； and； ever second to that； came the habitual prayer that he had always offered for him； and then his thoughts passed on to the beautiful Eva； whom he now thought of among the angels； and he thought till he almost fancied that that bright face and golden hair were looking upon him； out of the spray of the fountain。 And； so musing； he fell asleep； and dreamed he saw her coming bounding towards him； just as she used to come； with a wreath of jessamine in her hair； her cheeks bright； and her eyes radiant with delight； but； as he looked； she seemed to rise from the ground； her cheeks wore a paler hue；—her eyes had a deep； divine radiance； a golden halo seemed around her head；—and she vanished from his sight； and Tom was awakened by a loud knocking； and a sound of many voices at the gate。
He hastened to undo it； and； with smothered voices and heavy tread； came several men； bringing a body； wrapped in a cloak； and lying on a shutter。 The light of the lamp fell full on the face； and Tom gave a wild cry of amazement and despair； that rung through all the galleries； as the men advanced； with their burden； to the open parlor door； where Miss Ophelia still sat knitting。
St。 Clare had turned into a cafe； to look over an evening paper。 As he was reading； an affray arose between two gentlemen in the room； who were both partially intoxicated。 St。 Clare and one or two others made an effort to separate them； and St。 Clare received a fatal stab in the side with a bowie…knife； which he was attempting to wrest from one of them。
The house was full of cries and lamentations； shrieks and screams； servants frantically tearing their hair； throwing themselves on the ground； or running distractedly about； lamenting。 Tom and Miss Ophelia alone seemed to have any presence of mind； for Marie was in strong hysteric convulsions。 At Miss Ophelia’s direction； one of the lounges in the parlor was hastily prepared； and the bleeding form laid upon it。 St。 Clare had fainted； through pain and loss of blood； but； as Miss Ophelia applied restoratives； he revived； opened his eyes； looked fixedly on them； looked earnestly around the room； his eyes travelling wistfully over every object； and finally they rested on his mother’s picture。
The physician now arrived； and made his examination。 It was evident； from the expression of his face； that there was no hope； but he applied himself to dressing the wound； and he and Miss Ophelia and Tom proceeded composedly with this work； amid the lamentations and sobs and cries of the affrighted servants； who had clustered about the doors and windows of the verandah。
“Now；” said the physician； “we must turn all these creatures out； all depends on his being kept quiet。”
St。 Clare opened his eyes； and looked fixedly on the distressed beings； whom Miss Ophelia and the doctor were trying to urge from the apartment。 “Poor creatures！” he said； and an expression of bitter self…reproach passed over his face。 Adolph absolutely refused to go。 Terror had deprived him of all presence of mind； he threw himself along the floor； and nothing could persuade him to rise。 The rest yielded to Miss Ophelia’s urgent representations； that their master’s safety depended on their stillness and obedience。
St。 Clare could say but little； he lay with his eyes shut； but it was evident that he wrestled with bitter thoughts。 After a while； he laid his hand on Tom’s； who was kneeling beside him； and said； “Tom！ poor fellow！”
“What； Mas’r？” said Tom； earnestly。
“I am dying！” said St。 Clare； pressing his hand； “pray！”
“If you would like a clergyman—” said the physician。
St。 Clare hastily shook his head； and said again to Tom； more earnestly； “Pray！”
And Tom did pray； with all his mind and strength； for the soul that was passing；—the soul that seemed looking so steadily and mournfully from those large； melancholy blue eyes。 It was literally prayer offered with strong crying and tears。
When Tom ceased to speak； St。 Clare reached out and took his hand； looking earnestly at him； but saying nothing。 He closed his eyes； but still retained his hold； for； in the gates of eternity； the black hand and the white hold each other with an equal clasp。 He murmured softly to himself； at broken intervals；
“Recordare Jesu pie—
Ne me perdas—illa die
Querens me—sedisti lassus。”
It was evident that the words he had been singing that evening were passing through his mind；—words of entreaty addressed to Infinite Pity。 His lips moved at intervals； as parts of the hymn fell brokenly from them。
“His mind is wandering；” said the doctor。
“No！ it is coming HOME； at last！” said St。 Clare； energetically； “at last！ at last！”
The effort of speaking exhausted him。 The sinking paleness of death fell on him； but with it there fell； as if shed from the wings of some pitying spirit； a beautiful expression of peace； like that of a wearied child who sleeps。
So he lay for a few moments。 They saw that the mighty hand was on him。 Just before the spirit parted； he opened his eyes； with a sudden light； as of joy and recognition； and said “Mother！” and then he was gone！
1 These lines have been thus rather inadequately translated：
Think； O Jesus； for what reason
Thou endured’st earth’s spite and treason；
Nor me lose； in that dread season；
Seeking me； thy wom feet hasted；
On the cross thy soul death tasted；
Let not all these toils be wasted。
＇Mrs。 Stowe’s note。＇
Chapter 29
The Unprotected
We hear often of the distress of the negro servants； on the loss of a kind master； and with good reason； for no creature on God’s earth is left more utterly unprotected and desolate than the slave in these circumstances。
The child who has lost a father has still the protection of friends； and of the law； he is something； and can do something；—has acknowledged rights and position； the slave has none。 The law regards him； in every respect； as devoid of rights as a bale of merchandise。 The only possible ackowledgment of any of the longings and wants of a human and immortal creature； which are given to him； comes to him through the sovereign and irresponsible will of his master； and when that master is stricken down； nothing remains。
The number of those men who know how to use wholly irresponsible power humanely and generously is small。 Everybody knows this； and the slave knows it best of all； so that he feels that there are ten chances of his finding an abusive and tyrannical master； to one of his finding a considerate and kind one。 Therefore is it that the wail over a kind master is loud and long； as well it may be。
When St。 Clare breathed his last； terror and consternation took hold of all his household。 He had been stricken down so in a moment； in the flower and strength of his youth！ Every room and gallery of the house resounded with sobs and shrieks of despair。
Marie； whose nervous system had been enervated by a constant course of self…indulgence； had nothing to support the terror of the shock； and； at the time her husband breathed his last； was passing from one fainting fit to another； and he to whom she had been joined in the mysterious tie of marriage passed from her forever； without the possibility of even a parting word。
Miss Ophelia； with charac