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Show 116 t:NCLB TOi\1 18 CADlN : OH, "0 do let me ! I brought a flower,- such a pretty one!" snid •r~psy, holding up a half-blown tea rose-bud. "Do let me put just one there." " Get along!" said Rosa, more decidedly. n Let her stay!" saiJ St. Clare, suclllcnly stamping his foot. " She shall come." lloso 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 tho room, aml tried to rnisc and silence her; but in vain. "0, :Miss Eva! oh, ~iiss Eva! I wish I :s dead, too,- I do!'' There was a piercing wildness in the cry ; tho blood flushed into St. Clare's white, marble-like face, :mel the first tears he had shed since Eva died stood in his eyes. "Get up, child," sald l\Iiss Ophelia., in a. softened voice; 0 don't cry so. :Miss Eva is gone to heaven; she is an angel." "Eut I can1t sec her! n said rropsy. "I never shall sec her ! " and she sobbed again. They all stood a moment in silence. "She said she loved me," said r~ropsy,- "::>he did! 0, dear! ohl dear ! there an't nobody left now,- there an't! " "rrhat 's true enough," said St. Clare; '~but do," he said to ~Iiss Ophelia, "sec if you can't comfort the poor creature.'' "I jist wish I bad n't never been born," said Topsy. ,. I didn't want to be born, no ways; :.mel I don't sec no usc on't." 1\liss Ophelia raised her gently, but firmly, and took her LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 117 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 'II try to help you to grow up a good Christian girl." ~iiss Ophelia's voice was more than her worUs, 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. " 0, my Eva., whoso little hour on earth did so much of good,n thought St. Clare, "what account have I to give for my long years?'' There were, for a while, soft whisperings and foot-falls 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 cnme 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 moved1 as one who has shed every tcar;-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 scat where she and Tom had talked) and sung) and read so often) was the little grave. St. Clare stood beside it,-lookcd vacantly down; be saw them lower the little coffin ; he heard, dimly, the solemn words, " I am the resurrection and the Life i he that beliC\'elh in me, though l1c were dead, yet shall he li\•e;" |
