Eva, after this, declined rapidly. Uncle Tom was much in her room. 'The child suffered much from nervous restlessness, and it was a relief to her to be carried; and it was Tom's greatest delight to carry her little frail form in his arms, resting on a pillow, now up and down her room, now out into the veranda; and when the fresh sea-breezes blew from the lake, and the child felt freshest in the morning, he would sometimes walk with her under the orange-trees in the garden, or, sitting down in some of their old seats, sing to her their favourite old hymns. The desire to do something was not confined to Tom. Every servant in the establishment shewed the same feeling, and in their way did what they could.' At length, the moment of departure of this highly-prized being arrives. 'It is midnight—strange, mystic hour, when the veil between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin—then came the messenger!' St Clare was called, and was up in her room in an instant. 'What was it he saw that made his heart stand still? Why was no word spoken between the two? Thou canst say, who hast seen that same expression on the face dearest to thee—that look, indescribable, hopeless, unmistakable, that says to thee that thy beloved is no longer thine.
'On the face of the child, however, there was no ghastly imprint—only a high and almost sublime expression—the overshadowing presence of spiritual natures, the dawning of immortal life in that childish soul.
'They stood there so still, gazing upon her, that even the ticking of the watch seemed too loud.' Tom arrived with the doctor. The house was aroused—'lights were seen, footsteps heard, anxious faces thronged the veranda, and looked tearfully through the glass doors; but St Clare heard and said nothing; he saw only that look on the face of the little sleeper.
"Oh, if she would only wake, and speak once more!" he said; and, stooping over her, lie spoke in her ear: "Eva, darling!"
'The large blue eyes unclosed—a smile passed over her face; she tried to raise her head, and to speak.
"Do you know me, Eva?"
"Dear papa," said the child with a last effort, throwing her arms about his neck. In a moment, they dropped again; and as St Clare raised his head, he saw a spasm of mortal agony pass over the face: she struggled for breath, and threw up her little hands.
"O God, this is dreadful!" he said, turning away in agony, and wringing Tom's hand, scarce conscious what he was doing. "O Tom, my boy, it is killing me!"
'The child lay panting on her pillows, as one exhausted; the large clear eyes rolled up and fixed. Ah, what said those eyes that spoke so much of heaven? Earth was passed, and earthly pain; but so solemn, so mysterious, was the triumphant brightness of that face, that it checked even the sobs of sorrow. They pressed around her in breathless stillness.
"Eva!" said St Clare gently. She did not hear.