should they spend afterthe reading of the will in the house known as the Squire Adams house.The annuity was an ample one, and would provide the widow MarthaLoomis and her daughters, as it had done before, with all theneedfuls of life; but upon hearing the will they stiffened theirdouble chins into their kerchiefs with indignation, for they hadlooked for more.
Evelina Adams's will was a will of conditions, for unto it she hadaffixed two more, and those affected her beloved cousin EvelinaLeonard. It was notable that "beloved" had not preceded her cousinMartha Loomis's name in the will. No pretence of love, when she feltnone, had she ever made in her life. The entire property of EvelinaAdams, spinster, deceased, with the exception of Widow MarthaLoomis's provision, fell to this beloved young Evelina Leonard,subject to two conditions--firstly, she was never to enter intomatrimony, with any person whomsoever, at any time whatsoever;secondly, she was never to let the said spinster Evelina Adams'sgarden, situated at the rear and southward of the house known as theSquire Adams house, die through any neglect of hers. Due allowancewas to be made for the dispensations of Providence: for hail andwithering frost and long-continued drought, and for times wherein thesaid Evelina Leonard might, by reason of being confined to the houseby sickness, be prevented from attending to the needs of the growingplants, and the verdict in such cases was to rest with the ministerand the deacons of the church. But should this beloved Evelina loveand wed, or should she let, through any wilful neglect, that gardenperish in the season of flowers, all that goodly property would sheforfeit to a person unknown, whose name, enclosed in a sealedenvelope, was to be held meantime in the hands of the executor, whohad also drawn up the will, Lawyer Joshua Lang.
There was great excitement in the village over this strange andunwonted will. Some were there who held that Evelina Adams had notbeen of sound mind, and it should be contested. It was even rumoredthat Widow Martha Loomis had visited Lawyer Joshua Lang and broachedthe subject, but he had dismissed the matter peremptorily by tellingher that Evelina Adams, spinster, deceased, had been as much in herright mind at the time of drawing the will as anybody of hisacquaintance.
"Not setting store by relations, and not wanting to have them underyour roof, doesn't go far in law nor common-sense to send folks tothe madhouse," old Lawyer Lang, who was famed for his sharp tongue,was reported to have said. However, Mrs. Martha Loomis was somewhatcomforted by her firm belief that either her own name or that of oneof her daughters was in that sealed envelope kept by Lawyer JoshuaLang in his strong-box, and by her firm purpose to watch carefullylest Evelina prove derelict in fulfilling the two conditions wherebyshe held the property.
Larger peep-holes were soon cut away mysteriously in the higharbor-vitae hedge, and therein were often set for a few moments, whenthey passed that way, the eager eyes of Mrs. Martha or her daughterFlora or Fidelia Loomis. Frequent calls they also made upon Evelina,living alone with the old woman Sarah Judd, who had been called induring her cousin's illness, and they strolled into the garden,spying anxiously for withered leaves or dry stalks. They at everyopportunity interviewed the old man who assisted Evelina in her careof the garden concerning its welfare. But small progress they madewith him, standing digging at the earth with his spade while theytalked, as if in truth his wits had gone therein before his body andhe would uncover them.
Moreover, Mrs. Martha Loomis talked much slyly to mothers of youngmen, and sometimes with bold insinuations to the young menthemselves, of the sad lot of poor young Evelina, condemned to asolitary and loveless life, and of her sweetness and beauty anddesirability in herself, although she could not bring the oldSquire's money to her husband. And once, but no more than that, shetouched lightly upon the subject to the young minister, ThomasMerriam, when he was making a pastoral call.
"My heart bleeds for the poor child living all alone in that greathouse," said she. And she looked down mournfully, and did not see howwhite the young minister's face turned. "It seems almost a pity,"said she, furthermore--"Evelina is a good housekeeper, and has rarequalities in herself, and so many get poor wives nowadays--that somegodly young man should not court her in spite of the will. I doubt,too, if she would not have a happier lot than growing old over thatgarden, as poor Cousin Evelina did before her, even if she has a finehouse to live in and a goodly sum in the bank. She looks pindlingenough lately. I'll warrant she has lost a good ten pound since poorEvelina was laid away, and--"
But Thomas Merriam cut her short. "I see no profit in discussingmatters which do not concern us," said he, and only his ministerialestate saved him from the charge of impertinence.
