Death
Weepnotforthosewhomtheveilofthetomb，
Inlife’searlymorning，hathhidfromoureyes。1
Eva’sbed-roomwasaspaciousapartment，which，likealltheotherrobinsinthehouse，openedontothebroadverandah。Theroomcommunicated，ononeside，withherfatherandmother’sapartment；ontheother，withthatappropriatedtoMissOphelia。St。Clarehadgratifiedhisowneyeandtaste，infurnishingthisroominastylethathadapeculiarkeepingwiththecharacterofherforwhomitwasintended。Thewindowswerehungwithcurtainsofrose-coloredandwhitemuslin，thefloorwasspreadwithamattingwhichhadbeenorderedinParis，toapatternofhisowndevice，havingrounditaborderofrose-budsandleaves，andacentre-piecewithfull-flownroses。Thebedstead，chairs，andlounges，wereofbamboo，wroughtinpeculiarlygracefulandfancifulpatterns。Overtheheadofthebedwasanalabasterbracket，onwhichabeautifulsculpturedangelstood，withdroopingwings，holdingoutacrownofmyrtle-leaves。Fromthisdepended，overthebed，lightcurtainsofrose-coloredgauze，stripedwithsilver，supplyingthatprotectionfrommosquitoswhichisanindispensableadditiontoallsleepingaccommodationinthatclimate。Thegracefulbambooloungeswereamplysuppliedwithcushionsofrose-coloreddamask，whileoverthem，dependingfromthehandsofsculpturedfigures，weregauzecurtainssimilartothoseofthebed。Alight，fancifulbambootablestoodinthemiddleoftheroom，whereaParianvase，wroughtintheshapeofawhitelily，withitsbuds，stood，everfilledwithflowers。OnthistablelayEva’sbooksandlittletrinkets，withanelegantlywroughtalabasterwriting-stand，whichherfatherhadsuppliedtoherwhenhesawhertryingtoimproveherselfinwriting。Therewasafireplaceintheroom，andonthemarblemantleabovestoodabeautifullywroughtstatuetteofJesusreceivinglittlechildren，andoneithersidemarblevases，forwhichitwasTom’sprideanddelighttoofferbouquetseverymorning。Twoorthreeexquisitepaintingsofchildren，invariousattitudes，embellishedthewall。Inshort，theeyecouldturnnowherewithoutmeetingimagesofchildhood，ofbeauty，andofpeace。Thoselittleeyesneveropened，inthemorninglight，withoutfallingonsomethingwhichsuggestedtotheheartsoothingandbeautifulthoughts。
ThedeceitfulstrengthwhichhadbuoyedEvaupforalittlewhilewasfastpassingaway；seldomandmoreseldomherlightfootstepwasheardintheverandah，andoftenerandoftenershewasfoundreclinedonalittleloungebytheopenwindow，herlarge，deepeyesfixedontherisingandfallingwatersofthelake。
Itwastowardsthemiddleoftheafternoon，asshewassoreclining，—herBiblehalfopen，herlittletransparentfingerslyinglistlesslybetweentheleaves，—suddenlysheheardhermother’svoice，insharptones，intheverandah。
“Whatnow，youbaggage！—whatnewpieceofmischief！You’vebeenpickingtheflowers，hey？”andEvaheardthesoundofasmartslap。
“Law，Missis！they’sforMissEva，”sheheardavoicesay，whichsheknewbelongedtoTopsy。
“MissEva！Aprettyexcuse！—yousupposeshewantsyourflowers，yougood-for-nothingnigger！Getalongoffwithyou！”
Inamoment，Evawasofffromherlounge，andintheverandah。
“O，don’t，mother！Ishouldliketheflowers；dogivethemtome；Iwantthem！”
“Why，Eva，yourroomisfullnow。”
“Ican’thavetoomany，”saidEva。“Topsy，dobringthemhere。”
Topsy，whohadstoodsullenly，holdingdownherhead，nowcameupandofferedherflowers。Shediditwithalookofhesitationandbashfulness，quiteunliketheeldrichboldnessandbrightnesswhichwasusualwithher。
“It’sabeautifulbouquet！”saidEva，lookingatit。
Itwasratherasingularone，—abrilliantscarletgeranium，andonesinglewhitejaponica，withitsglossyleaves。Itwastiedupwithanevidenteyetothecontrastofcolor，andthearrangementofeveryleafhadcarefullybeenstudied。
Topsylookedpleased，asEvasaid，—“Topsy，youarrangeflowersveryprettily。Here，”shesaid，“isthisvaseIhaven’tanyflowersfor。Iwishyou’darrangesomethingeverydayforit。”
“Well，that’sodd！”saidMarie。“Whatintheworlddoyouwantthatfor？”
“Nevermind，mamma；you’dasliefasnotTopsyshoulddoit，—hadyounot？”
“Ofcourse，anythingyouplease，dear！Topsy，youhearyouryoungmistress；—seethatyoumind。”
Topsymadeashortcourtesy，andlookeddown；and，assheturnedaway，Evasawatearrolldownherdarkcheek。
“Yousee，mamma，IknewpoorTopsywantedtodosomethingforme，”saidEvatohermother。
“O，nonsense！it’sonlybecauseshelikestodomischief。Sheknowsshemustn’tpickflowers，—soshedoesit；that’sallthereistoit。But，ifyoufancytohaveherpluckthem，sobeit。”
“Mamma，IthinkTopsyisdifferentfromwhatsheusedtobe；she’stryingtobeagoodgirl。”
“She’llhavetotryagoodwhilebeforeshegetstobegood，”saidMarie，withacarelesslaugh。
“Well，youknow，mamma，poorTopsy！everythinghasalwaysbeenagainsther。”
“Notsinceshe’sbeenhere，I’msure。Ifshehasn’tbeentalkedto，andpreachedto，andeveryearthlythingdonethatanybodycoulddo；—andshe’sjustsougly，andalwayswillbe；youcan’tmakeanythingofthecreature！”
“But，mamma，it’ssodifferenttobebroughtupasI’vebeen，withsomanyfriends，somanythingstomakemegoodandhappy；andtobebroughtupasshe’sbeen，allthetime，tillshecamehere！”
“Mostlikely，”saidMarie，yawning，—“dearme，howhotitis！”
“Mamma，youbelieve，don’tyou，thatTopsycouldbecomeanangel，aswellasanyofus，ifshewereaChristian？”
“Topsy！whataridiculousidea！Nobodybutyouwouldeverthinkofit。Isupposeshecould，though。”
“But，mamma，isn’tGodherfather，asmuchasours？Isn’tJesusherSaviour？”
“Well，thatmaybe。IsupposeGodmadeeverybody，”saidMarie。“Whereismysmelling-bottle？”
“It’ssuchapity，—oh！suchapity！”saidEva，lookingoutonthedistantlake，andspeakinghalftoherself。
“What’sapity？”saidMarie。
“Why，thatanyone，whocouldbeabrightangel，andlivewithangels，shouldgoalldown，downdown，andnobodyhelpthem！—ohdear！”
“Well，wecan’thelpit；it’snouseworrying，Eva！Idon’tknowwhat’stobedone；weoughttobethankfulforourownadvantages。”
“Ihardlycanbe，”saidEva，“I’msosorrytothinkofpoorfolksthathaven’tany。”
That’soddenough，”saidMarie；—“I’msuremyreligionmakesmethankfulformyadvantages。”
“Mamma，”saidEva，“Iwanttohavesomeofmyhaircutoff，—agooddealofit。”
“Whatfor？”saidMarie。
“Mamma，Iwanttogivesomeawaytomyfriends，whileIamabletogiveittothemmyself。Won’tyouaskauntytocomeandcutitforme？”
Marieraisedhervoice，andcalledMissOphelia，fromtheotherroom。
Thechildhalfrosefromherpillowasshecamein，and，shakingdownherlonggolden-browncurls，said，ratherplayfully，“Comeaunty，shearthesheep！”
“What’sthat？”saidSt。Clare，whojustthenenteredwithsomefruithehadbeenouttogetforher。
“Papa，Ijustwantauntytocutoffsomeofmyhair；—there’stoomuchofit，anditmakesmyheadhot。Besides，Iwanttogivesomeofitaway。”
MissOpheliacame，withherscissors。
“Takecare，—don’tspoilthelooksofit！”saidherfather；“cutunderneath，whereitwon’tshow。Eva’scurlsaremypride。”
“O，papa！”saidEva，sadly。
“Yes，andIwantthemkepthandsomeagainstthetimeItakeyouuptoyouruncle’splantation，toseeCousinHenrique，”saidSt。Clare，inagaytone。
“Ishallnevergothere，papa；—Iamgoingtoabettercountry。O，dobelieveme！Don’tyousee，papa，thatIgetweaker，everyday？”
“WhydoyouinsistthatIshallbelievesuchacruelthing，Eva？”saidherfather。
“Onlybecauseitistrue，papa:and，ifyouwillbelieveitnow，perhapsyouwillgettofeelaboutitasIdo。”
St。Clareclosedhislips，andstoodgloomilyeyingthelong，beautifulcurls，which，astheywereseparatedfromthechild’shead，werelaid，onebyone，inherlap。Sheraisedthemup，lookedearnestlyatthem，twinedthemaroundherthinfingers，andlookedfromtimetotime，anxiouslyatherfather。
“It’sjustwhatI’vebeenforeboding！”saidMarie；“it’sjustwhathasbeenpreyingonmyhealth，fromdaytoday，bringingmedownwardtothegrave，thoughnobodyregardsit。Ihaveseenthis，long。St。Clare，youwillsee，afterawhile，thatIwasright。”
“Whichwillaffordyougreatconsolation，nodoubt！”saidSt。Clare，inadry，bittertone。
Marielaybackonalounge，andcoveredherfacewithhercambrichandkerchief。
Eva’sclearblueeyelookedearnestlyfromonetotheother。Itwasthecalm，comprehendinggazeofasoulhalfloosedfromitsearthlybonds；itwasevidentshesaw，felt，andappreciated，thedifferencebetweenthetwo。
Shebeckonedwithherhandtoherfather。Hecameandsatdownbyher。
“Papa，mystrengthfadesawayeveryday，andIknowImustgo。TherearesomethingsIwanttosayanddo，—thatIoughttodo；andyouaresounwillingtohavemespeakawordonthissubject。Butitmustcome；there’snoputtingitoff。DobewillingIshouldspeaknow！”
“Mychild，Iamwilling！”saidSt。Clare，coveringhiseyeswithonehand，andholdingupEva’shandwiththeother。
