Robert Hagburn's mother; and she summoned some of her gossips, and came to
the house, and took poor Aunt Keziah in charge. They talked of her with no
great respect, I fear, nor much sorrow, nor sense that the community would
suffer any great deprivation in her loss; for, in their view, she was a
dram-drinking, pipe-smoking, cross-grained old maid, and, as some thought,
a witch; and, at any rate, with too much of the Indian blood in her to be
of much use; and they hoped that now Rose Garfield would have a pleasanter
life, and Septimius study to be a minister, and all things go well, and
the place be cheerfuller. They found Aunt Keziah's bottle in the cupboard,
and tasted and smelt of it.

"Good West Indjy as ever I tasted," said Mrs. Hagburn; "and there stands
her broken pitcher, on the hearth. Ah, empty! I never could bring my mind
to taste it; but now I'm sorry I never did, for I suppose nobody in the
world can make any more of it."

Septimius, meanwhile, had betaken himself to the hill-top, which was his
place of refuge on all occasions when the house seemed too stifled to
contain him; and there he walked to and fro, with a certain kind of
calmness and indifference that he wondered at; for there is hardly
anything in this world so strange as the quiet surface that spreads over a
man's mind in his greatest emergencies: so that he deems himself perfectly
quiet, and upbraids himself with not feeling anything, when indeed he is
passion-stirred. As Septimius walked to and fro, he looked at the rich
crimson flowers, which seemed to be blooming in greater profusion and
luxuriance than ever before. He had made an experiment with these flowers,
and he was curious to know whether that experiment had been the cause of
Aunt Keziah's death. Not that he felt any remorse therefor, in any case,
or believed himself to have committed a crime, having really intended and
desired nothing but good. I suppose such things (and he must be a lucky