And then through the circle of gaping, curious spectators came a cry of anguish that separated them like the thrust of a sword; and they hustled aside as the daughter hastened with faltering steps to her dead father. With clasped hands, knit brows, and brimming eyes the poor child knelt to embrace the wet and bruised head. Her low quivering sobs awed them all, until George Gildersleeve, tenderly unclasping her clinging arms, raised her fainting form, and bore her away.
XVII.
The huge battlemented villa on the cliff was a gloomy enough residence since the death of its owner. The remaining occupants, oppressed by their bereavement, moved about the silent rooms like shadows. Mrs. Applegate was of the opinion that a change of scene was absolutely necessary to dissipate Edna's excessive grief, and that a continued stay in their present habitation might tend to impair her health. Edna, however, seemed reluctant to leave her home, and it was only at the urgent solicitation of the Mumbies that she did so. Mr. Mumbie was one of the executors of Mr. Heath's will, and was also appointed Edna's guardian. Mr. Mumbie felt the loss of his old friend Rufus Heath deeply. His first impulse was to put his whole family in mourning, but on second thoughts he confined himself to delivering a eulogy on the character of the deceased to every one he met, prefacing it by the sage remark, solemnly delivered, that it was a very sudden death. As this was a proposition that did not admit of much controversy, the listener generally coincided. "Ah! sir, such is life," continued Mr. Mumbie, addressing Dr. Wattletop, who added, "And death."
"Very true—and death," repeated Mr. Mumbie, pausing to reflect, as if this side of the axiom had never struck him before, "and death, as you very justly remark. Ah! sir, at a moment like the present, how hollow everything looks! What's money at a time like this? How transitory and vain are our pursuits—everything, in fact!"
"Paper-mills, for instance," observed the doctor.
"Yes, sir, every worldly matter; and the reflection will force itself upon us, that in the midst of life we are in death, and there's no use kicking against it. Now Mr. Heath was a very peculiar man; I knew him thoroughly. We had been much together from boyhood, and we were always like brothers—if anything, rather more intimate and affectionate than brothers. We began life together; to be sure, I had a little the start of him, but then our tastes and sympathies were exactly alike to a shade. Mr. Heath, sir (impressively), was a very remarkable man—very remarkable man, indeed. He was not only a scholar, and a Christian, but a gentleman as well. He was also, if I may be allowed the expression, a high-toned man—very high-toned indeed, sir. He was a man of wonderful abilities, wide scope (with a circular flourish to exemplify the scope), and great grasp (clenching his large fist)—great grasp of intellect. I will state to you, and I trust you will see the importance of not repeating it—I will state to you in confidence, that I was consulted in regard to a plan on foot—a plan in which our most eminent men were engaged: I am not at liberty to divulge names, but it is sufficient to say that they were our most super-eminent men; consulted, sir, in regard to a plan that would eventually have set Mr. Heath on the very pinnacle of greatness—the very pinnacle."
"Rather an uncomfortable seat, I should fancy," commented the doctor.
Mr. Mumbie stared with a puzzled expression at the physician. He never could understand him, and took refuge in repeating the eulogy in succession to Blanks the stationer, and to Snopple the photographer. Mr. Snopple acquiesced fully in Mr. Mumbie's estimate of Mr. Heath's character and virtues, and stated that any one could see with half an eye, by merely looking at a portrait of the defunct gentleman, that he was no ordinary mortal, but had a very instructive and superior physiognomy; and that, by the bye, reminded him that he had in his studio a very fine negative representing Mr. Heath in three-quarter face and characteristic pose, from which copies could be struck off, which he would agree to furnish colored, if preferred, in the highest style of art, for twenty dollars each, frame included; and which would be an ornament to any parlor, and one that no family in Belton should be without.
Mr. Mumbie said he would see about it. Mr. Mumbie had no time to think of anything just then. He was overwhelmed with the responsibilities thrust upon him.