“It has been—about fourteen months.”
“What was the cause of his death?”
“An attack of pneumonia, that carried him off after about ten days’ illness.”
“Were any of his family with him?”
“He had no family of his own, as you probably know. He had one brother in Germany, but of course there was no time to summon him. His orphan niece, a young lady from Washington, was with him when he died.”
“But he had a brother in Washington—a Lutheran minister,” said Justin, feeling his heart stand still.
“Ah, yes—the father of that niece who was with him in his last moments. But he went before. He fell in the first battle of Bull’s Run.”
“Oh-h-h!” groaned Justin, dropping his head upon the table with such a moan of unspeakable agony that the good merchant sprang to his feet and leaned over him, exclaiming:
“Lord forgive me! And you—you are his son, and I have blurted this dreadful news so suddenly. I was thinking that you were the son of the brother in Germany.”
Justin did not answer. His shoulders rose and fell with the great sobs that shook his frame.