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Show 142 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN: OR, no hope; but he applied himself to dressing tho wound, and he and Miss Ophelia and 'l'om proceeded composedly with this work, amid the lamentations and sobs and cries of the afrrightcd servants, who had clustered about the doors and windmYS of the verandah. "Now," said the physician, "we must turn all these creatures out; all depends on his being kept quiet." St. Clare opened his eyes, and looked fixedly on the distressed beings, whom Miss Ophelia and the doctor were trying to urge from the n.p~rtment. " Poor creatures! '' he said, and an expression of bitter self-reproach passed over his f.,ce. Adolph absolutely refused to go. •rcrror had deprived him of all presence of mind; he threw himself along on the floor, and nothing could persuade him to rise. 'fhc rest yielded to Miss Ophelia's urgent representations, that their master's safety depended on their stillness and obedience. St. Clare could say but little; he lay with his eyes shut, but it was evident that ho wrestled with bitter thoughts. After a while, he laid his hand on 'l'om's, who was kneeling beside him, and said, "Torn ! poor fellow ! " "'¥hat, ~fas'r?" said Tom, earnestly. "I am dying ! " said St. Claro, pressing his hand; "pray!" "If you woulU like a clergyman-" said the physician. St. Cla.rc hastily shook his head, and said again to Tom, more earnestly, '' Pra,y ! " And Tom did pra.y, with a.ll his mind and strength, for the soul that was passing,-·the soul that seemed looking so steadily and mournfully from those large, melancholy blue eyes. It was literally prayer offered with strong crying and tears. When Tom ceased to speak, St. Clare reached out and LIFE AMONG '£III~ LOWLY. 143 took his hand, looking earnestly at him, but saying nothing. IIo closed his eyes, but still retained his bold ; for, in the gates of eternity, the black hand and the white hold each other with an equal clasp. Ilc murmured softly to himself, at broken intervals, "Rccordare Jesu pic- Ne me pcrdas-ille die Querens mc-scdisti lassus." It was evident that the words he had been singing that evening were passing through his mind,- words of entreaty addressed to Infinite Pity. His lips moved at intervals, as parts of the hymn fell brokenly from them. "His mind is ,yandering," said the doctor. "No! it is coming llOME, at last! " said St. Clare, energetically; "at last! at last !" The effort of speaking exhausted him. 'l'he sinking paleness of death fell on him; but with it there fell, as if shed from the wings of some pitying spirit, a beautiful expression of peace, like that of a wearied child who sleeps. So he lay for a few moments. 'rhey saw that the mighty hand was on him. Just before the spirit parted, he opened his eyes, with a sudden light, as of joy and recognition, and said ''Mother!'' and then he was gone! |