Daph did notice the stranger who entered, and she even smiled sorrowfully as she looked up into the face of Rose Stuyvesant.
“We missed your nice cakes on the table, Daph,” said a soft voice, “and when I heard you were sick, I determined to come and see you myself.”
These words of kindness from a refined and gentle woman, melted the heart of the suffering negro. She burst into tears as she exclaimed, “O, my sweet young lady! You speaks to poor Daph like her own dear missus used to!”
Rose Stuyvesant sat down beside the low bed that Mary had spread for Daph on the floor. “Are you very sick, Daph?” she asked, tenderly.
“Daph is all dead here, and all dizzy here,” said the poor creature, laying her hand first on her heart, and then on her head. “De great Lord has sent Daph a big trouble, and den gib her right up;” and the tears again flowed fast.
Rose bent over the unhappy negro, and said, gently, “The great Lord loves you too well, Daph, to give you up in your trouble. Perhaps he has sent me to comfort you!”
Daph looked up with a gleam of hope in her eye, and murmured, “No reason why Daph should n’t jus tell all de truth now. Perhaps, if de sweet young lady knows all, she may comfort Daph up.”
“The Lord Jesus can comfort us in any trouble,” said Rose, softly. “What makes you so unhappy? Cannot you tell me?”
Daph looked long into the sweet face turned lovingly towards her, and then said, “De great Lord has sent a-most an angel to poor Daph, and she shall hear it all.”
The secret that had so long burdened the lonely negro, was now poured out with all the unconscious eloquence of a true, warm, single-heart. The tears flowed fast down the cheeks of Rose Stuyvesant, as she heard the simple story of devoted, heroic affection, and long, patient self-sacrifice.