英语天堂-第99部分

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“There；　isn’t　that　black　and　white；　now；　Miss　Vermont？”　he　said；　as　he　handed　it　to　her。
“Good　boy；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　smiling。　“But　must　it　not　be　witnessed？”
“O；　bother！—yes。　Here；”　he　said；　opening　the　door　into　Marie’s　apartment；　“Marie；　Cousin　wants　your　autograph；　just　put　your　name　down　here。”
“What’s　this？”　said　Marie；　as　she　ran　over　the　paper。　“Ridiculous！　I　thought　Cousin　was　too　pious　for　such　horrid　things；”　she　added；　as　she　carelessly　wrote　her　name；　“but；　if　she　has　a　fancy　for　that　article；　I　am　sure　she’s　welcome。”
“There；　now；　she’s　yours；　body　and　soul；”　said　St。　Clare；　handing　the　paper。
“No　more　mine　now　than　she　was　before；”　Miss　Ophelia。　“Nobody　but　God　has　a　right　to　give　her　to　me；　but　I　can　protect　her　now。”
“Well；　she’s　yours　by　a　fiction　of　law；　then；”　said　St。　Clare；　as　he　turned　back　into　the　parlor；　and　sat　down　to　his　paper。
Miss　Ophelia；　who　seldom　sat　much　in　Marie’s　company；　followed　him　into　the　parlor；　having　first　carefully　laid　away　the　paper。
“Augustine；”　she　said；　suddenly；　as　she　sat　knitting；　“have　you　ever　made　any　provision　for　your　servants；　in　case　of　your　death？”
“No；”　said　St。　Clare；　as　he　read　on。
“Then　all　your　indulgence　to　them　may　prove　a　great　cruelty；　by　and　by。”
St。　Clare　had　often　thought　the　same　thing　himself；　but　he　answered；　negligently。
“Well；　I　mean　to　make　a　provision；　by　and　by。”
“When？”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
“O；　one　of　these　days。”
“What　if　you　should　die　first？”
“Cousin；　what’s　the　matter？”　said　St。　Clare；　laying　down　his　paper　and　looking　at　her。　“Do　you　think　I　show　symptoms　of　yellow　fever　or　cholera；　that　you　are　making　post　mortem　arrangements　with　such　zeal？”
“‘In　the　midst　of　life　we　are　in　death；’”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
St。　Clare　rose　up；　and　laying　the　paper　down；　carelessly；　walked　to　the　door　that　stood　open　on　the　verandah；　to　put　an　end　to　a　conversation　that　was　not　agreeable　to　him。　Mechanically；　he　repeated　the　last　word　again；—“Death！”—and；　as　he　leaned　against　the　railings；　and　watched　the　sparkling　water　as　it　rose　and　fell　in　the　fountain；　and；　as　in　a　dim　and　dizzy　haze；　saw　flowers　and　trees　and　vases　of　the　courts；　he　repeated；　again　the　mystic　word　so　common　in　every　mouth；　yet　of　such　fearful　power；—“DEATH！”　“Strange　that　there　should　be　such　a　word；”　he　said；　“and　such　a　thing；　and　we　ever　forget　it；　that　one　should　be　living；　warm　and　beautiful；　full　of　hopes；　desires　and　wants；　one　day；　and　the　next　be　gone；　utterly　gone；　and　forever！”
It　was　a　warm；　golden　evening；　and；　as　he　walked　to　the　other　end　of　the　verandah；　he　saw　Tom　busily　intent　on　his　Bible；　pointing；　as　he　did　so；　with　his　finger　to　each　sucomessive　word；　and　whispering　them　to　himself　with　an　earnest　air。
“Want　me　to　read　to　you；　Tom？”　said　St。　Clare；　seating　himself　carelessly　by　him。
“If　Mas’r　pleases；”　said　Tom；　gratefully；　“Mas’r　makes　it　so　much　plainer。”
St。　Clare　took　the　book　and　glanced　at　the　place；　and　began　reading　one　of　the　passages　which　Tom　had　designated　by　the　heavy　marks　around　it。　It　ran　as　follows：
“When　the　Son　of　man　shall　come　in　his　glory；　and　all　his　holy　angels　with　him；　then　shall　he　sit　upon　the　throne　of　his　glory：　and　before　him　shall　be　gathered　all　nations；　and　he　shall　separate　them　one　from　another；　as　a　shepherd　divideth　his　sheep　from　the　goats。”　St。　Clare　read　on　in　an　animated　voice；　till　he　came　to　the　last　of　the　verses。