“Then，Iwanttoseeallourpeopletogether。IhavesomethingsImustsaytothem，”saidEva。
“Well，”saidSt。Clare，inatoneofdryendurance。
MissOpheliadespatchedamessenger，andsoonthewholeoftheservantswereconvenedintheroom。
Evalaybackonherpillows；herhairhanginglooselyaboutherface，hercrimsoncheekscontrastingpainfullywiththeintensewhitenessofhercomplexionandthethincontourofherlimbsandfeatures，andherlarge，soul-likeeyesfixedearnestlyoneveryone。
Theservantswerestruckwithasuddenemotion。Thespiritualface，thelonglocksofhaircutoffandlyingbyher，herfather’savertedface，andMarie’ssobs，struckatonceuponthefeelingsofasensitiveandimpressiblerace；and，astheycamein，theylookedoneonanother，sighed，andshooktheirheads。Therewasadeepsilence，likethatofafuneral。
Evaraisedherself，andlookedlongandearnestlyroundateveryone。Alllookedsadandapprehensive。Manyofthewomenhidtheirfacesintheiraprons。
“Isentforyouall，mydearfriends，”saidEva，“becauseIloveyou。Iloveyouall；andIhavesomethingtosaytoyou，whichIwantyoualwaystoremember……Iamgoingtoleaveyou。Inafewmoreweeksyouwillseemenomore—”
Herethechildwasinterruptedbyburstsofgroans，sobs，andlamentations，whichbrokefromallpresent，andinwhichherslendervoicewaslostentirely。Shewaitedamoment，andthen，speakinginatonethatcheckedthesobsofall，shesaid，
“Ifyouloveme，youmustnotinterruptmeso。ListentowhatIsay。Iwanttospeaktoyouaboutyoursouls……Manyofyou，Iamafraid，areverycareless。Youarethinkingonlyaboutthisworld。Iwantyoutorememberthatthereisabeautifulworld，whereJesusis。Iamgoingthere，andyoucangothere。Itisforyou，asmuchasme。But，ifyouwanttogothere，youmustnotliveidle，careless，thoughtlesslives。YoumustbeChristians。Youmustrememberthateachoneofyoucanbecomeangels，andbeangelsforever……IfyouwanttobeChristians，Jesuswillhelpyou。Youmustpraytohim；youmustread—”
Thechildcheckedherself，lookedpiteouslyatthem，andsaid，sorrowfully，
“Odear！youcan’tread—poorsouls！”andshehidherfaceinthepillowandsobbed，whilemanyasmotheredsobfromthoseshewasaddressing，whowerekneelingonthefloor，arousedher。
“Nevermind，”shesaid，raisingherfaceandsmilingbrightlythroughhertears，“Ihaveprayedforyou；andIknowJesuswillhelpyou，evenifyoucan’tread。Tryalltodothebestyoucan；prayeveryday；askHimtohelpyou，andgettheBiblereadtoyouwheneveryoucan；andIthinkIshallseeyouallinheaven。”
“Amen，”wasthemurmuredresponsefromthelipsofTomandMammy，andsomeoftheelderones，whobelongedtotheMethodistchurch。Theyoungerandmorethoughtlessones，forthetimecompletelyovercome，weresobbing，withtheirheadsbowedupontheirknees。
“Iknow，”saidEva，“youallloveme。”
“Yes；oh，yes！indeedwedo！Lordblessher！”wastheinvoluntaryanswerofall。
“Yes，Iknowyoudo！Thereisn’toneofyouthathasn’talwaysbeenverykindtome；andIwanttogiveyousomethingthat，whenyoulookat，youshallalwaysrememberme，I’mgoingtogiveallofyouacurlofmyhair；and，whenyoulookatit，thinkthatIlovedyouandamgonetoheaven，andthatIwanttoseeyouallthere。”
Itisimpossibletodescribethescene，as，withtearsandsobs，theygatheredroundthelittlecreature，andtookfromherhandswhatseemedtothemalastmarkofherlove。Theyfellontheirknees；theysobbed，andprayed，andkissedthehemofhergarment；andtheelderonespouredforthwordsofendearment，mingledinprayersandblessings，afterthemanneroftheirsusceptiblerace。
Aseachonetooktheirgift，MissOphelia，whowasapprehensivefortheeffectofallthisexcitementonherlittlepatient，signedtoeachonetopassoutoftheapartment。
Atlast，allweregonebutTomandMammy。
“Here，UncleTom，”saidEva，“isabeautifuloneforyou。O，Iamsohappy，UncleTom，tothinkIshallseeyouinheaven，—forI’msureIshall；andMammy，—dear，good，kindMammy！”shesaid，fondlythrowingherarmsroundheroldnurse，—“Iknowyou’llbethere，too。”
“O，MissEva，don’tseehowIcanlivewithoutye，nohow！”saidthefaithfulcreature。“’Pearslikeit’sjusttakingeverythingofftheplacetooncet！”andMammygavewaytoapassionofgrief。
MissOpheliapushedherandTomgentlyfromtheapartment，andthoughttheywereallgone；but，assheturned，Topsywasstandingthere。
“Wheredidyoustartupfrom？”shesaid，suddenly。
“Iwashere，”saidTopsy，wipingthetearsfromhereyes。“O，MissEva，I’vebeenabadgirl；butwon’tyougivemeone，too？”
“Yes，poorTopsy！tobesure，Iwill。There—everytimeyoulookatthat，thinkthatIloveyou，andwantedyoutobeagoodgirl！”
“O，MissEva，Iistryin！”saidTopsy，earnestly；“but，Lor，it’ssohardtobegood！’PearslikeIan’tusedtoit，noways！”
“Jesusknowsit，Topsy；heissorryforyou；hewillhelpyou。”
Topsy，withhereyeshidinherapron，wassilentlypassedfromtheapartmentbyMissOphelia；but，asshewent，shehidthepreciouscurlinherbosom。
Allbeinggone，MissOpheliashutthedoor。Thatworthyladyhadwipedawaymanytearsofherown，duringthescene；butconcernfortheconsequenceofsuchanexcitementtoheryoungchargewasuppermostinhermind。
St。Clarehadbeensitting，duringthewholetime，withhishandshadinghiseyes，inthesameattitude。
Whentheywereallgone，hesatsostill。
“Papa！”saidEva，gently，layingherhandonhis。
Hegaveasuddenstartandshiver；butmadenoanswer。
“Dearpapa！”saidEva。
“Icannot，”saidSt。Clare，rising，“Icannothaveitso！TheAlmightyhathdealtverybitterlywithme！”andSt。Clarepronouncedthesewordswithabitteremphasis，indeed。
“Augustine！hasnotGodarighttodowhathewillwithhisown？”saidMissOphelia。
“Perhapsso；butthatdoesn’tmakeitanyeasiertobear，”saidhe，withadry，hard，tearlessmanner，asheturnedaway。
“Papa，youbreakmyheart！”saidEva，risingandthrowingherselfintohisarms；“youmustnotfeelso！”andthechildsobbedandweptwithaviolencewhichalarmedthemall，andturnedherfather’sthoughtsatoncetoanotherchannel。
“There，Eva，—there，dearest！Hush！hush！Iwaswrong；Iwaswicked。Iwillfeelanyway，doanyway，—onlydon’tdistressyourself；don’tsobso。Iwillberesigned；IwaswickedtospeakasIdid。”
Evasoonlaylikeawearieddoveinherfather’sarms；andhe，bendingoverher，soothedherbyeverytenderwordhecouldthinkof。
Marieroseandthrewherselfoutoftheapartmentintoherown，whenshefellintoviolenthysterics。
“Youdidn’tgivemeacurl，Eva，”saidherfather，smilingsadly。
“Theyareallyours，papa，”saidshe，smiling—“yoursandmamma’s；andyoumustgivedearauntyasmanyasshewants。Ionlygavethemtoourpoorpeoplemyself，becauseyouknow，papa，theymightbeforgottenwhenIamgone，andbecauseIhopeditmighthelpthemremember……YouareaChristian，areyounot，papa？”saidEva，doubtfully。
“Whydoyouaskme？”
“Idon’tknow。Youaresogood，Idon’tseehowyoucanhelpit。”
“WhatisbeingaChristian，Eva？”
“LovingChristmostofall，”saidEva。
“Doyou，Eva？”
“CertainlyIdo。”
“Youneversawhim，”saidSt。Clare。
“Thatmakesnodifference，”saidEva。“Ibelievehim，andinafewdaysIshallseehim；”andtheyoungfacegrewfervent，radiantwithjoy。
St。Claresaidnomore。Itwasafeelingwhichhehadseenbeforeinhismother；butnochordwithinvibratedtoit。
Eva，afterthis，declinedrapidly；therewasnomoreanydoubtoftheevent；thefondesthopecouldnotbeblinded。Herbeautifulroomwasavowedlyasickroom；andMissOpheliadayandnightperformedthedutiesofanurse，—andneverdidherfriendsappreciatehervaluemorethaninthatcapacity。Withsowell-trainedahandandeye，suchperfectadroitnessandpracticeineveryartwhichcouldpromoteneatnessandcomfort，andkeepoutofsighteverydisagreeableincidentofsickness，—withsuchaperfectsenseoftime，suchaclear，untroubledhead，suchexactaccuracyinrememberingeveryprescriptionanddirectionofthedoctors，—shewaseverythingtohim。Theywhohadshruggedtheirshouldersatherlittlepeculiaritiesandsetnesses，sounlikethecarelessfreedomofsouthernmanners，acknowledgedthatnowshewastheexactpersonthatwaswanted。
UncleTomwasmuchinEva’sroom。Thechildsufferedmuchfromnervousrestlessness，anditwasarelieftohertobecarried；anditwasTom’sgreatestdelighttocarryherlittlefrailforminhisarms，restingonapillow，nowupanddownherroom，nowoutintotheverandah；andwhenthefreshsea-breezesblewfromthelake，—andthechildfeltfreshestinthemorning，—hewouldsometimeswalkwithherundertheorange-treesinthegarden，or，sittingdowninsomeoftheiroldseats，singtohertheirfavoriteoldhymns。
Herfatheroftendidthesamething；buthisframewasslighter，andwhenhewasweary，Evawouldsaytohim，
“O，papa，letTomtakeme。Poorfellow！itpleaseshim；andyouknowit’sallhecandonow，andhewantstodosomething！”
“SodoI，Eva！”saidherfather。
“Well，papa，youcandoeverything，andareeverythingtome。Youreadtome，—yousitupnights，—andTomhasonlythisonething，andhissinging；andIknow，too，hedoesiteasierthanyoucan。Hecarriesmesostrong！”
