University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.

Great was Mr. Middleton's surprise when informed by Dr.
Lacey of his engagement with Julia. Something in his
countenance must have betrayed it, for Dr. Lacey said,
“You seem astonished, sir. Are you displeased?”

“Certainly not; I am glad,” answered Mr. Middleton,
“Yet I confess I was surprised, for I had never thought of such
a thing. Once I hoped you would marry Fanny, but since
Frank Cameron has rendered that impossible, you cannot do
better than take Julia. She is intelligent, accomplished and
handsome, and although she has some faults, your influence
over her will lead her to correct them.”

Unlike this was the reception which the intelligence
met with from Dr. Lacey's negroes.

“What's that ar you sayin',” asked Aunt Dilsey of Rondeau,
who was communicating the important news to Leffie.

“You'd better ask,” replied Rondeau. “Who do you
suppose Marster George is goin' to fetch here to crack our
heads for us?”

“Dun know,—Miss Mabel, mebby,” said Aunt Dilsey.

“No, sir; Miss Mabel is bad enough, but she can't hold
a candle to this one,” answered Rondeau.

“You don't mean Miss July,” shrieked, rather than asked
Aunt Dilsey.

“I don't mean nobody else, mother Dilsey,” said Rondeau.

Up flew Aunt Dilsey's hands in amazement, and up
rolled her eyes in dismay. “I clar for't,” said she, “if Marster
George has done made such a fool of hisself, I hope
she'll pull his har a heap worse than she did Jack's.”

“No danger but what she will, and yours too,” was
Rondeau's consoling reply.

“Lord knows,” said Aunt Dilsey, “fust time she sasses
me, I'll run away long of Jack and the baby. I'll tie up
my new gown and cap in a handkercher this night.”

Leffie now proposed that her mother should defer her
intended flight until the arrival of the dreaded Julia, while
Rondeau added, “Besides, Dilsey, if you should run away,
your delicate body couldn't get further than the swamp,
where you'd go in up to your neck first lunge, and all marster's
horses couldn't draw you out.”

This allusion to her size changed the current of Aunt
Dilsey's wrath, which now turned and spent itself on Rondeau.
Her impression of Julia, however, never changed, although
she was not called upon to run away.

Mrs. Lacey, too, received the news of her son's engagement
with evident dissatisfaction; but she thought remonstrance
would be useless, and she kept silent, secretly praying
that Julia might prove better than her fears. In due
course of time there came from Kentucky a letter of congratulation
from Fanny; but she was so unaccustomed to
say or write what she did not feel, that the letter, so far as
congratulations were concerned, was a total failure. She,
however, denied her engagement with Frank, and this, if
nothing else, was sufficient reason why Julia refused to show
it to Dr. Lacey. Julia knew the chain by which she held
him was brittle and might at any time be broken, and 'twas

not strange that she longed for the last days of October,
when with Dr. Lacey she would return to Kentucky.

They came at last, and one bright, cloudless morning
Uncle Joshua got out his carriage and proceeded to Frankfort,
where, as he had expected, he met Julia and his future
son-in-law. His greeting of the former was kind and fatherly
enough, but the moment he saw the latter, he felt, as he
afterwards said, an almost unconquerable desire to flatten
his nose, gouge his eyes, knock out his teeth, and so forth,
which operations would doubtless have greatly astonished
Dr. Lacey and given him what almost every man has, viz,
a most formidable idea of his wife's relations.

He, however, restrained his wrath, and when, at a convenient
time, Dr. Lacey, with a few ominous “ahems” and
made-up coughs, indicated his intention of asking for Julia,
Uncle Joshua cut him short by saying, “Never mind, I
know what you want. You may have her and welcome.
I only wish she would make as good a wife as you will husband.
But mind now, when you find out what for a fury
you've got, don't come whinin' round me, for I give you fa'r
warnin'.”

Here Dr. Lacey thought proper to say that possibly Mr.
Middleton did not understand his daughter.

“Not understand her,” repeated Mr. Middleton. “What's
to hinder? She's my own gal, and I like her well enough;
but don't I know she's as fiery as a baker's oven?”

“She is greatly changed,” continued Dr. Lacey. “Don't
you give her credit for that?”

