“One is, that the child shall be left solely to his own care, after he has reached his fourth year; and the other is, that you make an endowment for the support of two poor scholars, at one of the principal schools.”
As my mother got out the last words, she fell back on her pillow, whence her interest in the subject had enabled her to lift her head a little, and she fairly gasped for breath, in the intensity of her anxiety to hear the answer. My ancestor contracted his brow, like one who saw it was a subject that required reflection.
“Thou dost not know perhaps, Betsey, that these endowments swallow up a great deal of money—a great deal—and often very uselessly.”
“Ten thousand pounds is the sum that has been agreed upon between Mrs. Goldencalf and me,” steadily remarked the Doctor, who, in my soul, I believe had hoped that his condition would be rejected, having yielded to the importunities of a dying woman, rather than to his own sense of that which might be either very desirable or very useful.
“Ten thousand pounds!”
My mother could not speak, though she succeeded in making an imploring sign of assent.
“Ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money, my dear Betsey—a very great deal!”
The color of my mother changed to the hue of death, and by her breathing she appeared to be in the agony.
“Well, well, Betsey,” said my father a little hastily, for he was frightened at her pallid countenance and extreme distress, “have it thine own way—the money, yes, yes—it shall be given as thou wishest—now set thy kind heart at rest.”
The revulsion of feeling was too great for one whose system had been wound up to a state of excitement like that which had sustained my mother, who, an hour before, had seemed scarcely able to speak. She extended her hand toward her husband, smiled benignantly in his face, whispered the word “Thanks,” and then, losing all her powers of body, sank into the last sleep, as tranquilly as the infant drops its head on the bosom of the nurse. This was, after all, a sudden, and, in one sense, an unexpected death: all who witnessed it were struck with awe. My father gazed for a whole minute intently on the placid features of his wife, and left the room in silence. He was followed by Dr. Etherington, who accompanied him to the private apartment where they had first met that night, neither uttering a syllable until both were seated.