ThedesiretodosomethingwasnotconfinedtoTom。Everyservantintheestablishmentshowedthesamefeeling，andintheirwaydidwhattheycould。
PoorMammy’sheartyearnedtowardsherdarling；butshefoundnoopportunity，nightorday，asMariedeclaredthatthestateofhermindwassuch，itwasimpossibleforhertorest；and，ofcourse，itwasagainstherprinciplestoletanyoneelserest。Twentytimesinanight，Mammywouldberousedtorubherfeet，tobatheherhead，tofindherpocket-handkerchief，toseewhatthenoisewasinEva’sroom，toletdownacurtainbecauseitwastoolight，ortoputitupbecauseitwastoodark；and，inthedaytime，whenshelongedtohavesomeshareinthenursingofherpet，Marieseemedunusuallyingeniousinkeepingherbusyanywhereandeverywherealloverthehouse，oraboutherownperson；sothatstoleninterviewsandmomentaryglimpseswereallshecouldobtain。
“Ifeelitmydutytobeparticularlycarefulofmyself，now，”shewouldsay，“feebleasIam，andwiththewholecareandnursingofthatdearchilduponme。”
“Indeed，mydear，”saidSt。Clare，“Ithoughtourcousinrelievedyouofthat。”
“Youtalklikeaman，St。Clare，—justasifamothercouldberelievedofthecareofachildinthatstate；but，then，it’sallalike，—nooneeverknowswhatIfeel！Ican’tthrowthingsoff，asyoudo。”
St。Claresmiled。Youmustexcusehim，hecouldn’thelpit，—forSt。Clarecouldsmileyet。Forsobrightandplacidwasthefarewellvoyageofthelittlespirit，—bysuchsweetandfragrantbreezeswasthesmallbarkbornetowardstheheavenlyshores，—thatitwasimpossibletorealizethatitwasdeaththatwasapproaching。Thechildfeltnopain，—onlyatranquil，softweakness，dailyandalmostinsensiblyincreasing；andshewassobeautiful，soloving，sotrustful，sohappy，thatonecouldnotresistthesoothinginfluenceofthatairofinnocenceandpeacewhichseemedtobreathearoundher。St。Clarefoundastrangecalmcomingoverhim。Itwasnothope，—thatwasimpossible；itwasnotresignation；itwasonlyacalmrestinginthepresent，whichseemedsobeautifulthathewishedtothinkofnofuture。Itwaslikethathushofspiritwhichwefeelamidthebright，mildwoodsofautumn，whenthebrighthecticflushisonthetrees，andthelastlingeringflowersbythebrook；andwejoyinitallthemore，becauseweknowthatsoonitwillallpassaway。
ThefriendwhoknewmostofEva’sownimaginingsandforeshadowingswasherfaithfulbearer，Tom。Tohimshesaidwhatshewouldnotdisturbherfatherbysaying。Tohimsheimpartedthosemysteriousintimationswhichthesoulfeels，asthecordsbegintounbind，ereitleavesitsclayforever。
Tom，atlast，wouldnotsleepinhisroom，butlayallnightintheouterverandah，readytorouseateverycall。
“UncleTom，whatalivehaveyoutakentosleepinganywhereandeverywhere，likeadog，for？”saidMissOphelia。“Ithoughtyouwasoneoftheorderlysort，thatlikedtolieinbedinaChristianway。”
“Ido，MissFeely，”saidTom，mysteriously。“Ido，butnow—”
“Well，whatnow？”
“Wemustn’tspeakloud；Mas’rSt。Clarewon’thearon’t；butMissFeely，youknowtheremustbesomebodywatchin’forthebridegroom。”
“Whatdoyoumean，Tom？”
“YouknowitsaysinScripture，‘Atmidnighttherewasagreatcrymade。Behold，thebridegroomcometh。’That’swhatI’mspectinnow，everynight，MissFeely，—andIcouldn’tsleepouto’hearin，noways。”
“Why，UncleTom，whatmakesyouthinkso？”
“MissEva，shetalkstome。TheLord，hesendshismessengerinthesoul。Imustbethar，MissFeely；forwhenthatarblessedchildgoesintothekingdom，they’llopenthedoorsowide，we’llallgetalookinattheglory，MissFeely。”
“UncleTom，didMissEvasayshefeltmoreunwellthanusualtonight？”
“No；butshetelledme，thismorning，shewascomingnearer，—thar’sthemthattellsittothechild，MissFeely。It’stheangels，—‘it’sthetrumpetsoundaforethebreako’day，’”saidTom，quotingfromafavoritehymn。
ThisdialoguepassedbetweenMissOpheliaandTom，betweentenandeleven，oneevening，afterherarrangementshadallbeenmadeforthenight，when，ongoingtoboltherouterdoor，shefoundTomstretchedalongbyit，intheouterverandah。
Shewasnotnervousorimpressible；butthesolemn，heart-feltmannerstruckher。Evahadbeenunusuallybrightandcheerful，thatafternoon，andhadsatraisedinherbed，andlookedoverallherlittletrinketsandpreciousthings，anddesignatedthefriendstowhomshewouldhavethemgiven；andhermannerwasmoreanimated，andhervoicemorenatural，thantheyhadknownitforweeks。Herfatherhadbeenin，intheevening，andhadsaidthatEvaappearedmorelikeherformerselfthanevershehaddonesincehersickness；andwhenhekissedherforthenight，hesaidtoMissOphelia，—“Cousin，wemaykeepherwithus，afterall；sheiscertainlybetter；”andhehadretiredwithalighterheartinhisbosomthanhehadhadthereforweeks。
Butatmidnight，—strange，mystichour！—whentheveilbetweenthefrailpresentandtheeternalfuturegrowsthin，—thencamethemessenger！
Therewasasoundinthatchamber，firstofonewhosteppedquickly。ItwasMissOphelia，whohadresolvedtositupallnightwithherlittlecharge，andwho，attheturnofthenight，haddiscernedwhatexperiencednursessignificantlycall“achange。”Theouterdoorwasquicklyopened，andTom，whowaswatchingoutside，wasonthealert，inamoment。
“Goforthedoctor，Tom！losenotamoment，”saidMissOphelia；and，steppingacrosstheroom，sherappedatSt。Clare’sdoor。
“Cousin，”shesaid，“Iwishyouwouldcome。”
Thosewordsfellonhisheartlikeclodsuponacoffin。Whydidthey？Hewasupandintheroominaninstant，andbendingoverEva，whostillslept。
Whatwasithesawthatmadehisheartstandstill？Whywasnowordspokenbetweenthetwo？Thoucanstsay，whohastseenthatsameexpressiononthefacedearesttothee；—thatlookindescribable，hopeless，unmistakable，thatsaystotheethatthybelovedisnolongerthine。
Onthefaceofthechild，however，therewasnoghastlyimprint，—onlyahighandalmostsublimeexpression，—theovershadowingpresenceofspiritualnatures，thedawningofimmortallifeinthatchildishsoul。
Theystoodtheresostill，gazinguponher，thateventhetickingofthewatchseemedtooloud。Inafewmoments，Tomreturned，withthedoctor。Heentered，gaveonelook，andstoodsilentastherest。
“Whendidthischangetakeplace？”saidhe，inalowwhisper，toMissOphelia。
“Abouttheturnofthenight，”wasthereply。
Marie，rousedbytheentranceofthedoctor，appeared，hurriedly，fromthenextroom。
“Augustine！Cousin！—O！—what！”shehurriedlybegan。
“Hush！”saidSt。Clare，hoarsely；“sheisdying！”
Mammyheardthewords，andflewtoawakentheservants。Thehousewassoonroused，—lightswereseen，footstepsheard，anxiousfacesthrongedtheverandah，andlookedtearfullythroughtheglassdoors；butSt。Clareheardandsaidnothing，—hesawonlythatlookonthefaceofthelittlesleeper。
“O，ifshewouldonlywake，andspeakoncemore！”hesaid；and，stoopingoverher，hespokeinherear，—“Eva，darling！”
Thelargeblueeyesunclosed—asmilepassedoverherface；—shetriedtoraiseherhead，andtospeak。
“Doyouknowme，Eva？”
“Dearpapa，”saidthechild，withalasteffort，throwingherarmsabouthisneck。Inamomenttheydroppedagain；and，asSt。Clareraisedhishead，hesawaspasmofmortalagonypassovertheface，—shestruggledforbreath，andthrewupherlittlehands。
“O，God，thisisdreadful！”hesaid，turningawayinagony，andwringingTom’shand，scarceconsciouswhathewasdoing。“O，Tom，myboy，itiskillingme！”
Tomhadhismaster’shandsbetweenhisown；and，withtearsstreamingdownhisdarkcheeks，lookedupforhelpwherehehadalwaysbeenusedtolook。
“Praythatthismaybecutshort！”saidSt。Clare，—“thiswringsmyheart。”
“O，blesstheLord！it’sover，—it’sover，dearMaster！”saidTom；“lookather。”
Thechildlaypantingonherpillows，asoneexhausted，—thelargecleareyesrolledupandfixed。Ah，whatsaidthoseeyes，thatspokesomuchofheaven！Earthwaspast，—andearthlypain；butsosolemn，somysterious，wasthetriumphantbrightnessofthatface，thatitcheckedeventhesobsofsorrow。Theypressedaroundher，inbreathlessstillness。
“Eva，”saidSt。Clare，gently。
Shedidnothear。
“O，Eva，telluswhatyousee！Whatisit？”saidherfather。
Abright，aglorioussmilepassedoverherface，andshesaid，brokenly，—“O！love，—joy，—peace！”gaveonesighandpassedfromdeathuntolife！
“Farewell，belovedchild！thebright，eternaldoorshaveclosedafterthee；weshallseethysweetfacenomore。O，woeforthemwhowatchedthyentranceintoheaven，whentheyshallwakeandfindonlythecoldgrayskyofdailylife，andthougoneforever！”
1“WeepNotforThose，”apoembyThomasMoore(1779-1852)。
“ThisIstheofEarth”1
ThestatuettesandpicturesinEva’sroomwereshroudedinwhitenapkins，andonlyhushedbreathingsandmuffledfootfallswereheardthere，andthelightstoleinsolemnlythroughwindowspartiallydarkenedbyclosedblinds。
