"Would you like me to send for anybody," said Elizabeth.
"Could ye send for him?" said Karen earnestly.
"Not in time. No, Karen, — there'd be no time to send a message from here to Mannahatta and get him here to-night."
She jogged herself back and forward a little while on her rocking-chair; and then said she would go to bed. Elizabeth helped her into the little room, formerly Asahel's, opening out of the kitchen, which she had insisted Karen should take during her illness; and after she was put to bed, came again and asked her what she should do for her. Karen requested to have the Bible read.
Elizabeth set open the kitchen door, took a low seat by Karen's bedside, and established herself with her book. It was strange work to her, to read the Bible to a person who thought herself dying. She, who so lately had to do with everything else but the Bible, now seated by the bedside of an old black woman, and the Bible the only matter in hand between the two. Karen's manner made it more strange. She was every now and then breaking in upon the reading, or accompanying it, with remarks and interjections. Sometimes it was "Hallelujah!" — sometimes, "That's true, that's true!" — sometimes, and very often, "Praise the Lord!" Not loud, nor boisterous; they were most of the time little underbreath words said to herself, words seemingly that she could not help, the good of which she took and meant for nobody else's edification. They were however very disagreeable and troublesome to Elizabeth's ears and thoughts; she had half a mind to ask Karen to stop them; but the next sighing "That's true!" — checked her; if it was such a comfort to the old woman to hold counsel with herself, and Elizabeth could offer nothing better, the least she could do was to let her alone. And then Elizabeth grew accustomed to it; and at last thoughts wandered a little by turns to take up their new trade of wondering at herself and at the new, unwonted life she seemed beginning to lead. There was a singular pleasantness in what she was doing; she found a grave sweet consciousness of being about the right work; but presently to her roving spirit the question arose whether this, — this new and certainly very substantial pleasure, — were perhaps the chief kind she was hereafter to look forward to, or find in this life; — and Elizabeth's heart confessed to a longing desire for something else. And then her attention suddenly came back to poor Karen at her side saying, softly, "Bless the Lord, O my soul!" — Elizabeth stopped short; she was choked.
At this juncture Clam noiselessly presented herself.
"He's come, Miss 'Lizabeth."
The start that Miss Haye's inward spirits gave at this, was not to be seen at all on the outside. She looked at Clam, but she gave no sign that her words had been understood. Yet Elizabeth had understood them so well, that she did not even think at first to ask the question, and when she did, it was for form's sake, who had come? Probably Clam knew as much, for she only repeated her words.
"He's come. What'll I do with him, Miss 'Lizabeth?"
"Where is he?"