英语天堂-第88章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


There　were；　for　a　while；　soft　whisperings　and　footfalls　in　the　chamber；　as　one　after　another　stole　in；　to　look　at　the　dead；　and　then　came　the　little　coffin；　and　then　there　was　a　funeral；　and　carriages　drove　to　the　door；　and　strangers　came　and　were　seated；　and　there　were　white　scarfs　and　ribbons；　and　crape　bands；　and　mourners　dressed　in　black　crape；　and　there　were　words　read　from　the　Bible；　and　prayers　offered；　and　St。　Clare　lived；　and　walked；　and　moved；　as　one　who　has　shed　every　tear；—to　the　last　he　saw　only　one　thing；　that　golden　head　in　the　coffin；　but　then　he　saw　the　cloth　spread　over　it；　the　lid　of　the　coffin　closed；　and　he　walked；　when　he　was　put　beside　the　others；　down　to　a　little　place　at　the　bottom　of　the　garden；　and　there；　by　the　mossy　seat　where　she　and　Tom　had　talked；　and　sung；　and　read　so　often；　was　the　little　grave。　St。　Clare　stood　beside　it；—looked　vacantly　down；　he　saw　them　lower　the　little　coffin；　he　heard；　dimly；　the　solemn　words；　“I　am　the　resurrection　and　the　Life；　he　that　believeth　in　me；　though　he　were　dead；　yet　shall　he　live；”　and；　as　the　earth　was　cast　in　and　filled　up　the　little　grave；　he　could　not　realize　that　it　was　his　Eva　that　they　were　hiding　from　his　sight。
Nor　was　it！—not　Eva；　but　only　the　frail　seed　of　that　bright；　immortal　form　with　which　she　shall　yet　come　forth；　in　the　day　of　the　Lord　Jesus！
And　then　all　were　gone；　and　the　mourners　went　back　to　the　place　which　should　know　her　no　more；　and　Marie’s　room　was　darkened；　and　she　lay　on　the　bed；　sobbing　and　moaning　in　uncontrollable　grief；　and　calling　every　moment　for　the　attentions　of　all　her　servants。　Of　course；　they　had　no　time　to　cry；—why　should　they？　the　grief　was　her　grief；　and　she　was　fully　convinced　that　nobody　on　earth　did；　could；　or　would　feel　it　as　she　did。
“St。　Clare　did　not　shed　a　tear；”　she　said；　“he　didn’t　sympathize　with　her；　it　was　perfectly　wonderful　to　think　how　hard…hearted　and　unfeeling　he　was；　when　he　must　know　how　she　suffered。”
So　much　are　people　the　slave　of　their　eye　and　ear；　that　many　of　the　servants　really　thought　that　Missis　was　the　principal　sufferer　in　the　case；　especially　as　Marie　began　to　have　hysterical　spasms；　and　sent　for　the　doctor；　and　at　last　declared　herself　dying；　and；　in　the　running　and　scampering；　and　bringing　up　hot　bottles；　and　heating　of　flannels；　and　chafing；　and　fussing；　that　ensued；　there　was　quite　a　diversion。
Tom；　however；　had　a　feeling　at　his　own　heart；　that　drew　him　to　his　master。　He　followed　him　wherever　he　walked；　wistfully　and　sadly；　and　when　he　saw　him　sitting；　so　pale　and　quiet；　in　Eva’s　room；　holding　before　his　eyes　her　little　open　Bible；　though　seeing　no　letter　or　word　of　what　was　in　it；　there　was　more　sorrow　to　Tom　in　that　still；　fixed；　tearless　eye；　than　in　all　Marie’s　moans　and　lamentations。
In　a　few　days　the　St。　Clare　family　were　back　again　in　the　city；　Augustine；　with　the　restlessness　of　grief；　longing　for　another　scene；　to　change　the　current　of　his　thoughts。　So　they　left　the　house　and　garden；　with　its　little　grave；　and　came　back　to　New　Orleans；　and　St。　Clare　walked　the　streets　busily；　and　strove　to　fill　up　the　chasm　in　his　heart　with　hurry　and　bustle；　and　change　of　place；　and　people　who　saw　him　in　the　street；　or　met　him　at　the　cafe；　knew　of　his　loss　only　by　the　weed　on　his　hat；　for　there　he　was；　smiling　and　talking；　and　reading　the　newspaper；　and　speculating　on　politics；　and　attending　to　business　matters；　and　who　could　see　that　all　this　smiling　outside　was　but　a　hollowed　shell　over　a　heart　that　was　a　dark　and　silent　sepulchre？
