The nurse cautioned them that he was not to be talked to much.
When they were gone Lester said to Jennie,
"Imogene has changed a good deal."
He made no other comment.
Mrs. Kane was on the Atlantic three days out from New York the afternoon Lester died.
He had been meditating whether anything more could be done for Jennie, but he could not make up his mind about it.
Certainly it was useless to leave her more money.
She did not want it.
He had been wondering where Letty was and how near her actual arrival might be when he was seized with a tremendous paroxysm of pain.
Before relief could be administered in the shape of an anesthetic he was dead.
It developed afterward that it was not the intestinal trouble which killed him, but a lesion of a major blood-vessel in the brain.
Jennie, who had been strongly wrought up by watching and worrying, was beside herself with grief.
He had been a part of her thought and feeling so long that it seemed now as though a part of herself had died.
She had loved him as she had fancied she could never love any one, and he had always shown that he cared for her—at least in some degree.
She could not feel the emotion that expresses itself in tears—only a dull ache, a numbness which seemed to make her insensible to pain.
He looked so strong—her Lester—lying there still in death.
His expression was unchanged—defiant, determined, albeit peaceful.
Word had come from Mrs. Kane that she would arrive on the Wednesday following.
It was decided to hold the body.
Jennie learned from Mr. Watson that it was to be transferred to Cincinnati, where the Paces had a vault. Because of the arrival of various members of the family, Jennie withdrew to her own home; she could do nothing more.
The final ceremonies presented a peculiar commentary on the anomalies of existence.
It was arranged with Mrs. Kane by wire that the body should be transferred to Imogene's residence, and the funeral held from there.
Robert, who arrived the night Lester died; Berry Dodge, Imogene's husband; Mr. Midgely, and three other citizens of prominence were selected as pall-bearers.
Louise and her husband came from Buffalo; Amy and her husband from Cincinnati.
The house was full to overflowing with citizens who either sincerely wished or felt it expedient to call.
Because of the fact that Lester and his family were tentatively Catholic, a Catholic priest was called in and the ritual of that Church was carried out.
It was curious to see him lying in the parlor of this alien residence, candles at his head and feet, burning sepulchrally, a silver cross upon his breast, caressed by his waxen fingers.
He would have smiled if he could have seen himself, but the Kane family was too conventional, too set in its convictions, to find anything strange in this.
The Church made no objection, of course.
The family was distinguished. What more could be desired?
On Wednesday Mrs. Kane arrived.
She was greatly distraught, for her love, like Jennie's, was sincere.
She left her room that night when all was silent and leaned over the coffin, studying by the light of the burning candles Lester's beloved features.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, for she had been happy with him.
She caressed his cold cheeks and hands. "Poor, dear Lester!" she whispered. "Poor, brave soul!"
No one told her that he had sent for Jennie.
The Kane family did not know.
Meanwhile in the house on South Park Avenue sat a woman who was enduring alone the pain, the anguish of an irreparable loss.
Through all these years the subtle hope had persisted, in spite of every circumstance, that somehow life might bring him back to her.
He had come, it is true—he really had in death—but he had gone again.
Where?
Whither her mother, whither Gerhardt, whither Vesta had gone?
She could not hope to see him again, for the papers had informed her of his removal to Mrs. Midgely's residence, and of the fact that he was to be taken from Chicago to Cincinnati for burial. The last ceremonies in Chicago were to be held in one of the wealthy Roman Catholic churches of the South Side, St. Michael's, of which the Midgelys were members.
Jennie felt deeply about this.
She would have liked so much to have had him buried in Chicago, where she could go to the grave occasionally, but this was not to be.
She was never a master of her fate.
Others invariably controlled.
She thought of him as being taken from her finally by the removal of the body to Cincinnati, as though distance made any difference.
She decided at last to veil herself heavily and attend the funeral at the church.
The paper had explained that the services would be at two in the afternoon. Then at four the body would be taken to the depot, and transferred to the train; the members of the family would accompany it to Cincinnati.