Thebedwasdrapedinwhite；andthere，beneaththedroopingangel-figure，layalittlesleepingform，—sleepingnevertowaken！
Thereshelay，robedinoneofthesimplewhitedressesshehadbeenwonttowearwhenliving；therose-coloredlightthroughthecurtainscastovertheicycoldnessofdeathawarmglow。Theheavyeyelashesdroopedsoftlyonthepurecheek；theheadwasturnedalittletooneside，asifinnaturalsteep，buttherewasdiffusedovereverylineamentofthefacethathighcelestialexpression，thatminglingofraptureandrepose，whichshoweditwasnoearthlyortemporarysleep，butthelong，sacredrestwhich“Hegivethtohisbeloved。”
Thereisnodeathtosuchasthou，dearEva！neitherdarknessnorshadowofdeath；onlysuchabrightfadingaswhenthemorningstarfadesinthegoldendawn。Thineisthevictorywithoutthebattle，—thecrownwithouttheconflict。
SodidSt。Clarethink，as，withfoldedarms，hestoodtheregazing。Ah！whoshallsaywhathedidthink？for，fromthehourthatvoiceshadsaid，inthedyingchamber，“sheisgone，”ithadbeenalladrearymist，aheavy“dimnessofanguish。”Hehadheardvoicesaroundhim；hehadhadquestionsasked，andansweredthem；theyhadaskedhimwhenhewouldhavethefuneral，andwheretheyshouldlayher；andhehadanswered，impatiently，thathecarednot。
AdolphandRosahadarrangedthechamber；volatile，fickleandchildish，astheygenerallywere，theyweresoft-heartedandfulloffeeling；and，whileMissOpheliapresidedoverthegeneraldetailsoforderandneatness，itwastheirhandsthataddedthosesoft，poetictouchestothearrangements，thattookfromthedeath-roomthegrimandghastlyairwhichtoooftenmarksaNewEnglandfuneral。
Therewerestillflowersontheshelves，—allwhite，delicateandfragrant，withgraceful，droopingleaves。Eva’slittletable，coveredwithwhite，boreonitherfavoritevase，withasinglewhitemossrose-budinit。Thefoldsofthedrapery，thefallofthecurtains，hadbeenarrangedandrearranged，byAdolphandRosa，withthatnicetyofeyewhichcharacterizestheirrace。Evennow，whileSt。Clarestoodtherethinking，littleRosatrippedsoftlyintothechamberwithabasketofwhiteflowers。ShesteppedbackwhenshesawSt。Clare，andstoppedrespectfully；but，seeingthathedidnotobserveher，shecameforwardtoplacethemaroundthedead。St。Claresawherasinadream，whilesheplacedinthesmallhandsafaircapejessamine，and，withadmirabletaste，disposedotherflowersaroundthecouch。
Thedooropenedagain，andTopsy，hereyesswelledwithcrying，appeared，holdingsomethingunderherapron。Rosamadeaquickforbiddinggesture；butshetookastepintotheroom。
“Youmustgoout，”saidRosa，inasharp，positivewhisper；“youhaven’tanybusinesshere！”
“O，doletme！Ibroughtaflower，—suchaprettyone！”saidTopsy，holdingupahalf-blowntearose-bud。“Doletmeputjustonethere。”
“Getalong！”saidRosa，moredecidedly。
“Letherstay！”saidSt。Clare，suddenlystampinghisfoot。“Sheshallcome。”
Rosasuddenlyretreated，andTopsycameforwardandlaidherofferingatthefeetofthecorpse；thensuddenly，withawildandbittercry，shethrewherselfontheflooralongsidethebed，andwept，andmoanedaloud。
MissOpheliahastenedintotheroom，andtriedtoraiseandsilenceher；butinvain。
“O，MissEva！oh，MissEva！IwishI’sdead，too，—Ido！”
Therewasapiercingwildnessinthecry；thebloodflushedintoSt。Clare’swhite，marble-likeface，andthefirsttearshehadshedsinceEvadiedstoodinhiseyes。
“Getup，child，”saidMissOphelia，inasoftenedvoice；“don’tcryso。MissEvaisgonetoheaven；sheisanangel。”
“ButIcan’tseeher！”saidTopsy。“Inevershallseeher！”andshesobbedagain。
Theyallstoodamomentinsilence。
“Shesaidshelovedme，”saidTopsy，—“shedid！O，dear！oh，dear！therean’tnobodyleftnow，—therean’t！”
“That’strueenough”saidSt。Clare；“butdo，”hesaidtoMissOphelia，“seeifyoucan’tcomfortthepoorcreature。”
“IjistwishIhadn’tneverbeenborn，”saidTopsy。“Ididn’twanttobeborn，noways；andIdon’tseenouseon’t。”
MissOpheliaraisedhergently，butfirmly，andtookherfromtheroom；but，asshedidso，sometearsfellfromhereyes。
“Topsy，youpoorchild，”shesaid，assheledherintoherroom，“don’tgiveup！Icanloveyou，thoughIamnotlikethatdearlittlechild。IhopeI’velearntsomethingoftheloveofChristfromher。Icanloveyou；Ido，andI’lltrytohelpyoutogrowupagoodChristiangirl。”
MissOphelia’svoicewasmorethanherwords，andmorethanthatwerethehonesttearsthatfelldownherface。Fromthathour，sheacquiredaninfluenceoverthemindofthedestitutechildthatsheneverlost。
“O，myEva，whoselittlehouronearthdidsomuchofgood，”thoughtSt。Clare，“whataccounthaveItogiveformylongyears？”
Therewere，forawhile，softwhisperingsandfootfallsinthechamber，asoneafteranotherstolein，tolookatthedead；andthencamethelittlecoffin；andthentherewasafuneral，andcarriagesdrovetothedoor，andstrangerscameandwereseated；andtherewerewhitescarfsandribbons，andcrapebands，andmournersdressedinblackcrape；andtherewerewordsreadfromtheBible，andprayersoffered；andSt。Clarelived，andwalked，andmoved，asonewhohasshedeverytear；—tothelasthesawonlyonething，thatgoldenheadinthecoffin；butthenhesawtheclothspreadoverit，thelidofthecoffinclosed；andhewalked，whenhewasputbesidetheothers，downtoalittleplaceatthebottomofthegarden，andthere，bythemossyseatwheresheandTomhadtalked，andsung，andreadsooften，wasthelittlegrave。St。Clarestoodbesideit，—lookedvacantlydown；hesawthemlowerthelittlecoffin；heheard，dimly，thesolemnwords，“IamtheresurrectionandtheLife；hethatbelievethinme，thoughheweredead，yetshallhelive；”and，astheearthwascastinandfilledupthelittlegrave，hecouldnotrealizethatitwashisEvathattheywerehidingfromhissight。
Norwasit！—notEva，butonlythefrailseedofthatbright，immortalformwithwhichsheshallyetcomeforth，inthedayoftheLordJesus！
Andthenallweregone，andthemournerswentbacktotheplacewhichshouldknowhernomore；andMarie’sroomwasdarkened，andshelayonthebed，sobbingandmoaninginuncontrollablegrief，andcallingeverymomentfortheattentionsofallherservants。Ofcourse，theyhadnotimetocry，—whyshouldthey？thegriefwashergrief，andshewasfullyconvincedthatnobodyonearthdid，could，orwouldfeelitasshedid。
“St。Claredidnotshedatear，”shesaid；“hedidn’tsympathizewithher；itwasperfectlywonderfultothinkhowhard-heartedandunfeelinghewas，whenhemustknowhowshesuffered。”
Somucharepeopletheslaveoftheireyeandear，thatmanyoftheservantsreallythoughtthatMissiswastheprincipalsuffererinthecase，especiallyasMariebegantohavehystericalspasms，andsentforthedoctor，andatlastdeclaredherselfdying；and，intherunningandscampering，andbringinguphotbottles，andheatingofflannels，andchafing，andfussing，thatensued，therewasquiteadiversion。
Tom，however，hadafeelingathisownheart，thatdrewhimtohismaster。Hefollowedhimwhereverhewalked，wistfullyandsadly；andwhenhesawhimsitting，sopaleandquiet，inEva’sroom，holdingbeforehiseyesherlittleopenBible，thoughseeingnoletterorwordofwhatwasinit，therewasmoresorrowtoTominthatstill，fixed，tearlesseye，thaninallMarie’smoansandlamentations。
InafewdaystheSt。Clarefamilywerebackagaininthecity；Augustine，withtherestlessnessofgrief，longingforanotherscene，tochangethecurrentofhisthoughts。Sotheyleftthehouseandgarden，withitslittlegrave，andcamebacktoNewOrleans；andSt。Clarewalkedthestreetsbusily，andstrovetofillupthechasminhisheartwithhurryandbustle，andchangeofplace；andpeoplewhosawhiminthestreet，ormethimatthecafe，knewofhislossonlybytheweedonhishat；fortherehewas，smilingandtalking，andreadingthenewspaper，andspeculatingonpolitics，andattendingtobusinessmatters；andwhocouldseethatallthissmilingoutsidewasbutahollowedshelloveraheartthatwasadarkandsilentsepulchre？
“Mr。St。Clareisasingularman，”saidMarietoMissOphelia，inacomplainingtone。“Iusedtothink，iftherewasanythingintheworldhedidlove，itwasourdearlittleEva；butheseemstobeforgettingherveryeasily。Icannotevergethimtotalkabouther。Ireallydidthinkhewouldshowmorefeeling！”
“Stillwatersrundeepest，theyusedtotellme，”saidMissOphelia，oracularly。
“O，Idon’tbelieveinsuchthings；it’salltalk。Ifpeoplehavefeeling，theywillshowit，—theycan’thelpit；but，then，it’sagreatmisfortunetohavefeeling。I’dratherhavebeenmadelikeSt。Clare。Myfeelingspreyuponmeso！”
“Sure，Missis，Mas’rSt。Clareisgettin’thinasashader。Theysay，hedon’tnevereatnothin’，”saidMammy。“Iknowhedon’tforgetMissEva；Iknowtherecouldn’tnobody，—dear，little，blessedcretur！”sheadded，wipinghereyes。
“Well，atallevents，hehasnoconsiderationforme，”saidMarie；“hehasn’tspokenonewordofsympathy，andhemustknowhowmuchmoreamotherfeelsthananymancan。”
