Alice did not swoon, but she sank upon the floor, overcome by the horror
of the scene. No sound came from the bed. Was she dead? Alice groped her
way back to the chair in which she had previously sat; she leaned over
and listened. Mrs. Putnam was breathing still--faint, short breaths.
Alice took one of her hands in hers and prayed for her. Then she prayed
for the unhappy girl. Then she thought of the letter and the promise she
had made. Should she keep her promises to the dying woman, and thus be a
party to the wronging of this poor girl?
"Mrs. Putnam! Mrs. Putnam!! Aunt Heppy!!!" she cried; "take back your
fortune, I do not want it; only release me from my oath. Oh, that I
could send for that letter and put it back into her hands before she
dies! If Mr. Sawyer were only here; but I do not know where to find
him."
For hours, it seemed ages to Alice, she remained by the bedside of the
dying woman, seeing nothing, but listening intently, and hoping that she
would revive, hear her words, and release her from that horrid oath.
Suddenly, Alice started; the poor old wrinkled, wasted hand that she
held in hers, was cold--so cold--she leaned over and put her ear above
the old woman's lips.
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