“Changed!” replied Mr. Middleton. “So's lightnin'
changed! It's one of her tricks. Depend on't, you'll find
it so.” And Mr. Middleton walked off in search of his promising
daughter.

Strange as it may seem, the old man's remarks had no
other effect upon Dr. Lacey than to cause him to pity Julia,

who he fancied was misunderstood, and misused. He believed
her reformation to be sincere, and could not help feeling
that Mr. Middleton was mistaken in his opinion of both
his daughters.

After tramping all over the house, banging doors, and
shouting at least a dozen times, “Ho, Tempest, whar for
gracious' sake are you?” Mr. Middleton at length found
his daughter in Mrs. Miller's room consulting with Kate
about her bridal dress. Kate, too, was wholly deceived by
Julia's gentleness and apparent frankness of manner, and
readily complied with her request that she should be with
her the two days preceding the marriage, for the purpose
of assisting in the arrangement of affairs. This being settled,
Mr. Middleton and his daughter started for home, which
they reached about sunset.

Julia leaped gayly from the carriage, and running into
the house, embraced her mother, and received the blacks as
affectionately as Fanny herself could have done; then missing
her sister, she asked, “Where is Fan, why does she not
come to meet me?”

Mrs. Middleton looked inquiringly at her husband, who
replied, “No, I hain't told her, jest because she didn't ask
me. Sunshine is sick,—sick in bed, and has had the potecary
three times.”

“Fanny sick,” said Julia. “Where is she? In her
room? I will go to her immediately.”

But in going to Fanny, it was necessary to pass the parlor,
and Julia could not resist the temptation to look in and
see, “if the old man had fixed up any.” “Oh, how neat,
how pleasant!” was her first exclamation, and truly the cheerless
old room had undergone a great renovation. It had
been thoroughly cleaned and repainted. The walls were
hung with bright, cheerful-looking paper. A handsome
carpet covered the floor, while curtains of corresponding

beauty shaded the windows. The furniture, tastefully arranged,
was nearly all new, and in the waxen flowers, which
filled the vases on the mantel-piece, Julia recognized the
handiwork of her sister.

Yes, Fanny's love had wrought this change. At first
her father had refused to do any thing. “No, I won't,” said
he. “It's good enough, and if it don't suit lady Tempest,
she can go to the hoss barn; that's just fit for 'em.”

“Then, father,” said Fanny, “do it for my sake. It
would please me to have a pleasanter parlor.”

This was sufficient. A well-filled purse was placed in
Fanny's hands, with liberty to do as she pleased. Then
with untiring love, aching heart and throbbing temples, she
worked on day after day, until all was completed; parlor,
bridal chamber and all. The hangings and drapery of the
latter were as white and pure as was she who so patiently
worked on, while each fresh beauty added to the room
pierced her heart with a deeper anguish, as she thought what
and whom it was for. When her mother remonstrated
against such unceasing toil, she would smile a sweet, sad
smile and say, “Don't hinder me, dear mother; 'tis all I can
do to show my love for Julia, and after I am gone they will
perhaps think more kindly of me, when they know how I
worked for them.”

At last all was done; the finishing stroke was given, and
then came a reaction. Fanny took her bed, and her father,
instantly alarmed, called the nearest physician. Dr. Gordon
readily saw that Fanny's diseases was in her mind, and
in reply to Mrs. Middleton's inquiries he frankly told his
opinion, and said that unless the cause of her melancholy
could be removed the consequence might be fatal.

“Don't tell my husband,” said Mrs. Middleton, “his life
is bound up in Fanny, and the day that sees her dead will,
I fear, also make me a widow.” Accordingly, Mr. Middleton

was deceived into a belief that Fanny's illness was the
result of over exertion, and that she would soon recover.

In a day or two she seemed better, but was not able to
come down stairs. Indeed she had no desire or intention of
doing so until after the wedding, for she felt she could not,
would not, see Dr. Lacey for the world. Since the receipt
of her sister's letter, she had been given a holier love, a firmer
faith, than aught on earth can bestow, and she was now
under the influence of religion; of lasting, true religion.
This then was the reason why she welcomed her sister so
affectionately, and felt no emotion either of resentment or
anger towards those who were thus trampling upon the
bleeding fibres of her heart.

