Hes in dat ar shed, said a little fellow, who stood holding Georges horse.
Legree kicked the boy, and swore at him; but George, without saying another word, turned and strode to the spot.
Tom had been lying two days since the fatal night, not suffering, for every nerve of suffering was blunted and destroyed. He lay, for the most part, in a quiet stupor; for the laws of a powerful and well-knit frame would not at once release the imprisoned spirit. By stealth, there had been there, in the darkness of the night, poor desolated creatures, who stole from their scanty hours rest, that they might repay to him some of those ministrations of love in which he had always been so abundant. Truly, those poor disciples had little to give,only the cup of cold water; but it was given with full hearts.
Tears had fallen on that honest, insensible face,tears of late repentance in the poor, ignorant heathen, whom his dying love and patience had awakened to repentance, and bitter prayers, breathed over him to a late-found Saviour, of whom they scarce knew more than the name, but whom the yearning ignorant heart of man never implores in vain.
Cassy, who had glided out of her place of concealment, and, by overhearing, learned the sacrifice that had been made for her and Emmeline, had been there, the night before, defying the danger of detection; and, moved by the last few words which the affectionate soul had yet strength to breathe, the long winter of despair, the ice of years, had given way, and the dark, despairing woman had wept and prayed.
When George entered the shed, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.
Is it possible,,is it possible? said he, kneeling down by him. Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend!
Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He moved his head gently, smiled, and said,
Feel soft as down pillows are.
Tears which did honor to his manly heart fell from the young mans eyes, as he bent over his poor friend.
O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake,do speak once more! Look up! Heres Masr George,your own little Masr George. Dont you know me?
Masr George! said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice; Masr George! He looked bewildered.
Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul; and the vacant eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.
Bless the Lord! it is,it is,its all I wanted! They havent forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord, on my soul!
You shant die! you mustnt die, nor think of it! Ive come to buy you, and take you home, said George, with impetuous vehemence.
O, Masr George, yere too late. The Lords bought me, and is going to take me home,and I long to go. Heaven is better than Kintuck.
O, dont die! Itll kill me!itll break my heart to think what youve suffered,and lying in this old shed, here! Poor, poor fellow!
Dont call me poor fellow! said Tom, solemnly, I have been poor fellow; but thats all past and gone, now. Im right in the door, going into glory! O, Masr George! Heaven has come! Ive got the victory!the Lord Jesus has given it to me! Glory be to His name!