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Show 88 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN: OR, freedom as soon as"- she stopped, and said, in a hesitating tone-" I am gone!" "Yes, dear, I wm do anything in the world,- anything you could ask me to." "Dear papa," said the child, laying her burning check against his, "how I wish we could go together ! " n 'Vhcrc, dearest?" said St. Clare. "To our Saviour's home ; it 's so sweet and peaceful thoro -it is all so loving there ! '' ~f.lhe child spoke unconsciously, as of a place where she had often been. "Don't 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 ealm certainty which she often used unconsciously. "I shall come after you. I shaJl 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 lifo rose in a moment before his eyes: his mother's 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. \Ve can think much, very much, in a moment. St. Clare saw and felt many things, but spoke nothing; and, as it grew darker, he took his child to her bedroom; and, when she was prepared for rest, he sent away the attendant.'!, and rocked her in his arms, and sung to her till she was asleep. LIFE AMONG TilE LOWLY. 89 CHAPTER XXV. TilE LI'M'r.E EVA!o/QIU.IST, Ir was Sun<l.y afternoon. St. Clare was stretched on a bamboo lounge in the verandah, solacing himself with a cigar. l\Iarie Jay reclined on a sofa, opposite the window opening on tho verandah, closely secluded, under an awning of transparent gauze, from the outrages of the mosquitos, and languidly holding in her hand an elegantly bound prayer-book. She was holding it because it was Sunday, and she imagined she had been reading it,- though, in fact, she had been only taking a succession of short naps, with it open in her hand. Miss Ophelia, who, after some rummaging, had hunted up a small ~1ethodist meeting within 1·iding clistance, had gone out, with 'rom as driver, to attend it; and Eva had accompanied them. "I say, Augustine," said :Marie after dozing a while, "I must send to the city after my old Doctor Posey; I 'm sure I 've got the complaint of the beaJ"t." "Well; why need you send for him? This doctor that attends Eva seems skilful." "I would not trust him in a critical case/' said Marie; "and I think I may say mine is becoming so ! I've been thinking of it, these two or three night.'! past; I have such distressing pains, and such strange feelings." "0, :Marie, you arc blue; I don't believe it 's heart complaint." 1 ' I dare say you don't," said lVIarie; "I was prepared to expect that. You can be alarmed enough, if Eva coughs, or \'C.lf.. I L 8 ~ |