1. CHAPTER I.
THE DEATH OF MR. GEORGE HARTRIGHT.
Colonel Joshua Hartright, tall, portly, about sixty, wearing the
dress of a Virginia planter, came hastily, one autumn morning,
into the drawing-room of his house at “Oakhill,” on the south side
of James River, and limping along with the assistance of his gold-headed
cane, went into one of the windows and looked out upon
the landscape.
Any person who had glanced at him would have seen that his
eyes were a little moist and swollen, by suppressed tears, apparently.
You would not have charged him easily, however, with sentiment
or impressibility of any kind, unless with a tendency to irascibility
and quick displeasure. A cold man, and yet ready to “fire up;” a
little consequential and arrogant; haughty to a certain extent; not
an amiable or “winning” person, and yet with noble qualities.
That moisture in the eyes was plainly unwonted, and the troubled
gaze unusual.
Colonel Hartright was looking out of the window,—and the prospect
was a superb one of far-reaching low grounds, covered with a
waving field of corn, in ripe tassel and full ear,—when a horseman,
in plain black, with a pair of physician's saddle-bags behind his
saddle, rode up the hill, dismounted, entered, and approached
Colonel Hartright. The latter turned slowly from the window,
made the new comer a stiff bow, and begged him to be seated.
The physician took the proffered seat, and said
“Well, Colonel, how is Mr. Hartright?”
“He is dead!” was the reply, in a low, rather husky voice.
“Dead!”
“He died half an hour since.”
The physician knit his brows.
“Is it possible? His case did not seem so critical. But, after all,
it is a terrible complaint—disease of the heart.”
“Yes.”
Colonel Hartright sat down after uttering this one word, and
looked at the carpet, with an expression of very deep gloom.
“Doctor,” he said at length, “I beg you will take charge of
the arrangements for my brother's funeral. I must make a journey
—and to-day.”
“A journey?”
Colonel Hartright nodded, but declined further explanation,
except that he added, after a pause,
“A journey made necessary by the dying words of my brother.
I cannot neglect his last injunction. We have lived together for
about fifty years; he was my sole blood relative, nearly, and has
now left me. His last wishes are commands. I must set out
to-day, but will return to-morrow. Let the funeral take place in
the evening, and at the family burying-ground here. I shall be
present.”
The emotion of the speaker as he uttered these words was great,
in spite of his attempt to suppress it. The short sentences came
one by one, as though forced out by an effort.
The physician made no further inquiry, respecting the evident
desire of his host to avoid an explanation of his journey.
“Give yourself no uneasiness about the arrangements, my dear
sir,” he said. “I will attend to everything.”
Colonel Hartright bowed his thanks, and said in a low voice, as
he rose,
“I will go with you to my brother.”
Passing through the large hall toward the staircase, he made a
sign with his hand to an old, gray-haired negro servant who was
waiting respectfully at the door of the dining-room, opposite that
of the drawing-room.
“Order William to have the coach at the door in half-an-hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel Hartright went through the broad hall toward a staircase,
which wound up to a second hall above, upon which opened
the doors of the numerous chambers. His step was slow and
labored as he ascended, striking the heavy oak as he did so, step by
step, with his gold-headed cane. The physician followed. They
entered one of the upper apartments, furnished in heavy and elaborate
oak; and here, on the great bed, lay the body of a gentleman
of about sixty-five, the face smiling even in death.
Colonel Hartright extended his hand slowly toward the body,
but seemed unable to speak. The physician's eye passed from the
face to one of the arms which lay outside the cover. The cold
hand grasped a small key.
“What key is this?” said the Doctor.
[ILLUSTRATION]
"What key is this?" said the doctor.—P. 14.
[Description: 513EAF. Image of three men. Two are standing near the bed of an ill man. The doctor, who is standing right next to and holds the hand of the ill man, is showing the third man the key that the invalid is holding. The men are gathered in a bedroom, with the bed on the right of the picture and chairs, a rug, and a fireplace on the right.]
“A key!” said Colonel Hartright, trying to speak calmly.
“In the hand—the key apparently of a secretary.”
“I had not observed it.”
The Doctor quietly took up the key from the cold fingers which
clutched it stiffly, and presented it to Colonel Hartright.
“It may be the key of a drawer or chest containing Mr. Hartright's
will or other papers.”
“Yes.”
“And now, my dear sir, let us retire. Give yourself no uneasiness
about the arrangements. They shall be attended to immediately,
and the funeral will take place as you desire—to-morrow, at
the spot mentioned.”
“Thank you, sir.”
It was an effort with Colonel Hartright to utter these words.
He cleared his throat as he spoke. Then he silently followed the
physician out of the chamber and went to his own.
Half-an-hour afterwards Colonel Hartright came down, and went
toward his coach, which stood in front of the wide portico. It was
a large vehicle, with a roomy interior, silk cushions and curtains,
and drawn by four glossy horses champing their bits.
The coachman, perched on his elevated seat, looked with respectful
inquiry at his master as he got into the coach.
“To Williamsburg,” said Colonel Hartright. “Lose no time.”
