英语天堂-第119章

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；—no　one　ever　knows　what　I　feel！　I　can’t　throw　things　off；　as　you　do。”
St。　Clare　smiled。　You　must　excuse　him；　he　couldn’t　help　it；—for　St。　Clare　could　smile　yet。　For　so　bright　and　placid　was　the　farewell　voyage　of　the　little　spirit；—by　such　sweet　and　fragrant　breezes　was　the　small　bark　borne　towards　the　heavenly　shores；—that　it　was　impossible　to　realize　that　it　was　death　that　was　approaching。　The　child　felt　no　pain；—only　a　tranquil；　soft　weakness；　daily　and　almost　insensibly　increasing；　and　she　was　so　beautiful；　so　loving；　so　trustful；　so　happy；　that　one　could　not　resist　the　soothing　influence　of　that　air　of　innocence　and　peace　which　seemed　to　breathe　around　her。　St。　Clare　found　a　strange　calm　coming　over　him。　It　was　not　hope；—that　was　impossible；　it　was　not　resignation；　it　was　only　a　calm　resting　in　the　present；　which　seemed　so　beautiful　that　he　wished　to　think　of　no　future。　It　was　like　that　hush　of　spirit　which　we　feel　amid　the　bright；　mild　woods　of　autumn；　when　the　bright　hectic　flush　is　on　the　trees；　and　the　last　lingering　flowers　by　the　brook；　and　we　joy　in　it　all　the　more；　because　we　know　that　soon　it　will　all　pass　away。
The　friend　who　knew　most　of　Eva’s　own　imaginings　and　foreshadowings　was　her　faithful　bearer；　Tom。　To　him　she　said　what　she　would　not　disturb　her　father　by　saying。　To　him　she　imparted　those　mysterious　intimations　which　the　soul　feels；　as　the　cords　begin　to　unbind；　ere　it　leaves　its　clay　forever。
Tom；　at　last；　would　not　sleep　in　his　room；　but　lay　all　night　in　the　outer　verandah；　ready　to　rouse　at　every　call。
“Uncle　Tom；　what　alive　have　you　taken　to　sleeping　anywhere　and　everywhere；　like　a　dog；　for？”　said　Miss　Ophelia。　“I　thought　you　was　one　of　the　orderly　sort；　that　liked　to　lie　in　bed　in　a　Christian　way。”
“I　do；　Miss　Feely；”　said　Tom；　mysteriously。　“I　do；　but　now—”
“Well；　what　now？”
“We　mustn’t　speak　loud；　Mas’r　St。　Clare　won’t　hear　on　’t；　but　Miss　Feely；　you　know　there　must　be　somebody　watchin’　for　the　bridegroom。”
“What　do　you　mean；　Tom？”
“You　know　it　says　in　Scripture；　‘At　midnight　there　was　a　great　cry　made。　Behold；　the　bridegroom　cometh。’　That’s　what　I’m　spectin　now；　every　night；　Miss　Feely；—and　I　couldn’t　sleep　out　o’　hearin；　no　ways。”
“Why；　Uncle　Tom；　what　makes　you　think　so？”
“Miss　Eva；　she　talks　to　me。　The　Lord；　he　sends　his　messenger　in　the　soul。　I　must　be　thar；　Miss　Feely；　for　when　that　ar　blessed　child　goes　into　the　kingdom；　they’ll　open　the　door　so　wide；　we’ll　all　get　a　look　in　at　the　glory；　Miss　Feely。”
“Uncle　Tom；　did　Miss　Eva　say　she　felt　more　unwell　than　usual　tonight？”
“No；　but　she　telled　me；　this　morning；　she　was　coming　nearer；—thar’s　them　that　tells　it　to　the　child；　Miss　Feely。　It’s　the　angels；—‘it’s　the　trumpet　sound　afore　the　break　o’　day；’”　said　Tom；　ing　from　a　favorite　hymn。
This　dialogue　passed　between　Miss　Ophelia　and　Tom；　between　ten　and　eleven；　one　evening；　after　her　arrangements　had　all　been　made　for　the　night；　when；　on　going　to　bolt　her　outer　door；　she　found　Tom　stretched　along　by　it；　in　the　outer　verandah。
She　was　not　nervous　or　impressible；　but　the　solemn；　heart…felt　manner　struck　her。　Eva　had　been　unusually　bright　and　cheerful；　that　afternoon；　and　had　sat　raised　in　her　bed；　and　looked　over　all　her　little　trinkets　and　precious　things；　and　designated　the　friends　to　whom　she　would　have　them　given；　and　her　manner　was　more　animated；　and　her　voice　more　natural；　than　they　had　known　it　for　weeks。　Her　father　had　been　in；　in　the　evening；　and　had　said　that　Eva　appeared　more　like　her　former　self　than　ever　she　had　done　since　her　sickness；　and　when　he　kissed　her　for　the　night；　he　said　to　Miss　Ophelia；—“Cousin；　we　may　keep　her　with　us；　after　all；　she　is　certainly　better；”　and　he　had　retired　with　a　lighter　heart　in　his　bosom　than　he　had　had　there　for　weeks。
But　at　midnight；—strange；　mystic　hour！—when　the　veil　between　the　frail　present　and　the　eternal　future　grows　thin；—then　came　the　messenger！
