John Hungerford told his wife what he had done, and announced the visit of his relatives. She turned pale, and trembled for the future of her son. She would have rebelled, if policy had not suggested a milder course, and she only declared that the house was in no condition to receive guests. The only practical result of the lady’s protest was, a few hundred dollars were spent in “tidying” up the establishment.

Mrs. Hungerford and her children came. They were kindly welcomed by the old man, and prudentially welcomed by the old man’s wife. It is true the visitors were astonished to find that the man of millions dwelt in a mean, poorly furnished house, without the slightest pretension to luxury or style; but they made no comments. Uncle John was kind and attentive to them; and this was all they could expect of him. Eugene was a fine, manly youth of seventeen, gentle and winning in all his ways; and the fond mother could hardly conceal her satisfaction, when, at the expiration of a week, she realized that her boy was a decided favorite of the old man. The boy was too artless to be mercenary; so he resorted to no tricks to win the regards of his uncle.

John Hungerford was too keenly schooled in human nature to be deceived by a false show of attention. He read his nephew’s noble nature; he understood it perfectly; and day by day the old man’s wife became more troubled and anxious about the prospects of her son. The visit was terminated only when Eugene was obliged to return home to attend the examination for admission to Harvard College. The uncle expressed his desire that the visit should be repeated, and Mrs. Hungerford readily promised to come again.

Tom Lynch went home to spend his vacation a few months after the departure of the widow and her family. His mother imparted to him the appalling intelligence that he was in danger of being supplanted in the regards of her husband; but the young man was confident, and by every art and device which his ingenuity could suggest, he labored to make himself useful and agreeable to his step-father. His mother still dreaded the impending evil. John Hungerford, so far as she knew, had made no will. As the case now stood, the children of James Hungerford were his sole heirs. Nothing but a wife’s portion could come to her, and her son would be utterly excluded from the division. She did not dare to suggest the propriety of his making a will; but she commenced upon a series of hints, and a course of expedients, which were intended to effect her purpose. Thus months and years wore away, and Eugene Hungerford was graduated at Harvard; but the visit to Baltimore was not repeated.

Long and not very patiently had Mrs. Hungerford been waiting for the old man to die. He was aged and feeble, and he would be better off in heaven than upon the earth. It would be better for him to die, even though she obtained no more than her legal share of his estates. More must be obtained if possible, and while she was hinting and studying up expedients, which the superannuated millionnaire persistently refused to notice, she died herself: a violent attack of disease carried her off even before her son could arrive to close her eyes in death.

John Hungerford was alone in the world again. Perhaps his experience of wedded life had not been wholly satisfactory; at any rate, he bore his bereavement with much calmness and resignation, and meekly submitted to the necessity of supplying the place of the departed one by employing a housekeeper. If this sudden death in his little family had no other influence upon him, it forcibly reminded him of the uncertainty of life. For two whole years he labored upon his will, elaborating whole pages of details, freely consulting his business friends, before he instructed the lawyer to embody his intentions in legal forms. Strange as it may seem, he did not send for his brother’s family, as he had intimated he should, at least once a year. Mrs. Hungerford wrote to him occasionally, and with business-like promptness he answered her letters; but no invitation came for the family to repeat the visit. After the death of his wife, his sister-in-law had even proposed to move to Baltimore, and take care of him in his age and feebleness; but the old man, evading a direct reply, continued to study upon the details of his will, which document certainly promised to be the crowning work of his life. He wrote that he was so much occupied, the visit must be deferred; and he continued to postpone it, until one morning his housekeeper found him dead in his bed.

Three staid, dignified, elderly merchants had been John Hungerford’s most intimate friends--friends only in the worldly and business sense. They had been his advisers, and during those two years of patient toil over his will--the master-work of his career--they had been occasional visitors in the little back parlor where the millionnaire now spent most of his time. They had furnished him with all his information of the outer world, and assisted him, so far as they could, in performing the task on which all his remaining energies were concentrated. For two weeks the best lawyer in the city had been closeted with John Hungerford during a portion of each day; and the great deed which finally disposed of the old man’s immense property was completed only a few days before his death. Perhaps he felt that he had nothing more to live for; and permitting his energies to relax, this suspension of his wonted activity had hastened his death.

The housekeeper sent for John’s trio of business friends as soon as she discovered that the vital spark had fled. One after the other they came, and when all had arrived, a solemn and dignified conference was held. There were no friends to be sent for but the Hungerfords of Poppleton, and Tom Lynch, who was attempting to establish himself as a physician in an interior town of Ohio, though reports came to Baltimore that he was too unsteady to achieve a success. Telegraph messages were immediately sent to Mrs. Hungerford and Tom Lynch. The former, with her family, arrived in season to attend the funeral, but the despatch did not promptly reach the young physician, and he did not appear.

John Hungerford went to his grave in greater state than he had ever moved in the flesh, for the three eminent merchants who managed the affair had a high regard for the proprieties of the solemn occasion. A long procession of carriages, occupied by men and women who were willing to join the brilliant funeral cortége for the gloomy excitement of the scene, though they had no interest in, and only a few had any acquaintance with, the deceased, followed the plumed hearse to the cemetery, and the tomb closed upon all that was mortal of the Baltimore millionnaire.

After the old man’s dust had been solemnly disposed of, there was an intense curiosity to ascertain what disposition he had made of his princely fortune. This was really the most interesting question connected with the life or death of the departed. Few, if any, asked what he was; all, what he had. Hardly one wanted to know what pleasant memories he had left behind him; all, the sum total of his worldly possessions. None but fanatics asked where the old man had gone; but every one, where his fortune was to go.

What John Hungerford had been doing in the little back parlor for the last two years was to be made manifest. It had cost the old man fifty years of severe struggles to get his three and a half millions; it had cost him two years of diligent thought, and what struggles none could know,--it had cost him two years of hard labor, more trying, perhaps, in his age and feebleness, than the half century of toil in the vigor of his healthy life,--to give it away. The will was read. There were present at the reading only the three eminent merchants, the Hungerford family from Poppleton, and the housekeeper.

Mrs. Hungerford was quiet and self-possessed. The neglect to send for her, as had been arranged with her brother-in-law, to pay the proposed annual visits, had prepared her to expect nothing more than a simple remembrance. Her son, Eugene, was calm and dignified, but there was something in the expression of his manly face which indicated his dislike of the proceedings. Like his mother, he was independent and self-reliant; and, very likely, he felt that the position of the family before the lawyer and the merchants was an exceedingly unpleasant one. They were to be regarded as expectants, if not supplicants, before the still closed coffers of the dead man; but Eugene repudiated the position. He asked nothing, expected nothing. He was deeply grateful to his uncle for the means of obtaining his education, and he was prepared to be entirely satisfied if this proved to be the total of his indebtedness to the deceased.

Julia Hungerford was nineteen, and she was so fair to look upon that even the dignified merchants stole frequent glances at her, as she sat annoyed and embarrassed, like her brother and her mother, by the awkwardness of the situation.