ally worse, and was never free from delirium till her death--which
took place less than a fortnight afterwards, to the inexpressible grief
of those who knew and loved her.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Letters had been written to Miss Pontifex's brothers and sisters, and one
and all came post-haste to Roughborough. Before they arrived the poor
lady was already delirious, and for the sake of her own peace at the last
I am half glad she never recovered consciousness.

I had known these people all their lives, as none can know each other but
those who have played together as children; I knew how they had all of
them--perhaps Theobald least, but all of them more or less--made her life
a burden to her until the death of her father had made her her own
mistress, and I was displeased at their coming one after the other to
Roughborough, and inquiring whether their sister had recovered
consciousness sufficiently to be able to see them. It was known that she
had sent for me on being taken ill, and that I remained at Roughborough,
and I own I was angered by the mingled air of suspicion, defiance and
inquisitiveness, with which they regarded me. They would all, except
Theobald, I believe have cut me downright if they had not believed me to
know something they wanted to know themselves, and might have some chance
of learning from me--for it was plain I had been in some way concerned
with the making of their sister's will. None of them suspected what the
ostensible nature of this would be, but I think they feared Miss Pontifex
was about to leave money for public uses. John said to me in his
blandest manner that he fancied he remembered to have heard his sister
say that she thought of leaving money to found a college for the relief
of dramatic authors in distress; to this I made no rejoinder, and I have
no doubt his suspicions were deepened.

When the end came, I got Miss Pontifex's solicitor to write and tell her
brothers and sisters how she had left her money: they were not
unnaturally furious, and went each to his or her separate home without
attending the funeral, and without paying any attention to myself. This
was perhaps the kindest thing they could have done by me, for their
behaviour made me so angry that I became almost reconciled to Alethea's
will out of pleasure at the anger it had aroused. But for this I should
have felt the will keenly, as having been placed by it in the position
which of all others I had been most a