“How is your grandmother, child?” said Phillis; “did she sleep well?”

“Mighty well,” said Nancy.  “She aint coughed at all as I heard, since she went to bed.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Phillis, “for I thought she was going to be sick, she was so curious last night.”

“She didn’t complain, any way,” said Nancy, going on with her breadmaking, so Phillis got up to go home.  As she passed the door of the other room, she could but stop to look in at the hard, iron features of the old creature, as she lay in slumber.  Her long black face contrasted most remarkably with the white pillow on which it was supported, her hair making her head look double its actual size, standing off from her ears and head.  One long black arm lay extended, the hand holding to the side of the bed.  Something impelled Phillis to approach.  At first she thought of her grumbling disposition, her bitter resentment for injuries, most of which were fanciful, her uncompromising dislike to the servants on the plantation.  She almost got angry when she thought “the more you do for her, the more she complains.”  Then she recalled her talk the night before; of her being torn away from her mother, and sold off, tied to a dead woman, and the storm and the sharks; a feeling of the sincerest pity took the place of her first reflections, and well they did—­for the next idea—­Phillis’ knees knocked together, and her heart beat audibly, for what was before her?

What but death! with all his grimness and despair, looking forth from the white balls that were only partially covered with the dark lids—­showing his power in the cold hands whose unyielding grasp had closed in the struggle with him.  Setting his seal on brow and lips, lengthening the extended form, that never would rouse itself from the position in which the mighty conqueror had left it, when he knew his victory was accomplished.  What but death, indeed!  For the heart and the pulse were still forever, and the life that had once regulated their beatings, had gone back to the Giver of life.

The two slave women were alone together.  She who had been, had gone with all her years, her wrongs, and her sins, to answer at the bar of her Maker.  The fierce and bitter contest with life, the mysterious curse, the dealings of a God with the children of men.  Think of it, Oh!  Christian! as you gaze upon her.  The other slave woman is with the dead.  She is trembling, as in the presence of God.  She knows he is everywhere, even in the room of death. She is redeemed from the slavery of sin, and her regenerate soul looks forward to the rest that remaineth to the people of God.  She “submits herself to an earthly master,” knowing that the dispensation of God has placed her in a state of servitude.  Yet she trusts in a Heavenly Master with childlike faith, and says, “May I be ready when he comes and calls for me.”

Phillis was perfectly self-possessed when she went back to the kitchen.  “Nancy,” she said, “didn’t you think it was strange your grandmother slept so quiet, and laid so late this morning?  She always gets up so early.”