As it was, Martha Loomis colored high. "I'll warrant he'll look outwhich side his bread is buttered on; ministers always do," she saidto her daughters after he had gone. She never dreamed how her talkhad cut him to the heart.
Had he not seen more plainly than any one else, Sunday after Sunday,when he glanced down at her once or twice cautiously from his pulpit,how weary-looking and thin she was growing? And her bright color waswellnigh gone, and there were pitiful downward lines at the cornersof her sweet mouth. Poor young Evelina was fading like one of her ownflowers, as if some celestial gardener had failed in his care of her.And Thomas saw it, and in his heart of hearts he knew the reason, andyet he would not yield. Not once had he entered the old Squire'shouse since he attended the dead Evelina's funeral, and stood prayingand eulogizing, with her coffin between him and the living Evelina,with her pale face shrouded in black bombazine. He had never spokento her since, nor entered the house; but he had written her a letter,in which all the fierce passion and anguish of his heart was crampedand held down by formal words and phrases, and poor young Evelina didnot see beneath them. When her lover wrote her that he felt itinconsistent with his Christian duty and the higher aims of hisexistence to take any further steps towards a matrimonial alliance,she felt merely that Thomas either cared no more for her, or had cometo consider, upon due reflection, that she was not fit to undertakethe responsible position of a minister's wife. "It may be that insome way I failed in my attendance upon Cousin Evelina," thought pooryoung Evelina, "or it may be that he thinks I have not enough dignityof character to inspire respect among the older women in the church." And sometimes, with a sharp thrust of misery that shook her out ofher enforced patience and meekness, she wondered if indeed her ownloving freedom with him had turned him against her, and led him inhis later and sober judgment to consider her too light-minded for aminister's wife. "It may be that I was guilty of great indecorum, andalmost indeed forfeited my claim to respect for maidenly modesty,inasmuch as I suffered him to give me kisses, and did almost bringmyself to return them in kind. But my heart did so entreat me, and intruth it seemed almost like a lack of sincerity for me to whollywithstand it," wrote poor young Evelina in her journal at that time;and she further wrote: "It is indeed hard for one who has so littleknowledge to be fully certain of what is or is not becoming and aChristian duty in matters of this kind; but if I have in any manner,through my ignorance or unwarrantable affection, failed, and so lostthe love and respect of a good man, and the opportunity to become hishelpmeet during life, I pray that I may be forgiven--for I sinned notwilfully--that the lesson may be sanctified unto me, and that I maylive as the Lord order, in Christian patience and meekness, and notrepining." It never occurred to young Evelina that possibly ThomasMerriam's sense of duty might be strengthened by the loss of all hercousin's property should she marry him, and neither did she dreamthat he might hesitate to take her from affluence into poverty forher own sake. For herself the property, as put in the balance besideher love, was lighter than air itself. It was so light that it had noplace in her consciousness. She simply had thought, upon hearing thewill, of Martha Loomis and her daughters in possession of theproperty, and herself with Thomas, with perfect acquiescence andrapture.
Evelina Adams's disapprobation of her marriage, which was supposedlyexpressed in the will, had indeed, without reference to the property,somewhat troubled her tender heart, but she told herself that CousinEvelina had not
known she had promised to marry Thomas; that shewould not wish her to break her solemn promise. And furthermore, itseemed to her quite reasonable that the condition had been insertedin the will mainly through concern for the beloved garden.
"Cousin Evelina might have thought perhaps I would let the flowersdie when I had a husband and children to take care of," said Evelina.And so she had disposed of all the considerations which had disturbedher, and had thought of no others.
She did not answer Thomas's letter. It was so worded that it seemedto require no reply, and she felt that he must be sure of heracquiescence in whatever he thought best. She laid the letter away ina little rosewood box, in which she had always kept her dearesttreasures since her school-days. Sometimes she took it out and readit, and it