In the meantime, slowly, slowly, slowly, to the kindred of old Abel May, circled the twelve months, dating from the day of his death; suspiciously, anxiously, uneasily watching every movement of the young widow. But joy, joy! The long looked-for morning at length dawned. To their eager gaze the sun seemed like a huge golden guinea, as he smiled from the eastern sky upon their hopes, and soft and silky as bank-note paper appeared the thin, vapory clouds floating o’er his path. Again from marble-columned squares and by-lanes, from suburban cottages and distant villages they came, flocking in like vultures, all ready to pounce down upon the innocent little lamb whom old Abel May had sheltered in his bosom. Nor were their torments ended here; even then a new fear seized upon them. Who knows what desperation might effect; the widow that very day might take it into her head to marry—they had no doubt she would. Alas! each hour marking the twelve of that day of doom, was but a type of the preceding twelve month, which had finally brought around the _joyful_ anniversary. Midnight sounded. Hurra! hurra! The widow unmarried; and bright, sparkling dollars, like shooting stars, falling around them. At twelve, M. precisely, the lawyers bowed themselves into the spacious parlor of the deceased, for it could no longer be called the widow’s, in order to read again the last will and testament. Triumph sat again upon the countenances of those whom the occasion had called together, although some made most woful faces in trying to squeeze out a few tears, thinking it would be judicious to consider the old man as just dead. But Florence was as provokingly cheerful and handsome as ever—why one would have thought she was about to receive a fortune instead of losing one; and it even seemed as if she could hardly suppress her laughter as she glanced around at the expectant heirs. The man of law at length drew forth the will with an emphatic “_Hem_,” premonitory. Then on all sides there was a general stir; the gentlemen pulled up their shirt-collars and elongated their faces; the ladies smoothed down their mourning robes and held their handkerchiefs ready to receive a tear when occasion should call it forth. The reading commenced, and all eyes turned exultingly upon Florence as these words sounded audibly: “To my beloved wife, Florence, I do bequeath all my property, both personal and real, consisting of,” etc., etc., “provided that within one year from the day of my death she marries. But if, at the expiration of that time she still remain a widow, then I do annul my will in her favor, and do bequeath the same to my nephew, Abel May, provided he returns within the said year. If not, then unto those who can bring good proofs of their consanguinity to me, do I direct my property to be equally distributed. Always excepting an annuity of three hundred dollars, to be paid to my beloved wife, so long as she lives, etc.” “Nonsense!” “Three hundred dollars!”