“Mr。　St。　Clare　is　a　singular　man；”　said　Marie　to　Miss　Ophelia；　in　a　complaining　tone。　“I　used　to　think；　if　there　was　anything　in　the　world　he　did　love；　it　was　our　dear　little　Eva；　but　he　seems　to　be　forgetting　her　very　easily。　I　cannot　ever　get　him　to　talk　about　her。　I　really　did　think　he　would　show　more　feeling！”
“Still　waters　run　deepest；　they　used　to　tell　me；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　oracularly。
“O；　I　don’t　believe　in　such　things；　it’s　all　talk。　If　people　have　feeling；　they　will　show　it；—they　can’t　help　it；　but；　then；　it’s　a　great　misfortune　to　have　feeling。　I’d　rather　have　been　made　like　St。　Clare。　My　feelings　prey　upon　me　so！”
“Sure；　Missis；　Mas’r　St。　Clare　is　gettin’　thin　as　a　shader。　They　say；　he　don’t　never　eat　nothin’；”　said　Mammy。　“I　know　he　don’t　forget　Miss　Eva；　I　know　there　couldn’t　nobody；—dear；　little；　blessed　cretur！”　she　added；　wiping　her　eyes。
“Well；　at　all　events；　he　has　no　consideration　for　me；”　said　Marie；　“he　hasn’t　spoken　one　word　of　sympathy；　and　he　must　know　how　much　more　a　mother　feels　than　any　man　can。”
“The　heart　knoweth　its　own　bitterness；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　gravely。
“That’s　just　what　I　think。　I　know　just　what　I　feel；—nobody　else　seems　to。　Eva　used　to；　but　she　is　gone！”　and　Marie　lay　back　on　her　lounge；　and　began　to　sob　disconsolately。
Marie　was　one　of　those　unfortunately　constituted　mortals；　in　whose　eyes　whatever　is　lost　and　gone　assumes　a　value　which　it　never　had　in　possession。　Whatever　she　had；　she　seemed　to　survey　only　to　pick　flaws　in　it；　but；　once　fairly　away；　there　was　no　end　to　her　valuation　of　it。
While　this　conversation　was　taking　place　in　the　parlor　another　was　going　on　in　St。　Clare’s　library。
Tom；　who　was　always　uneasily　following　his　master　about；　had　seen　him　go　to　his　library；　some　hours　before；　and；　after　vainly　waiting　for　him　to　come　out；　determined；　at　last；　to　make　an　errand　in。　He　entered　softly。　St。　Clare　lay　on　his　lounge；　at　the　further　end　of　the　room。　He　was　lying　on　his　face；　with　Eva’s　Bible　open　before　him；　at　a　little　distance。　Tom　walked　up；　and　stood　by　the　sofa。　He　hesitated；　and；　while　he　was　hesitating；　St。　Clare　suddenly　raised　himself　up。　The　honest　face；　so　full　of　grief；　and　with　such　an　imploring　expression　of　affection　and　sympathy；　struck　his　master。　He　laid　his　hand　on　Tom’s；　and　bowed　down　his　forehead　on　it。
“O；　Tom；　my　boy；　the　whole　world　is　as　empty　as　an　egg…shell。”
“I　know　it；　Mas’r；—I　know　it；”　said　Tom；　“but；　oh；　if　Mas’r　could　only　look　up；—up　where　our　dear　Miss　Eva　is；—up　to　the　dear　Lord　Jesus！”
“Ah；　Tom！　I　do　look　up；　but　the　trouble　is；　I　don’t　see　anything；　when　I　do；　I　wish　I　could。”
Tom　sighed　heavily。
“It　seems　to　be　given　to　children；　and　poor；　honest　fellows；　like　you；　to　see　what　we　can’t；”　said　St。　Clare。　“How　comes　it？”
“Thou　has　‘hid　from　the　wise　and　prudent；　and　revealed　unto　babes；’”　murmured　Tom；　“‘even　so；　Father；　for　so　it　seemed　good　in　thy　sight。’”
“Tom；　I　don’t　believe；—I　can’t　believe；—I’ve　got　the　habit　of　doubting；”　said　St。　Clare。　“I　want　to　believe　this　Bible；—and　I　can’t。”
“Dear　Mas’r；　pray　to　the　good　Lord；—‘Lord；　I　believe；　help　thou　my　unbelief。’”
“Who　knows　anything　about　anything？”　said　St。　Clare；　his　eyes　wandering　dreamily；　and　speaking　to　himself。　“Was　all　that　beautiful　love　and　faith　only　one　of　the　ever…shifting　phases　of　human　feeling；　having　nothing　real　to　rest　on；　passing　away　with　the　little　breath？　And　is　there　no　more　Eva；—no　heaven；—no　Christ；—nothing？”
“O；　dear　Mas’r；　there　is！　I　know　it；　I’m　sure　of　it；”　said　Tom；　falling　on　his　knees。　“Do；　do；　dear　Mas’r；　believe　it！”
“How　do　you　know　there’s　any　Christ；　Tom！　You　never　saw　the　Lord。”
