never rallied in the least. The fit appears to have killed him, as a bullet might have killed him.
'He had been very dull and heavy on the previous day. In the few words that he spoke before retiring to rest, my name was on his lips. He said, 'If I get better I should like to have David here, and to go on with him to our house of business in London.' He was very much flushed, and complained of feeling giddy; but he would not allow the doctor to be sent for. His brother assisted him to ascend the stairs to his room, and asked him some questions about his affairs. He replied impatiently, 'Keller knows all about it—leave it to Keller.'
'When I think of the good old man's benevolent and happy life, and when I remember that it was accidentally through me that he first met Madame Fontaine, I feel a bitterness of spirit which makes my sense of the loss of him more painful than I can describe. I call to mind a hundred little instances of his kindness to me—and (don't be offended) I wish you had sent some other person than myself to represent you at Frankfort.
'He is to be buried here, in two days' time. I hope you will not consider me negligent of your interest in accepting his brother's invitation to follow him to the grave. I think it will put me in a better frame of mind, if I can pay the last tribute of affection and respect to my old friend. When all is over, I will continue the journey to London, without stopping on the road night or day.
'Write to me at London, dear aunt; and give my love to Minna and Fritz—and ask them to write to me also. I beg my best respects to Mr. Keller. Please assure him of my true sympathy; I know, poor man, how deeply he will be grieved.'
PART II
MR. DAVID GLENNEY COLLECTS HIS MATERIALS
AND CONTINUES THE STORY HISTORICALLY
CHAPTER I
In the preceding portion of this narrative I spoke as an eye-witness. In the present part of it, my absence from Frankfort leaves me dependent on the documentary evidence of other persons. This evidence consists (first) of letters addressed to myself; (secondly) of statements personally made to me; (thirdly) of extracts from a diary discovered after the lifetime of the writer. In all three cases the materials thus placed at my disposal bear proof of truthfulness on the face of them.
Early in the month of December, Mr. Keller sent a message to Madame Fontaine, requesting to see her on a matter of importance to both of them.
'I hope you feel better to-day, madam,' he said, rising to receive the widow when she entered the room.
'You are very good, sir,' she answered, in tones barely audible—with her eyes on the ground. 'I can't say that I feel much better.'
'I have news for you, which ought to act as the best of all restoratives,' Mr. Keller proceeded. 'At last I have heard from my sister on the subject of the marriage.'
He stopped, and, suddenly stepping forward, caught the widow by the arm. At his last words she had started to her feet. Her face suddenly turned from pale to red—and then changed again to a ghastly whiteness. She would have fallen if Mr. Keller had not held her up. He placed her at once in his own easy chair. 'You must really have medical advice,' he said gravely; 'your nerves are seriously out of order. Can I get you anything?'
'A glass of water, sir, if you will be so kind as to ring for it.'
'There is no need to ring for it; I have water in the next room.'
She laid her hand on his arm, and stopped him as he was about to leave her.
'One word first, sir. You will forgive a woman's curiosity on such an interesting subject as the marriage of her child. Does your sister propose a day for the wedding?'
'My sister suggests,' Mr. Keller answered, 'the thirtieth of this month.'
He left her and opened the door of the next room.
As he disappeared, she rapidly followed out a series of calculations on her fingers. Her eyes brightened, her energies rallied. 'No matter what happens so long as my girl is married first,' she whispered to herself. 'The wedding on the thirtieth, and the money due on the thirty-first. Saved by a day! Saved by a day!'
Mr. Keller returned with a glass of water. He started as he looked at her.
'You seem to have recovered already—you look quite a different woman!' he exclaimed.
She drank the water nevertheless. 'My unlucky nerves play me strange tricks, sir,' she answered, as she set the empty glass down on a table at her side.
Mr. Keller took a chair and referred to his letter from Munich.
'My sister hopes to be with us some days before the end of the year,' he resumed. 'But in her uncertain state of health, she suggests the thirtieth so as to leave a margin in case of unexpected delays. I presume this will afford plenty of time (I speak ignorantly of such things) for providing the bride's outfit?'
Madame Fontaine smiled sadly. 'Far more time than we want, sir. My poor little purse will leave my girl to rely on her natural attractions—with small help from the jeweler and the milliner, on her wedding day.'
Mr. Keller referred to his letter again, and looked up from it with a grim smile.
'My sister will in one respect at least anticipate the assistance of the jeweler,' he said. 'She proposes to bring with her, as a present to the bride, an heirloom on the female side of our family. It is a pearl necklace (of very great value, I am told) presented to my mother by the Empress Maria Theresa—in recognition of services rendered to that illustrious person early in life. As an expression of my sister's interest in the marriage, I thought an announcement of the proposed gift might prove gratifying to you.'
Madame Fontaine clasped her hands, with a fervor of feeling which was in this case, at least, perfectly sincere. A pearl necklace, the gift of an Empress, would represent in money value a little fortune in itself. 'I can find no words to express my sense of gratitude,' she said; 'my daughter must speak for herself and for me.'
'And your daughter must hear the good news as soon as possible,' Mr. Keller added kindly. 'I won't detain you. I know you must be anxious to see Minna. One word before you go. You will, of course, invite any relatives and