As Julia kissed the almost transparent brow of her sister,
and clasped her thin, white fingers, tears gathered in her
eyes, and she thought, “This ruin have I wrought, and for it
I must answer;” but not long did she ever suffer her conscience
to trouble her, and the next hour she was chatting
away to Fanny about the preparations for her wedding,
which was to take place one week from that day. Fanny
listened as one who heard not. She was praying for more
grace, more strength to endure yet a little longer.

Slowly to Julia dragged the days of that week, while to
Fanny they sped on rapid wing. And now every thing
within and without the house betokened the coming event.
Servants scampered hither and thither, thinking they were
doing it all, while in reality they were doing nothing. Mrs.
Middleton scolded the blacks, and Uncle Joshua scolded Mrs.
Middleton, at the same time walking mechanically from the
kitchen to the parlor, from the parlor to Fanny's sick-room,
and from Fanny's sick-room back to the kitchen, occasionally
kicking from his path some luckless kitten, dog, or black
baby, which latter set up most lusty yells, just to vary the
scene.

In the midst of all this Fanny lay calmly and quietly on
her low bed, counting each succeeding sun as it rose and set,
bringing nearer and nearer a day she so much dreaded.
True to her promise, Kate Miller came two days before the
wedding. Fanny was asleep when she entered the room to
see her, but on the white, wasted face, Kate's tears fell as
she said, “Poor Fanny! I did not know she was so ill.”

Mr. Middleton, who was present, muttered: “Yes, cursed
be the one who made her so!” He knew not that he
cursed his own child.

The next day Mr. William Middleton arrived, bringing
the intelligence that Florence and Mabel had accompanied
him, and would next evening be present at the wedding.
Slowly the last rays of a bright October sun faded in the
west, giving no sign of the stormy day which was to succeed.
Long after midnight a lone watcher sat by the window
in Fanny's room, gazing at the stars, which looked
down so quietly from their distant homes, and praying, not
for herself, but for Dr. Lacey, that he might be happy with
her he had chosen. At last, chilled with the night air, she
crept shivering to her pillow, nor woke again until aroused
by the fierce moaning of the autumn wind, which shook the
casement and by the sound of the driving rain, which beat
against the pane. Yes, the morning, which dawned on
Julia's bridal day was wild and stormy, but before noon the
clouds cleared away, and the afternoon was hot, sultry and
oppressive, a precursor of the mightier and more wrathful
storm which followed.

About five o'clock there was a noise in the yard, and
Kate, who was in Fanny's room, arranging her young friend's
hair, looked from the window and said, “It is Dr. Lacey.
Julia has looked for him more than three hours.”

Quickly Fanny hurried to the window. She could not
meet Dr. Lacey face to face, but she wished to look at him

once more. She was too late, however. He had entered
the house, and soon the sound of his voice reached her ear.
He had not been there long ere he asked for Fanny, On
being told she was sick, he seemed rather disturbed. Possibly,
however, he felt relieved to know she would not be
present when he took upon him vows, which should have
been breathed to her. Ashton, Florence, and Mabel now
arrived, and soon after came Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, accompanied
by Mrs. Carrington, who had been invited because it
would not do to slight her, and who came because she had
a mind to!

The ceremony was to take place at seven o'clock, and
guests each moment arrived, until the parlor seemed nearly
full. Alone in her chamber sat Fanny, listening to the
sounds of mirth, which grated harshly on her ear. Night,
dark and stormy, was gathering over the earth, but a darker
night lay round the heart of the young girl, as she watched
from her window a dense, black pile of clouds, which had
appeared in the west, and now increased until the whole sky
was overspread, as with a pall of darkness, while distant
peals of muttered thunder announced the coming storm.

And now louder roared the howling wind, and brighter
the glaring lightning flashed, while fiercer grew the conflict
in Fanny's bosom. Her faith was weak, and well-nigh
blotted with tears of human weakness. But He, whose
power could stay the storm without, could also still the
agony within, and o'er the troubled waters of that aching
heart, there fell a peaceful calm.

Suddenly the door opened and a creature of wondrous,
dazzling beauty appeared. It was Julia, in her bridal robe.
She would fain have her sister's blessing ere she descended
to the parlor. The struggle was over, and the blessing which
Fanny gave her sister, was sincere, but when Julia asked forgiveness
for all the evil she had ever done, the reply was

prevented by a crash of thunder, so terrific, that Julia trembled
with terror, and hastily left the room.