“Theheartknowethitsownbitterness，”saidMissOphelia，gravely。
“That’sjustwhatIthink。IknowjustwhatIfeel，—nobodyelseseemsto。Evausedto，butsheisgone！”andMarielaybackonherlounge，andbegantosobdisconsolately。
Mariewasoneofthoseunfortunatelyconstitutedmortals，inwhoseeyeswhateverislostandgoneassumesavaluewhichitneverhadinpossession。Whatevershehad，sheseemedtosurveyonlytopickflawsinit；but，oncefairlyaway，therewasnoendtohervaluationofit。
WhilethisconversationwastakingplaceintheparloranotherwasgoingoninSt。Clare’slibrary。
Tom，whowasalwaysuneasilyfollowinghismasterabout，hadseenhimgotohislibrary，somehoursbefore；and，aftervainlywaitingforhimtocomeout，determined，atlast，tomakeanerrandin。Heenteredsoftly。St。Clarelayonhislounge，atthefurtherendoftheroom。Hewaslyingonhisface，withEva’sBibleopenbeforehim，atalittledistance。Tomwalkedup，andstoodbythesofa。Hehesitated；and，whilehewashesitating，St。Claresuddenlyraisedhimselfup。Thehonestface，sofullofgrief，andwithsuchanimploringexpressionofaffectionandsympathy，struckhismaster。HelaidhishandonTom’s，andboweddownhisforeheadonit。
“O，Tom，myboy，thewholeworldisasemptyasanegg-shell。”
“Iknowit，Mas’r，—Iknowit，”saidTom；“but，oh，ifMas’rcouldonlylookup，—upwhereourdearMissEvais，—uptothedearLordJesus！”
“Ah，Tom！Idolookup；butthetroubleis，Idon’tseeanything，whenIdo，IwishIcould。”
Tomsighedheavily。
“Itseemstobegiventochildren，andpoor，honestfellows，likeyou，toseewhatwecan’t，”saidSt。Clare。“Howcomesit？”
“Thouhas‘hidfromthewiseandprudent，andrevealeduntobabes，’”murmuredTom；“‘evenso，Father，forsoitseemedgoodinthysight。’”
“Tom，Idon’tbelieve，—Ican’tbelieve，—I’vegotthehabitofdoubting，”saidSt。Clare。“IwanttobelievethisBible，—andIcan’t。”
“DearMas’r，praytothegoodLord，—‘Lord，Ibelieve；helpthoumyunbelief。’”
“Whoknowsanythingaboutanything？”saidSt。Clare，hiseyeswanderingdreamily，andspeakingtohimself。“Wasallthatbeautifulloveandfaithonlyoneoftheever-shiftingphasesofhumanfeeling，havingnothingrealtoreston，passingawaywiththelittlebreath？AndistherenomoreEva，—noheaven，—noChrist，—nothing？”
“O，dearMas’r，thereis！Iknowit；I’msureofit，”saidTom，fallingonhisknees。“Do，do，dearMas’r，believeit！”
“Howdoyouknowthere’sanyChrist，Tom！YouneversawtheLord。”
“FeltHiminmysoul，Mas’r，—feelHimnow！O，Mas’r，whenIwassoldawayfrommyoldwomanandthechildren，Iwasjesta’mostbrokeup。Ifeltasiftherewarn’tnothin’left；andthenthegoodLord，hestoodbyme，andhesays，‘Fearnot，Tom；’andhebringslightandjoyinapoorfeller’ssoul，—makesallpeace；andI’ssohappy，andloveseverybody，andfeelswillin’jesttobetheLord’s，andhavetheLord’swilldone，andbeputjestwheretheLordwantstoputme。Iknowitcouldn’tcomefromme，causeI’sapoor，complainin’cretur；itcomesfromtheLord；andIknowHe’swillin’todoforMas’r。”
Tomspokewithfast-runningtearsandchokingvoice。St。Clareleanedhisheadonhisshoulder，andwrungthehard，faithful，blackhand。
“Tom，youloveme，”hesaid。
“I’swillin’tolaydownmylife，thisblessedday，toseeMas’raChristian。”
“Poor，foolishboy！”saidSt。Clare，half-raisinghimself。“I’mnotworththeloveofonegood，honestheart，likeyours。”
“O，Mas’r，dere’smorethanmelovesyou，—theblessedLordJesuslovesyou。”
“HowdoyouknowthatTom？”saidSt。Clare。
“Feelsitinmysoul。O，Mas’r！‘theloveofChrist，thatpassethknowledge。’”
“Singular！”saidSt。Clare，turningaway，“thatthestoryofamanthatlivedanddiedeighteenhundredyearsagocanaffectpeoplesoyet。Buthewasnoman，”headded，suddenly。“Nomaneverhadsuchlongandlivingpower！O，thatIcouldbelievewhatmymothertaughtme，andprayasIdidwhenIwasaboy！”
“IfMas’rpleases，”saidTom，“MissEvausedtoreadthissobeautifully。IwishMas’r’dbesogoodasreadit。Don’tgetnoreadin’，hardly，nowMissEva’sgone。”
ThechapterwastheeleventhofJohn，—thetouchingaccountoftheraisingofLazarus，St。Clarereaditaloud，oftenpausingtowrestledownfeelingswhichwererousedbythepathosofthestory。Tomkneltbeforehim，withclaspedhands，andwithanabsorbedexpressionoflove，trust，adoration，onhisquietface。
“Tom，”saidhisMaster，“thisisallrealtoyou！”
“IcanjestfairlyseeitMas’r，”saidTom。
“IwishIhadyoureyes，Tom。”
“Iwish，tothedearLord，Mas’rhad！”
“But，Tom，youknowthatIhaveagreatdealmoreknowledgethanyou；whatifIshouldtellyouthatIdon’tbelievethisBible？”
“O，Mas’r！”saidTom，holdinguphishands，withadeprecatinggesture。
“Wouldn’titshakeyourfaithsome，Tom？”
“Notagrain，”saidTom。
“Why，Tom，youmustknowIknowthemost。”
“O，Mas’r，haven’tyoujestreadhowhehidesfromthewiseandprudent，andrevealsuntobabes？ButMas’rwasn’tinearnest，forsartin，now？”saidTom，anxiously。
“No，Tom，Iwasnot。Idon’tdisbelieve，andIthinkthereisreasontobelieve；andstillIdon’t。It’satroublesomebadhabitI’vegot，Tom。”
“IfMas’rwouldonlypray！”
“HowdoyouknowIdon’t，Tom？”
“DoesMas’r？”
“Iwould，Tom，iftherewasanybodytherewhenIpray；butit’sallspeakinguntonothing，whenIdo。Butcome，Tom，youpraynow，andshowmehow。”
Tom’sheartwasfull；hepoureditoutInprayer，likewatersthathavebeenlongsuppressed。Onethingwasplainenough；Tomthoughttherewassomebodytohear，whethertherewereornot。Infact，St。Clarefelthimselfborne，onthetideofhisfaithandfeeling，almosttothegatesofthatheavenheseemedsovividlytoconceive。ItseemedtobringhimnearertoEva。
“Thankyou，myboy，”saidSt。Clare，whenTomrose。“Iliketohearyou，Tom；butgo，now，andleavemealone；someothertime，I’lltalkmore。”
Tomsilentlylefttheroom。
1“ThisisthelastofEarth！Iamcontent，”lastwordsofJohnQuincyAdams，utteredFebruary21，1848。
Reunion
WeekafterweekglidedawayintheSt。Claremansion，andthewavesoflifesettledbacktotheirusualflow，wherethatlittlebarkhadgonedown。Forhowimperiously，howcoolly，indisregardofallone’sfeeling，doesthehard，cold，uninterestingcourseofdailyrealitiesmoveon！Stillmustweeat，anddrink，andsleep，andwakeagain，—stillbargain，buy，sell，askandanswerquestions，—pursue，inshort，athousandshadows，thoughallinterestinthembeover；thecoldmechanicalhabitoflivingremaining，afterallvitalinterestinithasfled。
AlltheinterestsandhopesofSt。Clare’slifehadunconsciouslywoundthemselvesaroundthischild。ItwasforEvathathehadmanagedhisproperty；itwasforEvathathehadplannedthedisposalofhistime；and，todothisandthatforEva，—tobuy，improve，alter，andarrange，ordisposesomethingforher，—hadbeensolonghishabit，thatnowshewasgone，thereseemednothingtobethoughtof，andnothingtobedone。
True，therewasanotherlife，—alifewhich，oncebelievedin，standsasasolemn，significantfigurebeforetheotherwiseunmeaningciphersoftime，changingthemtoordersofmysterious，untoldvalue。St。Clareknewthiswell；andoften，inmanyawearyhour，heheardthatslender，childishvoicecallinghimtotheskies，andsawthatlittlehandpointingtohimthewayoflife；butaheavylethargyofsorrowlayonhim，—hecouldnotarise。Hehadoneofthosenatureswhichcouldbetterandmoreclearlyconceiveofreligiousthingsfromitsownperceptionsandinstincts，thanmanyamatter-of-factandpracticalChristian。Thegifttoappreciateandthesensetofeelthefinershadesandrelationsofmoralthings，oftenseemsanattributeofthosewhosewholelifeshowsacarelessdisregardofthem。HenceMoore，Byron，Goethe，oftenspeakwordsmorewiselydescriptiveofthetruereligioussentiment，thananotherman，whosewholelifeisgovernedbyit。Insuchminds，disregardofreligionisamorefearfultreason，—amoredeadlysin。
St。Clarehadneverpretendedtogovernhimselfbyanyreligiousobligation；andacertainfinenessofnaturegavehimsuchaninstinctiveviewoftheextentoftherequirementsofChristianity，thatheshrank，byanticipation，fromwhathefeltwouldbetheexactionsofhisownconscience，ifheoncedidresolvetoassumethem。For，soinconsistentishumannature，especiallyintheideal，thatnottoundertakeathingatallseemsbetterthantoundertakeandcomeshort。
StillSt。Clarewas，inmanyrespects，anotherman。HereadhislittleEva’sBibleseriouslyandhonestly；hethoughtmoresoberlyandpracticallyofhisrelationstohisservants，—enoughtomakehimextremelydissatisfiedwithbothhispastandpresentcourse；andonethinghedid，soonafterhisreturntoNewOrleans，andthatwastocommencethelegalstepsnecessarytoTom’semancipation，whichwastobeperfectedassoonashecouldgetthroughthenecessaryformalities。Meantime，heattachedhimselftoTommoreandmore，everyday。Inallthewideworld，therewasnothingthatseemedtoremindhimsomuchofEva；andhewouldinsistonkeepinghimconstantlyabouthim，and，fastidiousandunapproachableashewaswithregardtohisdeeperfeelings，healmostthoughtaloudtoTom。Norwouldanyonehavewonderedatit，whohadseentheexpressionofaffectionanddevotionwithwhichTomcontinuallyfollowedhisyoungmaster。