There　was　a　sound　in　that　chamber；　first　of　one　who　stepped　quickly。　It　was　Miss　Ophelia；　who　had　resolved　to　sit　up　all　night　with　her　little　charge；　and　who；　at　the　turn　of　the　night；　had　discerned　what　experienced　nurses　significantly　call　“a　change。”　The　outer　door　was　quickly　opened；　and　Tom；　who　was　watching　outside；　was　on　the　alert；　in　a　moment。
“Go　for　the　doctor；　Tom！　lose　not　a　moment；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　and；　stepping　across　the　room；　she　rapped　at　St。　Clare’s　door。
“Cousin；”　she　said；　“I　wish　you　would　come。”
Those　words　fell　on　his　heart　like　clods　upon　a　coffin。　Why　did　they？　He　was　up　and　in　the　room　in　an　instant；　and　bending　over　Eva；　who　still　slept。
What　was　it　he　saw　that　made　his　heart　stand　still？　Why　was　no　word　spoken　between　the　two？　Thou　canst　say；　who　hast　seen　that　same　expression　on　the　face　dearest　to　thee；—that　look　indescribable；　hopeless；　unmistakable；　that　says　to　thee　that　thy　beloved　is　no　longer　thine。
On　the　face　of　the　child；　however；　there　was　no　ghastly　imprint；—only　a　high　and　almost　sublime　expression；—the　overshadowing　presence　of　spiritual　natures；　the　dawning　of　immortal　life　in　that　childish　soul。
They　stood　there　so　still；　gazing　upon　her；　that　even　the　ticking　of　the　watch　seemed　too　loud。　In　a　few　moments；　Tom　returned；　with　the　doctor。　He　entered；　gave　one　look；　and　stood　silent　as　the　rest。
“When　did　this　change　take　place？”　said　he；　in　a　low　whisper；　to　Miss　Ophelia。
“About　the　turn　of　the　night；”　was　the　reply。
Marie；　roused　by　the　entrance　of　the　doctor；　appeared；　hurriedly；　from　the　next　room。
“Augustine！　Cousin！—O！—what！”　she　hurriedly　began。
“Hush！”　said　St。　Clare；　hoarsely；　“she　is　dying！”
Mammy　heard　the　words；　and　flew　to　awaken　the　servants。　The　house　was　soon　roused；—lights　were　seen；　footsteps　heard；　anxious　faces　thronged　the　verandah；　and　looked　tearfully　through　the　glass　doors；　but　St。　Clare　heard　and　said　nothing；—he　saw　only　that　look　on　the　face　of　the　little　sleeper。
“O；　if　she　would　only　wake；　and　speak　once　more！”　he　said；　and；　stooping　over　her；　he　spoke　in　her　ear；—“Eva；　darling！”
The　large　blue　eyes　unclosed—a　smile　passed　over　her　face；—she　tried　to　raise　her　head；　and　to　speak。
“Do　you　know　me；　Eva？”
“Dear　papa；”　said　the　child；　with　a　last　effort；　throwing　her　arms　about　his　neck。　In　a　moment　they　dropped　again；　and；　as　St。　Clare　raised　his　head；　he　saw　a　spasm　of　mortal　agony　pass　over　the　face；—she　struggled　for　breath；　and　threw　up　her　little　hands。
“O；　God；　this　is　dreadful！”　he　said；　turning　away　in　agony；　and　wringing　Tom’s　hand；　scarce　conscious　what　he　was　doing。　“O；　Tom；　my　boy；　it　is　killing　me！”
Tom　had　his　master’s　hands　between　his　own；　and；　with　tears　streaming　down　his　dark　cheeks；　looked　up　for　help　where　he　had　always　been　used　to　look。
“Pray　that　this　may　be　cut　short！”　said　St。　Clare；—“this　wrings　my　heart。”
“O；　bless　the　Lord！　it’s　over；—it’s　over；　dear　Master！”　said　Tom；　“look　at　her。”
The　child　lay　panting　on　her　pillows；　as　one　exhausted；—the　large　clear　eyes　rolled　up　and　fixed。　Ah；　what　said　those　eyes；　that　spoke　so　much　of　heaven！　Earth　was　past；—and　earthly　pain；　but　so　solemn；　so　mysterious；　was　the　triumphant　brightness　of　that　face；　that　it　checked　even　the　sobs　of　sorrow。　They　pressed　around　her；　in　breathless　stillness。
“Eva；”　said　St。　Clare；　gently。
She　did　not　hear。
“O；　Eva；　tell　us　what　you　see！　What　is　it？”　said　her　father。
A　bright；　a　glorious　smile　passed　over　her　face；　and　she　said；　brokenly；—“O！　love；—joy；—peace！”　gave　one　sigh　and　passed　from　death　unto　life！
“Farewell；　beloved　child！　the　bright；　eternal　doors　have　closed　after　thee；　we　shall　see　thy　sweet　face　no　more。　O；　woe　for　them　who　watched　thy　entrance　into　heaven；　when　they　shall　wake　and　find　only　the　cold　gray　sky　of　daily　life；　and　thou　gone　forever！”
1　“Weep　Not　for　Those；”　a　poem　by　Thomas　Moore　（1779…1852）。
Chapter　27
“This　Is　the　　of　Earth”1
The　statuettes　and　pictures　in　Eva’s　room　were　shrouded　in　white　napkins；　and　only　hushed　breathings　and　muffled　footfalls　were　heard　there；　and　the　light　stole　in　solemnly　through　windows　partially　darkened　by　closed　blinds。
The　bed　was　draped　in　white；　and　there；　beneath　the　drooping　angel…figure；　la