“Then　shall　the　king　say　unto　him　on　his　left　hand；　Depart　from　me；　ye　cursed；　into　everlasting　fire：　for　I　was　an　hungered；　and　ye　gave　me　no　meat：　I　was　thirsty；　and　ye　gave　me　no　drink：　I　was　a　stranger；　an　ye　took　me　not　in：　naked；　and　ye　clothed　me　not：　I　was　sick；　and　in　prison；　and　ye　visited　me　not。　Then　shall　they　answer　unto　Him；　Lord　when　saw　we　thee　an　hungered；　or　athirst；　or　a　stranger；　or　naked；　or　sick；　or　in　prison；　and　did　not　minister　unto　thee？　Then　shall　he　say　unto　them；　Inasmuch　as　ye　did　it　not　to　one　of　the　least　of　these　my　brethren；　ye　did　it　not　to　me。”
St。　Clare　seemed　struck　with　this　last　passage；　for　he　read　it　twice；—the　second　time　slowly；　and　as　if　he　were　revolving　the　words　in　his　mind。
“Tom；”　he　said；　“these　folks　that　get　such　hard　measure　seem　to　have　been　doing　just　what　I　have；—living　good；　easy；　respectable　lives；　and　not　troubling　themselves　to　inquire　how　many　of　their　brethren　were　hungry　or　athirst；　or　sick；　or　in　prison。”
Tom　did　not　answer。
St。　Clare　rose　up　and　walked　thoughtfully　up　and　down　the　verandah；　seeming　to　forget　everything　in　his　own　thoughts；　so　absorbed　was　he；　that　Tom　had　to　remind　him　twice　that　the　teabell　had　rung；　before　he　could　get　his　attention。
St。　Clare　was　absent　and　thoughtful；　all　tea…time。　After　tea；　he　and　Marie　and　Miss　Ophelia　took　possession　of　the　parlor　almost　in　silence。
Marie　disposed　herself　on　a　lounge；　under　a　silken　mosquito　curtain；　and　was　soon　sound　asleep。　Miss　Ophelia　silently　busied　herself　with　her　knitting。　St。　Clare　sat　down　to　the　piano；　and　began　playing　a　soft　and　melancholy　movement　with　the　？olian　acomompaniment。　He　seemed　in　a　deep　reverie；　and　to　be　soliloquizing　to　himself　by　music。　After　a　little；　he　opened　one　of　the　drawers；　took　out　an　old　music…book　whose　leaves　were　yellow　with　age；　and　began　turning　it　over。
“There；”　he　said　to　Miss　Ophelia；　“this　was　one　of　my　mother’s　books；—and　here　is　her　handwriting；—come　and　look　at　it。　She　copied　and　arranged　this　from　Mozart’s　Requiem。”　Miss　Ophelia　came　acomordingly。
“It　was　something　she　used　to　sing　often；”　said　St。　Clare。　“I　think　I　can　hear　her　now。”
He　struck　a　few　majestic　chords；　and　began　singing　that　grand　old　Latin　piece；　the　“Dies　Irae。”
Tom；　who　was　listening　in　the　outer　verandah；　was　drawn　by　the　sound　to　the　very　door；　where　he　stood　earnestly。　He　did　not　understand　the　words；　of　course；　but　the　music　and　manner　of　singing　appeared　to　affect　him　strongly；　especially　when　St。　Clare　sang　the　more　pathetic　parts。　Tom　would　have　sympathized　more　heartily；　if　he　had　known　the　meaning　of　the　beautiful　words：
Recordare　Jesu　pie
Quod　sum　causa　tuar　viae
Ne　me　perdas；　illa　die
Querens　me　sedisti　lassus
Redemisti　crucem　passus
Tantus　laor　non　sit　cassus。1
St。　Clare　threw　a　deep　and　pathetic　expression　into　the　words；　for　the　shadowy　veil　of　years　seemed　drawn　away；　and　he　seemed　to　hear　his　mother’s　voice　leading　his。　Voice　and　instrument　seemed　both　living；　and　threw　out　with　vivid　sympathy　those　strains　which　the　ethereal　Mozart　first　conceived　as　his　own　dying　requiem。
When　St。　Clare　had　done　singing；　he　sat　leaning　his　head　upon　his　hand　a　few　moments；　and　then　began　walking　up　and　down　the　floor。
“What　a　sublime　conception　is　that　of　a　last　judgment！”　said　he；—“a　righting　of　all　the　wrongs　of　ages！—a　solving　of　all　moral　problems；　by　an　unanswerable　wisdom！　It　is；　indeed；　a　wonderful　image。”
“It　is　a　fearful　one　to　us；”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