“Well，Tom，”saidSt。Clare，thedayafterhehadcommencedthelegalformalitiesforhisenfranchisement，“I’mgoingtomakeafreemanofyou；—sohaveyourtrunkpacked，andgetreadytosetoutforKentuck。”
ThesuddenlightofjoythatshoneinTom’sfaceasheraisedhishandstoheaven，hisemphatic“BlesstheLord！”ratherdiscomposedSt。Clare；hedidnotlikeitthatTomshouldbesoreadytoleavehim。
“Youhaven’thadsuchverybadtimeshere，thatyouneedbeinsucharapture，Tom，”hesaiddrily。
“No，no，Mas’r！’tan’tthat，—it’sbein’afreeman！that’swhatI’mjoyin’for。”
“Why，Tom，don’tyouthink，foryourownpart，you’vebeenbetteroffthantobefree？”
“No，indeed，Mas’rSt。Clare，”saidTom，withaflashofenergy。“No，indeed！”
“Why，Tom，youcouldn’tpossiblyhaveearned，byyourwork，suchclothesandsuchlivingasIhavegivenyou。”
“Knowsallthat，Mas’rSt。Clare；Mas’r’sbeentoogood；but，Mas’r，I’dratherhavepoorclothes，poorhouse，pooreverything，andhave’emmine，thanhavethebest，andhave’emanyman’selse，—Ihadso，Mas’r；Ithinkit’snatur，Mas’r。”
“Isupposeso，Tom，andyou’llbegoingoffandleavingme，inamonthorso，”headded，ratherdiscontentedly。“Thoughwhyyoushouldn’t，nomortalknows，”hesaid，inagayertone；and，gettingup，hebegantowalkthefloor。
“NotwhileMas’risintrouble，”saidTom。“I’llstaywithMas’raslongashewantsme，—soasIcanbeanyuse。”
“NotwhileI’mintrouble，Tom？”saidSt。Clare，lookingsadlyoutofthewindow……“Andwhenwillmytroublebeover？”
“WhenMas’rSt。Clare’saChristian，”saidTom。
“Andyoureallymeantostaybytillthatdaycomes？”saidSt。Clare，halfsmiling，asheturnedfromthewindow，andlaidhishandonTom’sshoulder。“Ah，Tom，yousoft，sillyboy！Iwon’tkeepyoutillthatday。Gohometoyourwifeandchildren，andgivemylovetoall。”
“I’sfaithtobelievethatdaywillcome，”saidTom，earnestly，andwithtearsinhiseyes；“theLordhasaworkforMas’r。”
“Awork，hey？”saidSt。Clare，“well，now，Tom，givemeyourviewsonwhatsortofaworkitis；—let’shear。”
“Why，evenapoorfellowlikemehasaworkfromtheLord；andMas’rSt。Clare，thathaslarnin，andriches，andfriends，—howmuchhemightdofortheLord！”
“Tom，youseemtothinktheLordneedsagreatdealdoneforhim，”saidSt。Clare，smiling。
“WedoesfortheLordwhenwedoesforhiscritturs，”saidTom。
“Goodtheology，Tom；betterthanDr。B。preaches，Idareswear，”saidSt。Clare。
Theconversationwashereinterruptedbytheannouncementofsomevisitors。
MarieSt。ClarefeltthelossofEvaasdeeplyasshecouldfeelanything；and，asshewasawomanthathadagreatfacultyofmakingeverybodyunhappywhenshewas，herimmediateattendantshadstillstrongerreasontoregretthelossoftheiryoungmistress，whosewinningwaysandgentleintercessionshadsooftenbeenashieldtothemfromthetyrannicalandselfishexactionsofhermother。PooroldMammy，inparticular，whoseheart，severedfromallnaturaldomesticties，hadconsoleditselfwiththisonebeautifulbeing，wasalmostheart-broken。Shecrieddayandnight，andwas，fromexcessofsorrow，lessskilfulandalertinherministrationsofhermistressthanusual，whichdrewdownaconstantstormofinvectivesonherdefencelesshead。
MissOpheliafelttheloss；but，inhergoodandhonestheart，itborefruituntoeverlastinglife。Shewasmoresoftened，moregentle；and，thoughequallyassiduousineveryduty，itwaswithachastenedandquietair，asonewhocommunedwithherownheartnotinvain。ShewasmorediligentinteachingTopsy，—taughthermainlyfromtheBible，—didnotanylongershrinkfromhertouch，ormanifestanill-represseddisgust，becauseshefeltnone。SheviewedhernowthroughthesoftenedmediumthatEva’shandhadfirstheldbeforehereyes，andsawinheronlyanimmortalcreature，whomGodhadsenttobeledbyhertogloryandvirtue。Topsydidnotbecomeatonceasaint；butthelifeanddeathofEvadidworkamarkedchangeinher。Thecallousindifferencewasgone；therewasnowsensibility，hope，desire，andthestrivingforgood，—astrifeirregular，interrupted，suspendedoft，butyetrenewedagain。
Oneday，whenTopsyhadbeensentforbyMissOphelia，shecame，hastilythrustingsomethingintoherbosom。
“Whatareyoudoingthere，youlimb？You’vebeenstealingsomething，I’llbebound，”saidtheimperiouslittleRosa，whohadbeensenttocallher，seizingher，atthesametime，roughlybythearm。
“Yougo’long，MissRosa！”saidTopsy，pullingfromher；“’tan’tnoneo’yourbusiness！”
“Noneo’yoursa’ce！”saidRosa，“Isawyouhidingsomething，—Iknowyertricks，”andRosaseizedherarm，andtriedtoforceherhandintoherbosom，whileTopsy，enraged，kickedandfoughtvaliantlyforwhatsheconsideredherrights。TheclamorandconfusionofthebattledrewMissOpheliaandSt。Clarebothtothespot。
“She’sbeenstealing！”saidRosa。
“Ihan’t，neither！”vociferatedTopsy，sobbingwithpassion。
“Givemethat，whateveritis！”saidMissOphelia，firmly。
Topsyhesitated；but，onasecondorder，pulledoutofherbosomalittleparceldoneupinthefootofoneofherownoldstockings。
MissOpheliaturneditout。Therewasasmallbook，whichhadbeengiventoTopsybyEva，containingasingleverseofScripture，arrangedforeverydayintheyear，andinapaperthecurlofhairthatshehadgivenheronthatmemorabledaywhenshehadtakenherlastfarewell。
St。Clarewasagooddealaffectedatthesightofit；thelittlebookhadbeenrolledinalongstripofblackcrape，tornfromthefuneralweeds。
“Whatdidyouwrapthisroundthebookfor？”saidSt。Clare，holdingupthecrape。
“Cause，—cause，—cause’twasMissEva。O，don’ttake’emaway，please！”shesaid；and，sittingflatdownonthefloor，andputtingherapronoverherhead，shebegantosobvehemently。
Itwasacuriousmixtureofthepatheticandtheludicrous，—thelittleoldstockings，—blackcrape，—text-book，—fair，softcurl，—andTopsy’sutterdistress。
St。Claresmiled；butthereweretearsinhiseyes，ashesaid，
“Come，come，—don’tcry；youshallhavethem！”and，puttingthemtogether，hethrewthemintoherlap，anddrewMissOpheliawithhimintotheparlor。
“Ireallythinkyoucanmakesomethingofthatconcern，”hesaid，pointingwithhisthumbbackwardoverhisshoulder。“Anymindthatiscapableofarealsorrowiscapableofgood。Youmusttryanddosomethingwithher。”
“Thechildhasimprovedgreatly，”saidMissOphelia。“Ihavegreathopesofher；but，Augustine，”shesaid，layingherhandonhisarm，“onethingIwanttoask；whoseisthischildtobe？—yoursormine？”
“Why，Igavehertoyou，“saidAugustine。
“Butnotlegally；—Iwanthertobeminelegally，”saidMissOphelia。
“Whew！cousin，”saidAugustine。“WhatwilltheAbolitionSocietythink？They’llhaveadayoffastingappointedforthisbacksliding，ifyoubecomeaslaveholder！”
“O，nonsense！Iwanthermine，thatImayhavearighttotakehertothefreeStates，andgiveherherliberty，thatallIamtryingtodobenotundone。”
“O，cousin，whatanawful‘doingevilthatgoodmaycome’！Ican’tencourageit。”
“Idon’twantyoutojoke，buttoreason，”saidMissOphelia。“ThereisnouseinmytryingtomakethischildaChristianchild，unlessIsaveherfromallthechancesandreversesofslavery；and，ifyoureallyarewillingIshouldhaveher，Iwantyoutogivemeadeedofgift，orsomelegalpaper。”
“Well，well，”saidSt。Clare，“Iwill；”andhesatdown，andunfoldedanewspapertoread。
“ButIwantitdonenow，”saidMissOphelia。
“What’syourhurry？”
“Becausenowistheonlytimethereeveristodoathingin，”saidMissOphelia。“Come，now，here’spaper，pen，andink；justwriteapaper。”
St。Clare，likemostmenofhisclassofmind，cordiallyhatedthepresenttenseofaction，generally；and，therefore，hewasconsiderablyannoyedbyMissOphelia’sdownrightness。
“Why，what’sthematter？”saidhe。“Can’tyoutakemyword？OnewouldthinkyouhadtakenlessonsoftheJews，comingatafellowso！”
“Iwanttomakesureofit，”saidMissOphelia。“Youmaydie，orfail，andthenTopsybehustledofftoauction，spiteofallIcando。”
“Really，youarequiteprovident。Well，seeingI’minthehandsofaYankee，thereisnothingforitbuttoconcede；”andSt。Clarerapidlywroteoffadeedofgift，which，ashewaswellversedintheformsoflaw，hecouldeasilydo，andsignedhisnametoitinsprawlingcapitals，concludingbyatremendousflourish。
“There，isn’tthatblackandwhite，now，MissVermont？”hesaid，ashehandedittoher。
“Goodboy，”saidMissOphelia，smiling。“Butmustitnotbewitnessed？”
“O，bother！—yes。Here，”hesaid，openingthedoorintoMarie’sapartment，“Marie，Cousinwantsyourautograph；justputyournamedownhere。”
“What’sthis？”saidMarie，assheranoverthepaper。“Ridiculous！IthoughtCousinwastoopiousforsuchhorridthings，”sheadded，asshecarelesslywrotehername；“but，ifshehasafancyforthatarticle，Iamsureshe’swelcome。”