In a moment there was a light step upon the stairs.
Fanny knew it was Dr. Lacey, for he soon returned with
Julia, and as they passed her door, she heard the merry
laugh of Florence, who was bridesmaid. In an instant they
were in the parlor, throughout which a general gloom seemed
to reign. Perhaps it was owing to the wildness of the
storm, which each moment increased in fury. The bridal
party took their places, and Uncle Joshua shut his eyes,
while the marriage ceremony commenced.

The reader may now accompany me to the borders of
yonder wood, where stands a low-roofed building, the property
of Mrs. Dunn. There, in a darkened room, lay the
widow's only son, raving in the madness of delirium. The
fever-flame burned in each vein, and as he tossed from side
to side, he would shriek out, “Quick, I tell you, or you are
too late. She must not wed him. Don't you know she's
doubly, trebly, steeped in guilt? Go quick, I tell you, and
stop it.”

Mrs. Dunn could only weep, for she knew not, dreamed
not, what her son could mean. Soon he grew calm, and fell
into a deep sleep. When he awoke, Billy Jeffrey, who lived
near, was sitting by him. To Mrs. Dunn's delight, Joseph
was sane, and calling her to him, he said, “Isn't Julia Middleton
to be married to-night?”

“She is,” answered his mother.

“At what hour?”

“At seven.”

“What time is it now?”

“Half-past six,” replied Mrs. Dunn.

“It must not be,” said Joseph, and turning to Bill he
added, “Listen, William, to what I have to tell, then speed

away, on the lightning's wing, and tear her from the altar;—
take her from his side, I say, and put there the other one,
the pale, golden-haired one;” then, as he noticed the vacant
look on Bill's face, he added, “Oh, no, you can't tell it.
You wouldn't understand it. Mother, bring me a pen and
some paper.”

The paper was brought, and as soon as possible Joseph
wrote a confession of his own and Julia's guilt. “Now, Bill,”
said he, “run for your life, and give this to Dr. Lacey. Do
it for the sake of Fanny.”

Bill needed no second bidding. His obtuse intellect had
gathered that in some way Fanny was in danger, and away
he flew over bushes, briers, rocks and ditches. But alas,
the way was long and dark, and ere he was aware of it, he
was precipitated into one of the sink-holes, which are so
common in the limestone soil of Kentucky. The fall
sprained his ankle, but gathering himself up, he continued
on, slowly and painfully.

Meantime delirium had again crept over Joseph Dunn,
and he forgot that he had sent Billy, but concluded he must
go himself. Watching a time when his mother was from
the room, he arose, and throwing on his double-gown, went
forth into the storm, and was soon far on his road towards
Mr. Middleton's.

The man of God had scarcely finished the second paragraph
of the Episcopal marriage ceremony, beginning with,
“I require and charge you both, &c,” when a shriek, wild,
unearthly and horried, rent the air. It was succeeded by a
thunder-crash, so deafening, that the ladies paled with terror.
The large maple tree, which stood by the front door, and
which Julia had called hers, was shivered by lightning, but
no one heeded it, for again was heard that fearful, maniacal
shriek, and this time could be distinguished the sound as of

some one struggling with the blacks, who were huddled together
in the hall.

“Let me go, I tell you,” said the voice. “It shall not
go on!”

All eyes turned towards the door, as Joseph Dunn appeared,
shouting, “Stop it! stop it! She forged those letters!
She broke her sister's heart! Stop it, I say!”
Every person in the room seemed terror-stricken at the wild
spectacle he presented. His face, wasted to a mere skeleton,
was ghastly white, while his long, yellow hair hung in matted
locks about his brow, and a look of wild frenzy was in
his eye, as darting towards the paralyzed Julia, he seized
her as with a lion's grasp and shook her most furiously!

Bill Jeffrey was close behind. He had lost his hat, and
the rain had soaked his thick, black hair, until it clung
closely to his head, giving him, too, a strange appearance.
Mr. William Middleton now came forward, to ask an explanation
of Joseph, who, chaucing to discover Bill, said, “He
has got the letter,—my confession. Read that, I am too
exhausted,” and he fell upon the floor.

