英语天堂-第107章

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e　fall　of　the　curtains；　had　been　arranged　and　rearranged；　by　Adolph　and　Rosa；　with　that　nicety　of　eye　which　characterizes　their　race。　Even　now；　while　St。　Clare　stood　there　thinking；　little　Rosa　tripped　softly　into　the　chamber　with　a　basket　of　white　flowers。　She　stepped　back　when　she　saw　St。　Clare；　and　stopped　respectfully；　but；　seeing　that　he　did　not　observe　her；　she　came　forward　to　place　them　around　the　dead。　St。　Clare　saw　her　as　in　a　dream；　while　she　placed　in　the　small　hands　a　fair　cape　jessamine；　and；　with　admirable　taste；　disposed　other　flowers　around　the　couch。
The　door　opened　again；　and　Topsy；　her　eyes　swelled　with　crying；　appeared；　holding　something　under　her　apron。　Rosa　made　a　quick　forbidding　gesture；　but　she　took　a　step　into　the　room。
“You　must　go　out；”　said　Rosa；　in　a　sharp；　positive　whisper；　“you　haven’t　any　business　here！”
“O；　do　let　me！　I　brought　a　flower；—such　a　pretty　one！”　said　Topsy；　holding　up　a　half…blown　tea　rose…bud。　“Do　let　me　put　just　one　there。”
“Get　along！”　said　Rosa；　more　decidedly。
“Let　her　stay！”　said　St。　Clare；　suddenly　stamping　his　foot。　“She　shall　come。”
Rosa　suddenly　retreated；　and　Topsy　came　forward　and　laid　her　offering　at　the　feet　of　the　corpse；　then　suddenly；　with　a　wild　and　bitter　cry；　she　threw　herself　on　the　floor　alongside　the　bed；　and　wept；　and　moaned　aloud。
Miss　Ophelia　hastened　into　the　room；　and　tried　to　raise　and　silence　her；　but　in　vain。
“O；　Miss　Eva！　oh；　Miss　Eva！　I　wish　I　’s　dead；　too；—I　do！”
There　was　a　piercing　wildness　in　the　cry；　the　blood　flushed　into　St。　Clare’s　white；　marble…like　face；　and　the　first　tears　he　had　shed　since　Eva　died　stood　in　his　eyes。
“Get　up；　child；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　in　a　softened　voice；　“don’t　cry　so。　Miss　Eva　is　gone　to　heaven；　she　is　an　angel。”
“But　I　can’t　see　her！”　said　Topsy。　“I　never　shall　see　her！”　and　she　sobbed　again。
They　all　stood　a　moment　in　silence。
“She　said　she　loved　me；”　said　Topsy；—“she　did！　O；　dear！　oh；　dear！　there　an’t　nobody　left　now；—there　an’t！”
“That’s　true　enough”　said　St。　Clare；　“but　do；”　he　said　to　Miss　Ophelia；　“see　if　you　can’t　comfort　the　poor　creature。”
“I　jist　wish　I　hadn’t　never　been　born；”　said　Topsy。　“I　didn’t　want　to　be　born；　no　ways；　and　I　don’t　see　no　use　on　’t。”
Miss　Ophelia　raised　her　gently；　but　firmly；　and　took　her　from　the　room；　but；　as　she　did　so；　some　tears　fell　from　her　eyes。
“Topsy；　you　poor　child；”　she　said；　as　she　led　her　into　her　room；　“don’t　give　up！　I　can　love　you；　though　I　am　not　like　that　dear　little　child。　I　hope　I’ve　learnt　something　of　the　love　of　Christ　from　her。　I　can　love　you；　I　do；　and　I’ll　try　to　help　you　to　grow　up　a　good　Christian　girl。”
Miss　Ophelia’s　voice　was　more　than　her　words；　and　more　than　that　were　the　honest　tears　that　fell　down　her　face。　From　that　hour；　she　acquired　an　influence　over　the　mind　of　the　destitute　child　that　she　never　lost。
“O；　my　Eva；　whose　little　hour　on　earth　did　so　much　of　good；”　thought　St。　Clare；　“what　acomount　have　I　to　give　for　my　long　years？”
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　see