“Tahmeroo, struggle against this feeling; you little dream of the terrible misery which it will bring to you. Bear everything, abuse, insult, neglect—everything, but cast not yourself loose from your only hope. Your safety lies in the very love which, though it make the bitterness of your life, is its safeguard, too. In your own heart is the strength you must look for, not in his. If he wrongs you, forget it, if you can—excuse it, if you cannot forget it. Think not of your own rights too much; where struggling is sure to bring misery, it is better to forbear. I could say much more, for my heart is full of anxiety and sorrow. I know not why, but my spirit droops, as if your head were on my bosom, and your arms about me for the last time forever.”
Catharine stooped down and kissed the tremulous lips of her child. She was answered back with a gush of gentle tears.
“Weep on, my daughter; I love to see you shed such tears, for there is no passion in them. I cannot tell you how dearly I love and have ever loved you, for deep feeling has no words; but we shall part soon; there is something in my heart which tells me so—the grave will come between us, and you will be left with no stronger guide than your own warm impulses.
“Kiss me once more, and listen. Should we be parted by death, or should Butler claim my promise to send you to England, go first to the missionary, and convey to him the little ebony box at the head of your couch; tell him all that I have said to you, and ask him to become a protector and a friend to Catharine Granby’s child. Tell him that since the night of her daughter’s marriage she has been a changed woman—that the voice of his prayer that night awoke memories which will never sleep again—awoke answering prayer in a bosom which had almost forgotten its faith. He will listen to you, my child, and when I am gone you will find a safe and wise protector in him. He will teach you how to regulate your too enthusiastic feelings. Promise that you will seek this good man when I am taken away—do you promise, Tahmeroo?”
“I will promise anything—everything, mother; but do not talk so sadly—your voice sounds mournful as the night wind among the pines.”
Tahmeroo said no more, for her heart was full; but she laid her cheek against her mother’s, and remained in her embrace silent and sorrowful.
CHAPTER XXV
THE WHITE QUEEN’S GIFT
While these events were transpiring, the morning wore on at Mother Derwent’s cottage in the quiet which we have before described. But while Aunt Polly and the old lady held their cheerful conversation by the door, the sound of drums and shrill fifes came from the distance, and confused sounds rose from about Wintermoot’s Fort. The two women started up in affright. Jane Derwent rushed, half-dressed, from the inner room, trembling with terror. Mary was aroused from her solitude, and came forth very pale, but self-possessed and calm.
“Do not be alarmed,” she said, “it will probably only lead to a skirmish.”
“Oh, if Edward should be out!” exclaimed Jane.