No one noticed him, for all gazed intently at Bill, who
drew from his pocket a paper and presented it to Dr. Lacey.
In a calm, clear voice, Dr. Lacey read aloud the confession,
in the midst of thunder, lightning, groans, cries, and oaths,
the latter of which were the spontaneous production of Uncle
Joshua, who sat still in his chair, until the confession was
read through; then with one bound he reached Julia, and
raising her from the floor, said, “Speak, Satan, and tell if this
be true!”

Julia was overtaken, surrounded on all sides, and there
was no way of escape. Mechanically she answered, “I am
guilty,” while a burst of execration ran round the room. A
stifled moan of agony came from Dr. Lacey's parted lips,
and he asked in a voice which plainly told his suffering,

“Oh, why was I suffered to go thus far? Why, why did no
one write?”

“I did,” answered Mrs. Miller.

“And I too,” repeated Mrs. Carrington, “but you spurned
my letter and treated me with contempt.”

“Never, never,” scarcely articulated Dr. Lacey. “I
never received them, but call Rondeau; he must know something
of it.”

Rondeau, who had accompanied his master, was called.
Explanation followed explanation, testimony crowded upon
testimony, and Julia acknowledged all, until at length Dr.
Lacey, frantic with the sense of wrong done him, turned to
her and said, “Base woman, why have you done this? Your
sin has found you out ere it was too late; for, thank God,
you are not my wife, nor ever will be!”

Julia now lost all command of herself. Tearing the
bridal veil from her brow, she rent it in twain; then from
her arm she snatched her diamond bracelet, and trampled it
under her feet, while a stream of blood issued from her mouth
and stained her white satin dress. A moment more, and she,
too, was extended upon the floor by the side of her ally.

Where, during this exciting scene, was Fanny? The direful
sounds had reached her ear, and now at the head of the
stairs, she listened to the Babel, which reigned in the parlor.
High above all other voices, she distinguished her father's,
who, in his uncontrollable fury, was calling into use all the
oaths he had ever heard of, besides manufacturing some expressly
for the occasion! Then there was a heavy fall, accompanied
with a cry from Mrs. Middleton, of, “Life her up,
—carry her out. Don't you see she is dying?”

Fanny hesitated no longer, but quickly descending the
stairs, she forced her way through the blacks into the parlor,
where she stood appalled at the scene before her. On the
floor lay Julia, who a few moments before stood there resplendent

in beauty. Near her sat the maniac Joseph Dunn.
He had recovered from his fainting fit, and was now crouching
over the prostrate form of Julia, laughing in delirious
glee, as he wiped from her lips the red drops of blood! In
a corner of the room a group had gathered, near an open
window, through which they were bearing an inanimate object.
It was Florence, who had fainted, and as it seemed
impossible to effect a passage through the hall, so filled was
it with the terrified servants, they had sought the window as
the best means of egress.

Suddenly over that excited assembly there came a deep
silence. It was caused by the appearance of Fanny, who,
with her loose white muslin wrapper, and long curls, which
floated over her shoulders, seemed like some being from
another world, come to stay that storm of passion. Mabel,
who was occupied with her cousin, looked back as the calm
hush fell upon them, and then and there she first saw Fanny
Middleton. The scene was too much for Fanny, and she too
would have fainted, had not Dr. Lacey caught her in his
arms. Clasping her slight form passionately to his bosom,
he exclaimed, “My own,—my Fanny,—my wife, for such
you are, such you shall be!”

Mr. William Middleton and Mr. Miller, who were bearing
Julia from the room, now passed them. Dr. Lacey
glanced once at the corpse-like face over which the heavy
braids of long, black hair had fallen, then with a shudder he
again strained Fanny to his heart, saying, “Thank God,
thank God, I escaped her in time!” Then turning to the
minister, who, all this time had stood, looking on in mute
astonishment, he added in an authoritative manner, “Go on
with the ceremony, sir, and make her my wife.” But a new
thought entering his mind, he released Fanny, and said,
“Pardon me, dear Fanny; sorrow has well-nigh bereft me
of my senses. In my first joy at finding you innocent, I forgot

that you could not be mine, for you belong to another,
—to Mr. Cameron.”

“Cameron go to thunder!” exclaimed Uncle Joshua, who
was still standing near. “That's another of Tempest's lies.
She never was engaged to him; never loved him, or any
other mortal man, save yourself.”