“Felt　Him　in　my　soul；　Mas’r；—feel　Him　now！　O；　Mas’r；　when　I　was　sold　away　from　my　old　woman　and　the　children；　I　was　jest　a’most　broke　up。　I　felt　as　if　there　warn’t　nothin’　left；　and　then　the　good　Lord；　he　stood　by　me；　and　he　says；　‘Fear　not；　Tom；’　and　he　brings　light　and　joy　in　a　poor　feller’s　soul；—makes　all　peace；　and　I　’s　so　happy；　and　loves　everybody；　and　feels　willin’　jest　to　be　the　Lord’s；　and　have　the　Lord’s　will　done；　and　be　put　jest　where　the　Lord　wants　to　put　me。　I　know　it　couldn’t　come　from　me；　cause　I　’s　a　poor；　complainin’cretur；　it　comes　from　the　Lord；　and　I　know　He’s　willin’　to　do　for　Mas’r。”
Tom　spoke　with　fast…running　tears　and　choking　voice。　St。　Clare　leaned　his　head　on　his　shoulder；　and　wrung　the　hard；　faithful；　black　hand。
“Tom；　you　love　me；”　he　said。
“I　’s　willin’　to　lay　down　my　life；　this　blessed　day；　to　see　Mas’r　a　Christian。”
“Poor；　foolish　boy！”　said　St。　Clare；　half…raising　himself。　“I’m　not　worth　the　love　of　one　good；　honest　heart；　like　yours。”
“O；　Mas’r；　dere’s　more　than　me　loves　you；—the　blessed　Lord　Jesus　loves　you。”
“How　do　you　know　that　Tom？”　said　St。　Clare。
“Feels　it　in　my　soul。　O；　Mas’r！　‘the　love　of　Christ；　that　passeth　knowledge。’”
“Singular！”　said　St。　Clare；　turning　away；　“that　the　story　of　a　man　that　lived　and　died　eighteen　hundred　years　ago　can　affect　people　so　yet。　But　he　was　no　man；”　he　added；　suddenly。　“No　man　ever　had　such　long　and　living　power！　O；　that　I　could　believe　what　my　mother　taught　me；　and　pray　as　I　did　when　I　was　a　boy！”
“If　Mas’r　pleases；”　said　Tom；　“Miss　Eva　used　to　read　this　so　beautifully。　I　wish　Mas’r’d　be　so　good　as　read　it。　Don’t　get　no　readin’；　hardly；　now　Miss　Eva’s　gone。”
The　chapter　was　the　eleventh　of　John；—the　touching　acomount　of　the　raising　of　Lazarus；　St。　Clare　read　it　aloud；　often　pausing　to　wrestle　down　feelings　which　were　roused　by　the　pathos　of　the　story。　Tom　knelt　before　him；　with　clasped　hands；　and　with　an　absorbed　expression　of　love；　trust；　adoration；　on　his　quiet　face。
“Tom；”　said　his　Master；　“this　is　all　real　to　you！”
“I　can　jest　fairly　see　it　Mas’r；”　said　Tom。
“I　wish　I　had　your　eyes；　Tom。”
“I　wish；　to　the　dear　Lord；　Mas’r　had！”
“But；　Tom；　you　know　that　I　have　a　great　deal　more　knowledge　than　you；　what　if　I　should　tell　you　that　I　don’t　believe　this　Bible？”
“O；　Mas’r！”　said　Tom；　holding　up　his　hands；　with　a　deprecating　gesture。
“Wouldn’t　it　shake　your　faith　some；　Tom？”
“Not　a　grain；”　said　Tom。
“Why；　Tom；　you　must　know　I　know　the　most。”
“O；　Mas’r；　haven’t　you　jest　read　how　he　hides　from　the　wise　and　prudent；　and　reveals　unto　babes？　But　Mas’r　wasn’t　in　earnest；　for　sartin；　now？”　said　Tom；　anxiously。
“No；　Tom；　I　was　not。　I　don’t　disbelieve；　and　I　think　there　is　reason　to　believe；　and　still　I　don’t。　It’s　a　troublesome　bad　habit　I’ve　got；　Tom。”
“If　Mas’r　would　only　pray！”
“How　do　you　know　I　don’t；　Tom？”
“Does　Mas’r？”
“I　would；　Tom；　if　there　was　anybody　there　when　I　pray；　but　it’s　all　speaking　unto　nothing；　when　I　do。　But　come；　Tom；　you　pray　now；　and　show　me　how。”
Tom’s　heart　was　full；　he　poured　it　out　In　prayer；　like　waters　that　have　been　long　suppressed。　One　thing　was　plain　enough；　Tom　thought　there　was　somebody　to　hear；　whether　there　were　or　not。　In　fact；　St。　Clare　felt　himself　borne；　on　the　tide　of　his　faith　and　feeling；　almost　to　the　gates　of　that　heaven　he　seemed　so　vividly　to　conceive。　It　seemed　to　bring　him　nearer　to　Eva。
“Thank　you；　my　boy；”　said　St。　Clare；　when　Tom　rose。　“I　like　to　hear　you；　Tom；　but　go；　now；　and　leave　me　alone；　some　other　time；　I’ll　talk　more。”
Tom　silently　left　the　room。
1　“This　is　the　last　of　Earth！　I　am　content；”　last　words　of　John　Quincy　Adams；　uttered　February　21；　1848。
Chapter　28
Reunion
Week　after　week　glided　away　in　the　St。　Clare　mansion；　and　the　waves　of　life　settled　back　to　their　usual　flow；　where　that　little　bark　had　gone　down。　For　how　imperiously；　how　coolly；　in　disregard　of　all　one’s　feeling；　does　the　hard；　cold；　uninteresti