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Why, Eva, child, dont you think they are well enough off now? O, but, papa, if anything should happen to you, what would become of them? There are very few men like you, papa. Uncle Alfred isnt like you, and mamma isnt; and then, think of poor old Prues owners! What horrid things people do, and can do! and Eva shuddered. My dear child, you are too sensitive. Im sorry I ever let you hear such stories. O, thats what troubles me, papa. You want me to live so happy, and never to have any pain,never suffer anything,not even hear a sad story, when other poor creatures have nothing but pain and sorrow, an their lives;it seems selfish. I ought to know such things, I ought to feel about them! Such things always sunk into my heart; they went down deep; Ive thought and thought about them. Papa, isnt there any way to have all slaves made free? Thats a difficult question, dearest. Theres no doubt that this way is a very bad one; a great many people think so; I do myself I heartily wish that there were not a slave in the land; but, then, I dont know what is to be done about it! Papa, you are such a good man, and so noble, and kind, and you always have a way of saying things that is so pleasant, couldnt you go all round and try to persuade people to do right about this? When I am dead, papa, then you will think of me, and do it for my sake. I would do it, if I could. When you are dead, Eva, said St. Clare, passionately. O, child, dont talk to me so! You are all I have on earth. Poor old Prues child was all that she had,and yet she had to hear it crying, and she couldnt help it! Papa, these poor creatures love their children as much as you do me. O! do something for them! Theres poor Mammy loves her children; Ive seen her cry when she talked about them. And Tom loves his children; and its dreadful, papa, that such things are happening, all the time! There, there, darling, said St. Clare, soothingly; only dont distress yourself, dont talk of dying, and I will do anything you wish. And promise me, dear father, that Tom shall have his freedom as soon asshe stopped, and said, in a hesitating toneI am gone! Yes, dear, I will do anything in the world,anything you could ask me to. Dear papa, said the child, laying her burning cheek against his, how I wish we could go together! Where, dearest? said St. Clare. To our Saviours home; its so sweet and peaceful thereit is all so loving there! The child spoke unconsciously, as of a place where she had often been. Dont you want to go, papa? she said. St. Clare drew her closer to him, but was silent. You will come to me, said the child, speaking in a voice of calm certainty which she often used unconsciously. I shall come after you. I shall not forget you. The shadows of the solemn evening closed round them deeper and deeper, as St. Clare sat silently holding the little frail form to his bosom. He saw no more the deep eyes, but the voice came over him as a spirit voice, and, as in a sort of judgment vision, his whole past life rose in a moment before his eyes: his mothers prayers and hymns; his own early yearnings and aspirings for good; and, between them and this hour, years of worldliness and scepticism, and what man calls respectable living. We can think |
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