“It　ought　to　be　to　me；　I　suppose；”　said　St。　Clare　stopping；　thoughtfully。　“I　was　reading　to　Tom；　this　afternoon；　that　chapter　in　Matthew　that　gives　an　acomount　of　it；　and　I　have　been　quite　struck　with　it。　One　should　have　expected　some　terrible　enormities　charged　to　those　who　are　excluded　from　Heaven；　as　the　reason；　but　no；—they　are　condemned　for　not　doing　positive　good；　as　if　that　included　every　possible　harm。”
“Perhaps；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　“it　is　impossible　for　a　person　who　does　no　good　not　to　do　harm。”
“And　what；”　said　St。　Clare；　speaking　abstractedly；　but　with　deep　feeling；　“what　shall　be　said　of　one　whose　own　heart；　whose　education；　and　the　wants　of　society；　have　called　in　vain　to　some　noble　purpose；　who　has　floated　on；　a　dreamy；　neutral　spectator　of　the　struggles；　agonies；　and　wrongs　of　man；　when　he　should　have　been　a　worker？”
“I　should　say；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　“that　he　ought　to　repent；　and　begin　now。”
“Always　practical　and　to　the　point！”　said　St。　Clare；　his　face　breaking　out　into　a　smile。　“You　never　leave　me　any　time　for　general　reflections；　Cousin；　you　always　bring　me　short　up　against　the　actual　present；　you　have　a　kind　of　eternal　now；　always　in　your　mind。”
“Now　is　all　the　time　I　have　anything　to　do　with；”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
“Dear　little　Eva；—poor　child！”　said　St。　Clare；　“she　had　set　her　little　simple　soul　on　a　good　work　for　me。”
It　was　the　first　time　since　Eva’s　death　that　he　had　ever　said　as　many　words　as　these　to　her；　and　he　spoke　now　evidently　repressing　very　strong　feeling。
“My　view　of　Christianity　is　such；”　he　added；　“that　I　think　no　man　can　consistently　profess　it　without　throwing　the　whole　weight　of　his　being　against　this　monstrous　system　of　injustice　that　lies　at　the　foundation　of　all　our　society；　and；　if　need　be；　sacrificing　himself　in　the　battle。　That　is；　I　mean　that　I　could　not　be　a　Christian　otherwise；　though　I　have　certainly　had　intercourse　with　a　great　many　enlightened　and　Christian　people　who　did　no　such　thing；　and　I　confess　that　the　apathy　of　religious　people　on　this　subject；　their　want　of　perception　of　wrongs　that　filled　me　with　horror；　have　engendered　in　me　more　scepticism　than　any　other　thing。”
“If　you　knew　all　this；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　“why　didn’t　you　do　it？”
“O；　because　I　have　had　only　that　kind　of　benevolence　which　consists　in　lying　on　a　sofa；　and　cursing　the　church　and　clergy　for　not　being　martyrs　and　confessors。　One　can　see；　you　know；　very　easily；　how　others　ought　to　be　martyrs。”
“Well；　are　you　going　to　do　differently　now？”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
“God　only　knows　the　future；”　said　St。　Clare。　“I　am　braver　than　I　was；　because　I　have　lost　all；　and　he　who　has　nothing　to　lose　can　afford　all　risks。”
“And　what　are　you　going　to　do？”
“My　duty；　I　hope；　to　the　poor　and　lowly；　as　fast　as　I　find　it　out；”　said　St。　Clare；　“beginning　with　my　own　servants；　for　whom　I　have　yet　done　nothing；　and；　perhaps；　at　some　future　day；　it　may　appear　that　I　can　do　something　for　a　whole　class；　something　to　save　my　country　from　the　disgrace　of　that　false　position　in　which　she　now　stands　before　all　civilized　nations。”
“Do　you　suppose　it　possible　that　a　nation　ever　will　voluntarily　emancipate？”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
“I　don’t　know；”　said　St。　Clare。　“This　is　a　day　of　great　deeds。　Heroism　and　disinterestedness　are　rising