One Sunday afternoon nearly five months later a nondescript series of
vehicles, erratically and unpunctually succeeding one another, drew up
near the mortuary of the Jewish cemetery, but, from the presence of
women, it was obvious that something else than a funeral was in
progress. In fact, the two four-wheelers, three hansom cabs, several
dog-carts, and one open landau suggested rather a picnic amid the
tombs. But it was only the ceremony of the setting of Salvina's
tombstone, which was attracting all these relatives and well-wishers.
In the landau--which gave ample space for their knees--sat the same
quartette that had shared a cab to Lazarus's wedding, except that
Salvina was replaced by Kitty. That ever young and beautiful person
was the only member of the family who had the air of having fallen in
the world, for despite that Salvina's great prize was now added to Mr.
Brill's capital (he being the legal heir), he had refused to set up a
groom in addition to a carriage. A coachman, he insisted, was all that
was necessary. It was the same tone that he had taken about the
horsehair sofa, and it helped Mrs. Brill to feel that her husband was
unchanged, after all.
Arrived on the ground, the Brills found a gathering of the Jonases,
reconciled by death and riches. Others were to arrive, and the party
distributed itself about the cemetery with an air of conscious
incompleteness. Old Jonas shook hands cordially with Lazarus, and
wiped away a tear from under his green shade. A few of Salvina's
fellow-teachers had obeyed the notification of the advertisement in
the Jewish papers, and were come to pay the last tribute of respect.
The men wore black hat-bands, the women crape, which on all the nearer
relatives already showed signs of wear. And among all these groups,
conversing amiably of this or that in the pleasant October sunshine,
the genteel stone-mason insinuated himself, pervading the gathering.
His breast was divided between anxiety as to whether the parents would
like the tombstone, and uncertainty as to whether they would pay on
the spot.
"Have you seen the stone? What do you think of it?" he kept saying to
everybody, with a deferential assumption of artistic responsibility;
though, as it was a handsome granite stone, the bulk of the chiselling
had been done in Aberdeen, for the sake of economy, whilst the stone
was green, and his own contribution had been merely the Hebrew
lettering. One by one, under the guidance of the artist, the groups
wandered toward the tombstone, and a spectator or two admiringly
opened negotiations for future contingencies. An old lady who knew the
stonemason's sister-in-law strove to make a bargain for her own
tombstone, quite forgetting that the money she was saving on it would
not be enjoyed by herself.
"What will you charge _me_?" she asked, with grotesque coquetry. "I
think you ought to do it cheaper for _me_."
And in the House of the Priests the minister in charge of the
ceremonial impatiently awaited the late comers, that he might intone
the beautiful immemorial Psalms. He had made a close bargain with the
cabman, and was anxious not to set him grumbling over the delay; apart
from his desire to get back to his pretty wife, who was "at home" that
afternoon.
At last the genteel stone-mason found an opportunity of piercing
through the throng of friends that surrounded Mr. Brill, and of
obsequiously inviting the generous orderer of this especially
handsome and profitable tombstone to inspect it. Kitty followed in the
wake of her parents. Almost at the tomb, a corpulent man with graying
hair, issuing suddenly from an avenue of headstones, accosted her. She
frowned.
"You oughtn't to have come," she said.
"Since I belong to the family, Kitty," he remonstrated, playing
nervously with his massive watch seals.
"No, you don't," she retorted. Then, relentingly: "I told you, Moss,
that I could not give you my formal consent till after my sister's
tombstone was set. That is the least respect I can pay her." And she
turned away from the somewhat disconcerted Rosenstein, feeling very
right-minded and very forgiving toward Salvina for delaying by so many
years her marriage with the South African magnate.
Meantime Mr. Brill, in his heavily draped high hat, stood beside the
pompous granite memorial, surveying it approvingly. His wife's hand
lay tenderly in his own. Underneath their feet lay the wormy dust that
had once palpitated with truth and honour, that had kept the
conscience of the household.
"That bit of scroll-work," said the stone-mason admiringly, and with
an air of having thrown it in at a loss; "you don't often see a bit
like that--everybody's been saying so."
"Very fine!" replied Mr. Brill obediently.
"I paid the synagogue bill for you--to save you trouble," added the
stone-mason, insinuatingly.
But Mr. Brill was abstractedly studying the stone, and the mason moved
off delicately. Mrs. Brill tried to spell out a few of the words, but,
as there was no one to reprimand her, admitted her break-down.
"Read it to me, dear heart," she whispered to Mr. Brill.
"I did read it you, my precious one," he said, "when Kitty sent it us.
It says:--
"'SALVINA BRILL,
Whom God took suddenly,
On May 29th, 1897,
Aged twenty-five;
Loved and lamented by all
For her perfect goodness.'