without saying another word, turned and strode to the spot.
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Tom had been lying two days since the fatal night; not suffering, for every nerve of suffering was blunted and destroyed. He lay, for the most part, in a quiet stupor; for the laws of a powerful and well-knit frame would not at once release the imprisoned spirit. By stealth, there had been there, in the darkness of the night, poor desolated creatures, who stole from their scanty hours' rest, that they might repay to him some of those ministrations of love in which he had always been so abundant. Truly, those poor disciples had little to give,only the cup of cold water; but it was given with full hearts.
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Tears had fallen on that honest, insensible face,tears of late repentance in the poor, ignorant heathen, whom his dying love and patience had awakened to repentance, and bitter prayers, breathed over him to a late-found Saviour, of whom they scarce knew more than the name, but whom the yearning ignorant heart of man never implores in vain.
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Cassy, who had glided out of her place of concealment, and, by over-hearing, learned the sacrifice that had been made for her and Emmeline, had been there, the night before, defying the danger of detection; and, moved by the few last words which the affectionate soul had yet strength to breathe, the long winter of despair, the ice of years, had given way, and the dark, despairing woman had wept and prayed.
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When George entered the shed, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.
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"Is it possible,is it possible?" said he, kneeling down by him. "Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend!"
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Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He moved his head gently, smiled, and said,
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 | | "Jesus can make a dying-bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are."
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Tears which did honor to his manly heart fell from the young man's eyes, as he bent over his poor friend.
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"O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake,do speak once more! Look up! Here's Mas'r George,your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?"
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