heppy!!!" she cried; "take back your fortune, I do not want it; only release me from my oath. Oh, that I could send for that letter and put it back into her hands before she dies! If Mr. Sawyer were only here; but I do not know where to find him."
For hours, it seemed ages to Alice, she remained by the bedside of the dying woman, seeing nothing, but listening intently, and hoping that she would revive, hear her words, and release her from that horrid oath.
Suddenly, Alice started; the poor old wrinkled, wasted hand that she held in hers, was cold—so cold—she leaned over and put her ear above the old woman's lips. There was no sound of breathing. She pulled down the bed-clothes and placed her hand upon her heart. It was still. Mrs. Putnam had gone to meet the boy she had loved and lost.
Feeling her way along the wall, she reached the door. Flinging it wide open, she cried, "Samantha! Lindy!"
Samanthy came to the foot of the stairs.
"What is it, Miss Pettengill?" asked she.
"She's dead," said Alice, and she sank down upon the stairway.
Samanthy ran quickly upstairs. She went first to Miss Lindy's room and told her that all was over; then she came back, went into Mrs. Putnam's room, pulled down the curtains, went to the bed and laid the sheet over Mrs. Putnam's face. She looked at the fire to see that it was safe, came out and closed the door. Then she helped Alice down stairs, led her into the parlor and seated her in an easy-chair.
"I'll bring you a nice cup of hot tea," said she; "I've just made some for dinner."
Lindy came down stairs and went to the front door. Hiram was there, smoking a cigar, and beating his arms to keep warm. He had been waiting outside for a couple of hours, and he was nearly frozen.