CHAPTER XIX.
SYMPATHY CASTETH OUT FEAR—CONSEQUENCE OF THE NIGHT'S WATCH—TROUBLED REFLECTIONS.
Morn did break, bright and clear, over the face of the sleeping earth! It was a still and blessed hour. Man, hushed from his rushing activity, lay reposeful in the arms of "Death's counterfeit—sleep." All animated nature was quiet and calm, till, suddenly, a gush of melody broke from the clear throats of the wildwood birds and made the air vocal. Another day was dawning; another day born to witness sins and cruelties the most direful. Do we not often wonder why the sky can smile so blue and lovingly, when such outrages are enacted beneath it? But I must not anticipate.
As soon as the sun had fairly risen I knocked at the house-door, which was opened by Miss Bradly, whose languid face and crumpled dress, proved that she had taken no rest during the night. Bidding her a polite good-morning, I inquired if the ladies had risen? She answered that they were still asleep, and had rested well during the night. I next inquired for master's health.
"Oh," said she, "I think he is well, quite well again. He slept soundly. I think he only suffered from a violent and sudden mental excitement. A good night's rest, and a sedative that I administered, have restored him; but to-day, oh, to-day, how I do dread to-day."
To the latter part of this speech I made no answer; for, of late, I had learned to distrust her. Even if her belief was right, I could not recognize her as one heroic enough to promulgate it from the house-tops. I saw in her only a weak, servile soul, drawn down from the lofty purpose of philanthropy, seduced by the charm of "vile lucre." Therefore I observed a rigid silence. Feeling a little embarrassed, I began playing with the strings of my apron, for I was fearful that the expression of my face might betray what was working in my mind.
"What is the matter, Ann?"
This recalled the tragedy that had occurred in the cabin, and I said, in a faltering tone,
"Death has been among us. Poor Aunt Polly is gone."