Another event occurred about this time, which had the effect of throwing me still more completely into the hands of Madame de Fayrolles. My Aunt Jemima died. As I have before hinted, she had long been ailing, though she had striven against her malady, and concealed its ravages with all the force of her will. But no human will is of any avail when death knocks at the door. The day came when she was obliged to keep her bed and acknowledge herself ill, and from that time her decay was very rapid. It was most pitiable to see how she clung to that world which was slipping away from her—to the miserable crumbling idols which she had worshipped, but in which there was no help. She would be partly dressed every day, would see those—they were not many—who called upon her—would hear all the news of the court and the town. Her gentlewoman Mercer, who, was something of a religious person in her way—wished her to have a clergyman come to read prayers, but Aunt Jem refused. She was not as bad as that, she said; there was plenty of time; she was not going to die. She would be better when spring came—in truth, she was much better already. Alas, poor lady, her death-warrant was signed and the messenger was at the door. Her end came very suddenly at last. There was barely time to send for a clergyman, and when he came, her speech was gone, though she had her senses and her eyes wandered from one face to another in agonized appeal for the help which no mortal could give. Mercer in her hurry had brought not our parish clergyman, but her own, a serious and I believe truly religious young man, who tried to direct my aunt's thoughts and hopes to the only sure foundation, but she hardly attended, and we could not be sure even that she understood. Surely there is no sight of martyrdom for the truth's sake so terrible, so pitiable, as the death-bed of one who, having given his whole heart and mind to the world, is called upon to leave it forever. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XVIII. A GREAT STEP. MY Aunt Jem's death was, of course, a great shock to me, and might well have opened my eyes as to the course wherein I was walking, but I would not have them opened. In the state of mind I was at that time, it seemed to me only a new injury. I was like one possessed. In the midst of all my worldliness and backsliding, my heart had clung to Andrew, and I had believed in his faithfulness and uprightness. Now he turned out no better than the rest. There was no truth in anything. My father and mother had served the Lord faithfully, and how had they been rewarded? If they had indeed served him aright, would he not have stretched forth his hand to help and deliver them?