I told her.
“I think that was quite reasonable, considering what we had. The champagne was splendid, and the Madeira had been to India three times—so Smith said.”
She brought a bottle of sherry. It was old and strong. I was rather startled to see her take two glasses within a few minutes of each other, and I wished there was no wine in the house. We went to bed happy, and no thought of the future disturbed me.
The following Saturday was the last day of the month, and I was detained at the bank so late that I could not go to Springhaven. I did not like to leave while others remained, for I did not know but Mr. Bristlebach might take it into his head to overhaul my cash again. The next Monday I learned that Aunt Rachel was very sick, had been attacked with paralysis. I went down to see her that night. She was almost senseless, and I could not talk with her. But she might die in a few days, and then her money would all be mine—I hoped; for it did not yet appear that she had made a will.
Two or three days later, my uncle, Captain Halliard, came into the bank just as we were closing. He looked particularly grim and savage.
“Paley, your aunt is very sick,” said he.
“I know she is, but I hope she will get better,” I replied, perhaps stretching the truth no more than many people do under such circumstances.
“I am attending to her affairs, as usual.”