When I reached the house, not a soul was visible. The men had all gone to church, and were to be seen in the distance, coming, along the road, singly and in a melancholy manner, not a sign of the customary, thoughtless merriment of a negro escaping a single individual among them; but it was usual for some of the black Venuses to be seen sunning themselves at that season, exhibiting their summer finery to each other and their admirers. Not one was now visible. All the front of the house, the lawn, the kitchens, of which there were no less than three, and the kitchen yards; in short, every familiar haunt of the dwelling was deserted and empty. This boded evil; and, throwing the bridle over a post, I walked hurriedly towards the part of the building, or buildings, would be a better word, inhabited by Grace.
As I entered the passage which communicated with my sisters own room, the departure from ordinary appearances was explained. Six or seven of the negresses were kneeling near the door, and I could hear the low, solemn, earnest voice of Lucy, reading some of the collects and other prayers suited to the sick-chamber and to the wants of a parting soul. Lucy's voice was music itself, but never before had it sounded so plaintively sweet. The lowest intonation was distinctly audible, as if the dear, devout creature felt that the Being she addressed was not to be approached in any other manner, while the trembling earnestness of the tones betrayed the depth of feeling with which each syllable escaped from the heart. Talk of liturgies impairing the fervour of prayer! This may be the fact with those who are immersed in themselves while communing with God, and cannot consent even to pray without placing their own thoughts and language, however ill-digested and crude, uppermost in the business of the moment. Do not such persons know that, as respects united worship, their own prayers are, to all intents and purposes, a formulary to their listeners, with the disadvantage of being received without preparation or direction to the mind?--nay, too often substituting a critical and prurient curiosity for humble and intelligent prayer? In these later times, when Christianity is re-assuming the character of the quarrels of sects, and, as an old man who has lived, and hopes to die, in communion with the Anglo-American church, I do not wish to exculpate my own particular branch of the Catholic body from blame; but, in these later times, when Christianity is returning to its truculency, forgetful of the chiefest of virtues, Charity, I have often recalled the scene of that solemn noon-tide, and asked myself the question, "if any man could have heard Lucy, as I did, on that occasion, concluding with the petition which Christ himself gave to his disciples as a comprehensive rule, if not absolutely as a formulary, and imagine the heart could not fully accompany words that had been previously prescribed?"
No sooner had Lucy's solemn tones ceased than I passed through the crowd of weeping and still kneeling blacks, and entered my sister's room. Grace was reclining in an easy chair; her eyes closed, her hands clasped together, but lying on her knees, and her whole attitude and air proclaiming a momentary but total abstraction of the spirit. I do not think she heard my footstep at all, and I stood at her side an instant, uncertain whether to let her know of my presence, or not. At this instant I caught the eye of Lucy, who seemed intent on the wish to speak to me. Grace had three or four small rooms that communicated with each other, in her part of the dwelling; and into one of these, which served as a sort of boudoir, though the name was then unknown in America, I followed the dear girl, whose speaking but sad look had bidden me do so.
"Is my father near at hand?" Lucy asked, with an interest I did not understand, since she must have known he intended to remain at his own residence, in readiness for the afternoon service.
"He is not. You forget he has to attend to evening prayers."
"I have sent for him--Miles," taking one of my hands in both her own, with the tenderness a mother would manifest to a very dear child, "dear Miles, you must summon all your fortitude."
"Is my sister worse?" I demanded, huskily; for, prepared as I was for the result, I was not expecting it by any means so soon.
"I cannot call it worse, Miles, to be about to be called away to God in such a frame of mind. But it is proper I should tell you all. Rather less than an hour since, Grace told me that the hour was at hand. She has the knowledge of her approaching end, though she would not let me send for you. She said you would have ample time to witness it all. For my father, however, I have sent, and he must soon be here."
"Almighty Providence! Lucy, do you really think we shall lose Grace so soon?"
"As it is the will of God to take her from us, Miles, I can scarce repine that her end should be so easy, and, in all respects, so tranquil."