“There，now，she’syours，bodyandsoul，”saidSt。Clare，handingthepaper。
“Nomoreminenowthanshewasbefore，”MissOphelia。“NobodybutGodhasarighttogivehertome；butIcanprotecthernow。”
“Well，she’syoursbyafictionoflaw，then，”saidSt。Clare，asheturnedbackintotheparlor，andsatdowntohispaper。
MissOphelia，whoseldomsatmuchinMarie’scompany，followedhimintotheparlor，havingfirstcarefullylaidawaythepaper。
“Augustine，”shesaid，suddenly，asshesatknitting，“haveyouevermadeanyprovisionforyourservants，incaseofyourdeath？”
“No，”saidSt。Clare，ashereadon。
“Thenallyourindulgencetothemmayproveagreatcruelty，byandby。”
St。Clarehadoftenthoughtthesamethinghimself；butheanswered，negligently。
“Well，Imeantomakeaprovision，byandby。”
“When？”saidMissOphelia。
“O，oneofthesedays。”
“Whatifyoushoulddiefirst？”
“Cousin，what’sthematter？”saidSt。Clare，layingdownhispaperandlookingather。“DoyouthinkIshowsymptomsofyellowfeverorcholera，thatyouaremakingpostmortemarrangementswithsuchzeal？”
“‘Inthemidstoflifeweareindeath，’”saidMissOphelia。
St。Clareroseup，andlayingthepaperdown，carelessly，walkedtothedoorthatstoodopenontheverandah，toputanendtoaconversationthatwasnotagreeabletohim。Mechanically，herepeatedthelastwordagain，—“Death！”—and，asheleanedagainsttherailings，andwatchedthesparklingwaterasitroseandfellinthefountain；and，asinadimanddizzyhaze，sawflowersandtreesandvasesofthecourts，herepeated，againthemysticwordsocommonineverymouth，yetofsuchfearfulpower，—“DEATH！”“Strangethatthereshouldbesuchaword，”hesaid，“andsuchathing，andweeverforgetit；thatoneshouldbeliving，warmandbeautiful，fullofhopes，desiresandwants，oneday，andthenextbegone，utterlygone，andforever！”
Itwasawarm，goldenevening；and，ashewalkedtotheotherendoftheverandah，hesawTombusilyintentonhisBible，pointing，ashedidso，withhisfingertoeachsuccessiveword，andwhisperingthemtohimselfwithanearnestair。
“Wantmetoreadtoyou，Tom？”saidSt。Clare，seatinghimselfcarelesslybyhim。
“IfMas’rpleases，”saidTom，gratefully，“Mas’rmakesitsomuchplainer。”
St。Claretookthebookandglancedattheplace，andbeganreadingoneofthepassageswhichTomhaddesignatedbytheheavymarksaroundit。Itranasfollows:
“WhentheSonofmanshallcomeinhisglory，andallhisholyangelswithhim，thenshallhesituponthethroneofhisglory:andbeforehimshallbegatheredallnations；andheshallseparatethemonefromanother，asashepherddividethhissheepfromthegoats。”St。Clarereadoninananimatedvoice，tillhecametothelastoftheverses。
“Thenshallthekingsayuntohimonhislefthand，Departfromme，yecursed，intoeverlastingfire:forIwasanhungered，andyegavemenomeat:Iwasthirsty，andyegavemenodrink:Iwasastranger，anyetookmenotin:naked，andyeclothedmenot:Iwassick，andinprison，andyevisitedmenot。ThenshalltheyansweruntoHim，Lordwhensawwetheeanhungered，orathirst，orastranger，ornaked，orsick，orinprison，anddidnotministeruntothee？Thenshallhesayuntothem，Inasmuchasyediditnottooneoftheleastofthesemybrethren，yediditnottome。”
St。Clareseemedstruckwiththislastpassage，forhereadittwice，—thesecondtimeslowly，andasifhewererevolvingthewordsinhismind。
“Tom，”hesaid，“thesefolksthatgetsuchhardmeasureseemtohavebeendoingjustwhatIhave，—livinggood，easy，respectablelives；andnottroublingthemselvestoinquirehowmanyoftheirbrethrenwerehungryorathirst，orsick，orinprison。”
Tomdidnotanswer。
St。Clareroseupandwalkedthoughtfullyupanddowntheverandah，seemingtoforgeteverythinginhisownthoughts；soabsorbedwashe，thatTomhadtoremindhimtwicethattheteabellhadrung，beforehecouldgethisattention。
St。Clarewasabsentandthoughtful，alltea-time。Aftertea，heandMarieandMissOpheliatookpossessionoftheparloralmostinsilence。
Mariedisposedherselfonalounge，underasilkenmosquitocurtain，andwassoonsoundasleep。MissOpheliasilentlybusiedherselfwithherknitting。St。Claresatdowntothepiano，andbeganplayingasoftandmelancholymovementwiththe？olianaccompaniment。Heseemedinadeepreverie，andtobesoliloquizingtohimselfbymusic。Afteralittle，heopenedoneofthedrawers，tookoutanoldmusic-bookwhoseleaveswereyellowwithage，andbeganturningitover。
“There，”hesaidtoMissOphelia，“thiswasoneofmymother’sbooks，—andhereisherhandwriting，—comeandlookatit。ShecopiedandarrangedthisfromMozart’sRequiem。”MissOpheliacameaccordingly。
“Itwassomethingsheusedtosingoften，”saidSt。Clare。“IthinkIcanhearhernow。”
Hestruckafewmajesticchords，andbegansingingthatgrandoldLatinpiece，the“DiesIrae。”
Tom，whowaslisteningintheouterverandah，wasdrawnbythesoundtotheverydoor，wherehestoodearnestly。Hedidnotunderstandthewords，ofcourse；butthemusicandmannerofsingingappearedtoaffecthimstrongly，especiallywhenSt。Claresangthemorepatheticparts。Tomwouldhavesympathizedmoreheartily，ifhehadknownthemeaningofthebeautifulwords:
RecordareJesupie
Quodsumcausatuarviae
Nemeperdas，illadie
Querensmesedistilassus
Redemisticrucempassus
Tantuslaornonsitcassus。1
St。Clarethrewadeepandpatheticexpressionintothewords；fortheshadowyveilofyearsseemeddrawnaway，andheseemedtohearhismother’svoiceleadinghis。Voiceandinstrumentseemedbothliving，andthrewoutwithvividsympathythosestrainswhichtheetherealMozartfirstconceivedashisowndyingrequiem。
WhenSt。Clarehaddonesinging，hesatleaninghisheaduponhishandafewmoments，andthenbeganwalkingupanddownthefloor。
“Whatasublimeconceptionisthatofalastjudgment！”saidhe，—“arightingofallthewrongsofages！—asolvingofallmoralproblems，byanunanswerablewisdom！Itis，indeed，awonderfulimage。”
“Itisafearfulonetous，”saidMissOphelia。
“Itoughttobetome，Isuppose，”saidSt。Clarestopping，thoughtfully。“IwasreadingtoTom，thisafternoon，thatchapterinMatthewthatgivesanaccountofit，andIhavebeenquitestruckwithit。OneshouldhaveexpectedsometerribleenormitieschargedtothosewhoareexcludedfromHeaven，asthereason；butno，—theyarecondemnedfornotdoingpositivegood，asifthatincludedeverypossibleharm。”
“Perhaps，”saidMissOphelia，“itisimpossibleforapersonwhodoesnogoodnottodoharm。”
“Andwhat，”saidSt。Clare，speakingabstractedly，butwithdeepfeeling，“whatshallbesaidofonewhoseownheart，whoseeducation，andthewantsofsociety，havecalledinvaintosomenoblepurpose；whohasfloatedon，adreamy，neutralspectatorofthestruggles，agonies，andwrongsofman，whenheshouldhavebeenaworker？”
“Ishouldsay，”saidMissOphelia，“thatheoughttorepent，andbeginnow。”
“Alwayspracticalandtothepoint！”saidSt。Clare，hisfacebreakingoutintoasmile。“Youneverleavemeanytimeforgeneralreflections，Cousin；youalwaysbringmeshortupagainsttheactualpresent；youhaveakindofeternalnow，alwaysinyourmind。”
“NowisallthetimeIhaveanythingtodowith，”saidMissOphelia。
“DearlittleEva，—poorchild！”saidSt。Clare，“shehadsetherlittlesimplesoulonagoodworkforme。”
ItwasthefirsttimesinceEva’sdeaththathehadeversaidasmanywordsasthesetoher，andhespokenowevidentlyrepressingverystrongfeeling。
“MyviewofChristianityissuch，”headded，“thatIthinknomancanconsistentlyprofessitwithoutthrowingthewholeweightofhisbeingagainstthismonstroussystemofinjusticethatliesatthefoundationofalloursociety；and，ifneedbe，sacrificinghimselfinthebattle。Thatis，ImeanthatIcouldnotbeaChristianotherwise，thoughIhavecertainlyhadintercoursewithagreatmanyenlightenedandChristianpeoplewhodidnosuchthing；andIconfessthattheapathyofreligiouspeopleonthissubject，theirwantofperceptionofwrongsthatfilledmewithhorror，haveengenderedinmemorescepticismthananyotherthing。”
“Ifyouknewallthis，”saidMissOphelia，“whydidn’tyoudoit？”
“O，becauseIhavehadonlythatkindofbenevolencewhichconsistsinlyingonasofa，andcursingthechurchandclergyfornotbeingmartyrsandconfessors。Onecansee，youknow，veryeasily，howothersoughttobemartyrs。”
“Well，areyougoingtododifferentlynow？”saidMissOphelia。
“Godonlyknowsthefuture，”saidSt。Clare。“IambraverthanIwas，becauseIhavelostall；andhewhohasnothingtolosecanaffordallrisks。”
“Andwhatareyougoingtodo？”
“Myduty，Ihope，tothepoorandlowly，asfastasIfinditout，”saidSt。Clare，“beginningwithmyownservants，forwhomIhaveyetdonenothing；and，perhaps，atsomefutureday，itmayappearthatIcandosomethingforawholeclass；somethingtosavemycountryfromthedisgraceofthatfalsepositioninwhichshenowstandsbeforeallcivilizednations。”
“Doyousupposeitpossiblethatanationeverwillvoluntarilyemancipate？”saidMissOphelia。
