A little later, Allison came again, to read the evening paper to him, after which they chatted socially for a while, when the banker said he felt weary, and would retire.
His attendant was assisting him to prepare for bed when he suddenly put his hand to his head and made an exclamation as if he were in pain.
“It is nothing,” he said, as the nurse glanced at him in surprise, “merely a neuralgic twinge in my head; but—what is this?” he added thickly, and beginning to rub his face, which was twitching and had a strangely drawn look.
The next moment he fell forward upon the bed, unconscious.
A physician was summoned, and everything done that medical skill could suggest; but the man never rallied; he remained in a stupor throughout the night, until an early hour of the morning, when he sank away like the sudden going out of a candle.
Knowing that John Hubbard was her father’s attorney, and otherwise connected with him in business, and having no relatives upon whom to call in this emergency, Allison had sent for the lawyer, when it was found that the banker could not live, and he had remained at the house until the end.
He assumed the care of everything, made all arrangements for the burial, subject, of course, to Allison’s wishes and preferences, and when these duties were over, he repaired immediately to the bank, as there were certain papers which he wished to secure, and certain accounts to be balanced, before Mr. Brewster’s death should become known to the employees of the institution.
It required some time for Hubbard to pick the lock of the box, for it was strangely constructed, and, not having been disturbed for many years, the lock was considerably rusted.
But patience and perseverance at length accomplished his purpose, when, throwing open the cover, an exclamation of disappointment and disgust escaped him when he found within only a few neatly folded articles of infant’s clothing.