“They think it’s nothing, what we suffer,—nothing,
what our children suffer! It’s all a small
matter; yet I’ve walked the streets when it
seemed as if I had misery enough in my one heart to
sink the city. I’ve wished the houses would
fall on me, or the stones sink under me. Yes!
and, in the judgment day, I will stand up before God,
a witness against those that have ruined me and my
children, body and soul!
“When I was a girl, I thought I was religious;
I used to love God and prayer. Now, I’m
a lost soul, pursued by devils that torment me day
and night; they keep pushing me on and on—and
I’ll do it, too, some of these days!”
she said, clenching her hand, while an insane light
glanced in her heavy black eyes. “I’ll
send him where he belongs,—a short way,
too,—one of these nights, if they burn me
alive for it!” A wild, long laugh rang through
the deserted room, and ended in a hysteric sob; she
threw herself on the floor, in convulsive sobbing and
struggles.
In a few moments, the frenzy fit seemed to pass off;
she rose slowly, and seemed to collect herself.
“Can I do anything more for you, my poor fellow?”
she said, approaching where Tom lay; “shall
I give you some more water?”
There was a graceful and compassionate sweetness in
her voice and manner, as she said this, that formed
a strange contrast with the former wildness.
Tom drank the water, and looked earnestly and pitifully
into her face.
“O, Missis, I wish you’d go to him that
can give you living waters!”
“Go to him! Where is he? Who is he?”
said Cassy.
“Him that you read of to me,—the
Lord.”
“I used to see the picture of him, over the
altar, when I was a girl,” said Cassy, her dark
eyes fixing themselves in an expression of mournful
reverie; “but, he isn’t here! there’s
nothing here, but sin and long, long, long despair!
O!” She laid her land on her breast and drew
in her breath, as if to lift a heavy weight.
Tom looked as if he would speak again; but she cut
him short, with a decided gesture.
“Don’t talk, my poor fellow. Try
to sleep, if you can.” And, placing water
in his reach, and making whatever little arrangements
for his comforts she could, Cassy left the shed.
The Tokens
“And slight, withal,
may be the things that bring
Back on the heart the
weight which it would fling
Aside forever; it may
be a sound,
A flower, the wind,
the ocean, which shall wound,—
Striking the electric
chain wherewith we’re darkly bound.”
CHILDE HAROLD’S
PILGRIMAGE, CAN. 4.