“Idon’tknow，”saidSt。Clare。“Thisisadayofgreatdeeds。Heroismanddisinterestednessarerisingup，hereandthere，intheearth。TheHungariannoblessetfreemillionsofserfs，atanimmensepecuniaryloss；and，perhaps，amongusmaybefoundgenerousspirits，whodonotestimatehonorandjusticebydollarsandcents。”
“Ihardlythinkso，”saidMissOphelia。
“But，supposeweshouldriseuptomorrowandemancipate，whowouldeducatethesemillions，andteachthemhowtousetheirfreedom？Theyneverwouldrisetodomuchamongus。Thefactis，wearetoolazyandunpractical，ourselves，evertogivethemmuchofanideaofthatindustryandenergywhichisnecessarytoformthemintomen。Theywillhavetogonorth，wherelaboristhefashion，—theuniversalcustom；andtellme，now，isthereenoughChristianphilanthropy，amongyournorthernstates，tobearwiththeprocessoftheireducationandelevation？Yousendthousandsofdollarstoforeignmissions；butcouldyouenduretohavetheheathensentintoyourtownsandvillages，andgiveyourtime，andthoughts，andmoney，toraisethemtotheChristianstandard？That’swhatIwanttoknow。Ifweemancipate，areyouwillingtoeducate？Howmanyfamilies，inyourtown，wouldtakeanegromanandwoman，teachthem，bearwiththem，andseektomakethemChristians？HowmanymerchantswouldtakeAdolph，ifIwantedtomakehimaclerk；ormechanics，ifIwantedhimtaughtatrade？IfIwantedtoputJaneandRosatoaschool，howmanyschoolsarethereinthenorthernstatesthatwouldtakethemin？howmanyfamiliesthatwouldboardthem？andyettheyareaswhiteasmanyawoman，northorsouth。Yousee，Cousin，Iwantjusticedoneus。Weareinabadposition。Wearethemoreobviousoppressorsofthenegro；buttheunchristianprejudiceofthenorthisanoppressoralmostequallysevere。”
“Well，Cousin，Iknowitisso，”saidMissOphelia，—“Iknowitwassowithme，tillIsawthatitwasmydutytoovercomeit；but，ItrustIhaveovercomeit；andIknowtherearemanygoodpeopleatthenorth，whointhismatterneedonlytobetaughtwhattheirdutyis，todoit。Itwouldcertainlybeagreaterself-denialtoreceiveheathenamongus，thantosendmissionariestothem；butIthinkwewoulddoit。”
“YouwouldIknow，”saidSt。Clare。“I’dliketoseeanythingyouwouldn’tdo，ifyouthoughtityourduty！”
“Well，I’mnotuncommonlygood，”saidMissOphelia。“Otherswould，iftheysawthingsasIdo。IintendtotakeTopsyhome，whenIgo。Isupposeourfolkswillwonder，atfirst；butIthinktheywillbebroughttoseeasIdo。Besides，Iknowtherearemanypeopleatthenorthwhodoexactlywhatyousaid。”
“Yes，buttheyareaminority；and，ifweshouldbegintoemancipatetoanyextent，weshouldsoonhearfromyou。”
MissOpheliadidnotreply。Therewasapauseofsomemoments；andSt。Clare’scountenancewasovercastbyasad，dreamyexpression。
“Idon’tknowwhatmakesmethinkofmymothersomuch，tonight，”hesaid。”Ihaveastrangekindoffeeling，asifshewerenearme。Ikeepthinkingofthingssheusedtosay。Strange，whatbringsthesepastthingssovividlybacktous，sometimes！”
St。Clarewalkedupanddowntheroomforsomeminutesmore，andthensaid，
“IbelieveI’llgodownstreet，afewmoments，andhearthenews，tonight。”
Hetookhishat，andpassedout。
Tomfollowedhimtothepassage，outofthecourt，andaskedifheshouldattendhim。
“No，myboy，”saidSt。Clare。“Ishallbebackinanhour。”
Tomsatdownintheverandah。Itwasabeautifulmoonlightevening，andhesatwatchingtherisingandfallingsprayofthefountain，andlisteningtoitsmurmur。Tomthoughtofhishome，andthatheshouldsoonbeafreeman，andabletoreturntoitatwill。Hethoughthowheshouldworktobuyhiswifeandboys。Hefeltthemusclesofhisbrawnyarmswithasortofjoy，ashethoughttheywouldsoonbelongtohimself，andhowmuchtheycoulddotoworkoutthefreedomofhisfamily。Thenhethoughtofhisnobleyoungmaster，and，eversecondtothat，camethehabitualprayerthathehadalwaysofferedforhim；andthenhisthoughtspassedontothebeautifulEva，whomhenowthoughtofamongtheangels；andhethoughttillhealmostfanciedthatthatbrightfaceandgoldenhairwerelookinguponhim，outofthesprayofthefountain。And，somusing，hefellasleep，anddreamedhesawhercomingboundingtowardshim，justassheusedtocome，withawreathofjessamineinherhair，hercheeksbright，andhereyesradiantwithdelight；but，ashelooked，sheseemedtorisefromtheground；hercheeksworeapalerhue，—hereyeshadadeep，divineradiance，agoldenhaloseemedaroundherhead，—andshevanishedfromhissight；andTomwasawakenedbyaloudknocking，andasoundofmanyvoicesatthegate。
Hehastenedtoundoit；and，withsmotheredvoicesandheavytread，cameseveralmen，bringingabody，wrappedinacloak，andlyingonashutter。Thelightofthelampfellfullontheface；andTomgaveawildcryofamazementanddespair，thatrungthroughallthegalleries，asthemenadvanced，withtheirburden，totheopenparlordoor，whereMissOpheliastillsatknitting。
St。Clarehadturnedintoacafe，tolookoveraneveningpaper。Ashewasreading，anaffrayarosebetweentwogentlemenintheroom，whowerebothpartiallyintoxicated。St。Clareandoneortwoothersmadeanefforttoseparatethem，andSt。Clarereceivedafatalstabinthesidewithabowie-knife，whichhewasattemptingtowrestfromoneofthem。
Thehousewasfullofcriesandlamentations，shrieksandscreams，servantsfranticallytearingtheirhair，throwingthemselvesontheground，orrunningdistractedlyabout，lamenting。TomandMissOpheliaaloneseemedtohaveanypresenceofmind；forMariewasinstronghystericconvulsions。AtMissOphelia’sdirection，oneoftheloungesintheparlorwashastilyprepared，andthebleedingformlaiduponit。St。Clarehadfainted，throughpainandlossofblood；but，asMissOpheliaappliedrestoratives，herevived，openedhiseyes，lookedfixedlyonthem，lookedearnestlyaroundtheroom，hiseyestravellingwistfullyovereveryobject，andfinallytheyrestedonhismother’spicture。
Thephysiciannowarrived，andmadehisexamination。Itwasevident，fromtheexpressionofhisface，thattherewasnohope；butheappliedhimselftodressingthewound，andheandMissOpheliaandTomproceededcomposedlywiththiswork，amidthelamentationsandsobsandcriesoftheaffrightedservants，whohadclusteredaboutthedoorsandwindowsoftheverandah。
“Now，”saidthephysician，“wemustturnallthesecreaturesout；alldependsonhisbeingkeptquiet。”
St。Clareopenedhiseyes，andlookedfixedlyonthedistressedbeings，whomMissOpheliaandthedoctorweretryingtourgefromtheapartment。“Poorcreatures！”hesaid，andanexpressionofbitterself-reproachpassedoverhisface。Adolphabsolutelyrefusedtogo。Terrorhaddeprivedhimofallpresenceofmind；hethrewhimselfalongthefloor，andnothingcouldpersuadehimtorise。TherestyieldedtoMissOphelia’surgentrepresentations，thattheirmaster’ssafetydependedontheirstillnessandobedience。
St。Clarecouldsaybutlittle；helaywithhiseyesshut，butitwasevidentthathewrestledwithbitterthoughts。Afterawhile，helaidhishandonTom’s，whowaskneelingbesidehim，andsaid，“Tom！poorfellow！”
“What，Mas’r？”saidTom，earnestly。
“Iamdying！”saidSt。Clare，pressinghishand；“pray！”
“Ifyouwouldlikeaclergyman—”saidthephysician。
St。Clarehastilyshookhishead，andsaidagaintoTom，moreearnestly，“Pray！”
AndTomdidpray，withallhismindandstrength，forthesoulthatwaspassing，—thesoulthatseemedlookingsosteadilyandmournfullyfromthoselarge，melancholyblueeyes。Itwasliterallyprayerofferedwithstrongcryingandtears。
WhenTomceasedtospeak，St。Clarereachedoutandtookhishand，lookingearnestlyathim，butsayingnothing。Heclosedhiseyes，butstillretainedhishold；for，inthegatesofeternity，theblackhandandthewhiteholdeachotherwithanequalclasp。Hemurmuredsoftlytohimself，atbrokenintervals，
“RecordareJesupie—
Nemeperdas—illadie
Querensme—sedistilassus。”
Itwasevidentthatthewordshehadbeensingingthateveningwerepassingthroughhismind，—wordsofentreatyaddressedtoInfinitePity。Hislipsmovedatintervals，aspartsofthehymnfellbrokenlyfromthem。
“Hismindiswandering，”saidthedoctor。
“No！itiscomingHOME，atlast！”saidSt。Clare，energetically；“atlast！atlast！”
Theeffortofspeakingexhaustedhim。Thesinkingpalenessofdeathfellonhim；butwithittherefell，asifshedfromthewingsofsomepityingspirit，abeautifulexpressionofpeace，likethatofaweariedchildwhosleeps。
Sohelayforafewmoments。Theysawthatthemightyhandwasonhim。Justbeforethespiritparted，heopenedhiseyes，withasuddenlight，asofjoyandrecognition，andsaid“Mother！”andthenhewasgone！
1Theselineshavebeenthusratherinadequatelytranslated:
Think，OJesus，forwhatreason
Thouendured’stearth’sspiteandtreason，
Normelose，inthatdreadseason；
Seekingme，thywomfeethasted，
Onthecrossthysouldeathtasted，
Letnotallthesetoilsbewasted。
[Mrs。Stowe’snote。]
