He has become a monster.

And even in his best days he wasn't worthy to have such a woman as I am.

And now he is thinking of cheating me--and will do it--unless God prevents him." He drowsed on, more asleep than awake, not even rousing when they put him to bed.

He did not go to Saint X that day.

But he did go later--went to lie in state in the corridor of the splendid hall he had given Tecumseh; to be gaped at by thousands who could not see that they were viewing a few pounds of molded clay, so busy were their imaginations with the vast fortune it was supposed he left; to be preached over, the sermon by Dr.
Hargrave, who believed in him--and so, in estimating the man as distinguished from what the system he lived under had made of him, perhaps came nearer the truth than those who talked only of the facts of his public career--his piracy, his bushwhacking, his gambling with the marked cards and loaded dice of "high finance"; to be buried in the old Cedar Grove Cemetery, with an imposing monument presently over him, before it fresh flowers every day for a year--the Marchioness of St.
Berthe contracted with a florist to attend to that.
* * * * * Four days after the funeral Janet sent a servant down to Adelaide and to Mrs.Ranger with notes begging them to come to Point Helen for lunch.
"We are lonely and _so_ dreary," she wrote Adelaide.