“In fact, Aileen, I don’t know if you ever realized how much that place has meant to me.
It has helped me to live through the endless practical problems to which I have had to devote myself.
In building it and buying things for it, I have tried to bring into my life and yours the beauty which is entirely outside of cities and business.”
And as Cowperwood talked on, Aileen at last realized to a degree, at least, and perhaps for the first time, what all this meant to him, and again she promised to do everything as he directed.
“There’s another thing,” he went on, “and that is the hospital.
You know I have wanted for a long time to build one. It doesn’t have to occupy an expensive site. A rather convenient Bronx location has been suggested in my will.
Furthermore, it is to be for the poor—not for people with money who can afford to go elsewhere—and neither race, creed, nor color are to have anything to do with the right of admission.”
She sat there silently while he paused for a moment.
“There’s one more thing, Aileen.
I haven’t mentioned it to you before, because I wasn’t certain how you would feel about it.
I am having a tomb erected over in Greenwood Cemetery, and it’s very near completion: a beautiful copy of an ancient Greek design.
It contains two bronze sarcophagi, one for me and one for you, if you choose to be buried there.”
At this she stirred uneasily, for he seemed to be considering his prospective death as practically as he had taken his business affairs.
“You say it is in Greenwood?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Cowperwood, solemnly.
“And that it is already completed?”
“So nearly completed that I could be buried there if I died within a short time.”
“Certainly, Frank, you are the strangest of men!
The idea of building your own tomb—and mine—and you aren’t certain at all that you’re going to die of this . . .”
“But this tomb, Aileen, will last for a thousand years,” he said, with a slight lift in his voice.
“And besides, we’re all going to die sometime, and you might as well rest there with me; that is, if you care to.”
She remained silent.
“Well, there it is,” he concluded, “and I feel it should be for the two of us, particularly since it has been built that way.
However, if you feel you do not want to be there . . .”
But here she interrupted him.
“Oh, Frank, let’s not talk about that now.
If you want me there, I’ll be there. You know that,” and a restrained sob manifested itself in her voice.
However, at this point the door opened and Dr. James came in to say that it was unwise for Cowperwood to talk any longer; she might come another day if she would call up beforehand.
She got up from where she had been sitting beside his bed, and taking his hand, said:
“I’ll come in again tomorrow, Frank, just for a little while, and if there is anything I can do, please have Dr. James call me.
But you must get well, Frank.
You must believe that you will.
There is so much that you want to do.
Try . . .”
“Well, all right, dear, I will do my best,” he said, waving his hand and adding: “See you tomorrow.”
She turned and passed out into the hall.
Walking toward the elevators, sadly pondering on their conversation, she noticed a woman just stepping out of an elevator.
She stared, and, to her astonishment, realized that the woman was Berenice.
They both stood as if transfixed for a few seconds, after which Berenice crossed the hall and opened a door and disappeared down a stairway leading to the floor below.
Aileen, still transfixed, turned, with seeming determination to re-enter Cowperwood’s suite, but instead suddenly turned in the opposite direction towards the elevators.
But before going many steps, she stopped and stood still.
Berenice!
So here she was in New York, and obviously at Cowperwood’s request.
Of course, at his request!
And he pretending even now that he was dying!
Would the man’s perfidy never reach a limit?
Imagine him asking her to come tomorrow!
And talking of the tomb in which she was to lie with him!
With him!
Well, this was the end!