Here Fanny, who, it will be remembered, was all this
time ignorant of the truth, asked if some one would not explain
what she saw and heard. “I will,” said Dr. Lacey, “it
is my duty to do so;” and he led her to the window, where
he hurriedly told her all,—every thing which he himself
knew, intermingling his words with so many passionate embraces
that his sanity was much to be doubted. He had
scarcely finished his story, when Kate approached him, saying,
“For humanity's sake, Dr. Lacey, if you have any
medical skill, exert it in behalf of Julia, who seems to be
dying.”

Dr. Lacey arose, and winding his arm about Fanny, as
if afraid he should lose sight of her, moved towards the
room where Julia lay. They had borne her to the bridal
chamber which Fanny had arranged with so much care, and
as Dr. Lacey appeared at the door, Uncle Joshua met him
and said, “I know she sarved you mean, but I would not
have her die. She is my own child, and you must save her
if you can.” At the same time he pointed to Julia, who lay
in the same death-like trance, with the blood still issuing
slowly from her livid lips. All that Dr. Lacey could do, he
did, but when Dr. Gordon arrived, he gladly gave up his
charge to him, and turned his attention towards Fanny, who,
overcome with what she had seen and heard, had fainted,
and been carried to her own room, where she was surrounded
by Mrs. Carrington, Florence and Mabel. These ladies ran
against each other, upset the camphor-bottle, dropped the
lamp, and spilled half the cologne, in their zealous efforts to
take care of their patient!

In the midst of their confusion Dr. Lacey entered, and
they immediately gave up to him the task of restoring her.
This he soon did, for it would seem that his very voice had
a power to recall Fanny's suspended faculties. Slowly her
eyes unclosed; then, as if wearied out, she again closed
them, and for a time, slept sweetly, calmly, on Dr. Lacey's
bosom.

The guests now began to depart, and Bill Jeffrey, who
had been sent to inform Mrs. Dunn of her son, returned with
some of the neighbors, and carried Joseph away. Owing to
the darkness of the night, the company from Frankfort remained
until morning, but no eyelid closed in sleep. With
maternal solicitude Mrs. Middleton sat by the bed-side of her
daughter Julia, whose eyes opened once, but on seeing Dr.
Lacey standing near her, she closed them again with a shudder,
and a faint wail of anguish. She had ruptured a small
blood-vessel, but Dr. Gordon said there was no danger if
she could be kept quiet for a few days.

Uncle Joshua, thus relieved from alarm concerning her,
walked back and forth from her room to Fanny's, swearing
that, “He knew the devil was let loose that night for his
special benefit, and that he had come there to see how much
of a row he could get up!”

“He succeeded admirably, I think,” said Florence, who,
having recovered from her first fright, was now ready to extract
whatever fun could be gathered from surrounding circumstances.

In the kitchen the blacks canvassed the matter after
their fashion. Aunt Judy lamented because none of the
tempting supper in the dining-room was touched, while Bob
did not fail to turn his usual round of summersets, thus evincing
his joy that so many good things were left for him to
eat. “'Cause,” said he, “in course we allus has all that
comes off the table!”

Aunt Katy took occasion to lecture the young black
girls on the awful sin of “conceit,” as she called it, pointing
them for an example to Julia, “who,” she said, “would most
likely have to live an old maid all her days.” She couldn't
have threatened a worse punishment, for many of the negresses
had already their own preferences in favor of certain
mulatto boys on their master's plantation and others adjoining.

Rondeau seemed to think his sympathy was only needed
by his young master, whom he looked upon as a much
abused man. From the first he had felt great contempt for
the old house, its master, servants and all; and had come to
the conclusion that “they were of no 'count any how.”
This opinion would doubtless have been reserved for Leffie's
ear, had not affairs taken so unexpected a turn. Now, however,
Rondeau felt at liberty to express his mind so freely,
that Ike considered it his duty to resent the insult.

A regular negro fight ensued, in which Aunt Katy, who
was not very active, was thrown down, and as she loudly
protested, “every atom of breath was knocked out of her.”
The big chicken-pie was also turned over into Rondeau's
new hat, greatly to the satisfaction of Tiger and the other
dogs, who had mingled in the fracas! The riot was finally
quelled by Mr. William Middleton and Dr. Lacey, Uncle
Joshua declaring, “he wouldn't interfere that night if the
niggers all fit till they killed themselves!”