Part 5

When she had burst into his library that morning, her face flushed with excitement and unwonted exercise, he had met her with more than his usual calmness and phlegmatic consideration. The hasty outline she gave him of the story of her new protegé, seemed to him strange and improbable; but he could not resist the earnestness with which she besought him to hasten to the release of an innocent and injured woman. Rose felt a little relieved when she saw her father take his gold-headed cane and walk forth, with the deliberate air of one who has important business on hand. She would gladly have hurried his steps; but she knew, that, though slow and cautious, whatever he undertook would be kindly and wisely done, and in this belief she forced herself to wait patiently for his long-delayed return.

Good Diedrich Stuyvesant did not go directly to the prison, as his daughter had advised. He first called on Dr. Bates, heard his pompous statement of the grounds of his suspicions, and received from him the troublesome gold chain, that was deemed of such importance.

Having agreed to meet the little doctor at a certain hour, at the place of Daph’s imprisonment, he proceeded to the red house with the blue shutters, and inquired for Mrs. Ray. That personage was thrown into a fit of mortification to be found by so grand a gentleman in a dishabille, plainly intimating its recent proximity to the wash-tub; and her curiosity alone prevented her absolutely refusing to be seen in such a plight.

It did not take Diedrich Stuyvesant many minutes to fathom Mrs. Ray, and to give to her mean and idle curiosity the contempt that even she herself felt that it deserved. “All accoutred as she was,” she found herself obliged to accompany her new acquaintance to the prison, where she and Dr. Bates occupied a room near that in which Daph had been placed, while Diedrich Stuyvesant proceeded to converse with the prisoner. The time seemed long to the little doctor; for he had the full benefit of all the vituperative epithets in Mrs. Ray’s vocabulary, which was by no means a limited one in that department. On him she vented all the dissatisfaction she felt at having been led “into,” as she exclaimed, “the worst, the very worst piece of business I ever put my finger in!”

Daph had completed her story and was standing silent and humble, when Diedrich Stuyvesant summoned Dr. Bates and Mrs. Ray.

The Dr., small in every respect, entered with an air of triumph, while Mrs. Ray followed; pity, self-reproach and curiosity strangely blending in the expression with which she looked upon her lodger.

Daph met their glance with quiet composure. In her heart she had been giving thanks to the merciful God, who had raised up for her a new and powerful friend, and fresh from the presence of her Divine Master, she could look on those who had injured her, without one taint of bitterness.

Diedrich Stuyvesant had spoken often in the councils of his country, and to his clear, calm voice, none had failed to listen, for he ever spoke with the power of reason and truth. Now, he stood with the dignity of one accustomed to be heard, as he looked for a moment in silence on the accusers. Then, in a short, clear statement, he told the story of the humble negro, who listened with wonder, as he named with admiration and respect the acts which she had performed, guided by her own loving heart, and upheld by simple faith in “the great Lord” of all.

Sternness and contempt struggled for mastery in the voice of Diedrich Stuyvesant, as in concluding, he turned towards Dr. Bates, and said, “As for you, young man, look at that dark-skinned, ignorant woman, from whom you would have lightly taken her only wealth,--her good name,--which is above all price!”

“Think of your own fair skin, you deem so superior,--of the education you rightly value,--the Christian teaching that has been sounded in your ears since childhood, and then say what good work you have done in this world! What have you to bring forward in comparison with the heroism and self-sacrifice of this poor woman, whom you despised? Young man, think twice, if you are capable of thought, before you again peril the good name of the industrious poor, who are under the especial care of the great Father in Heaven! Explore the secrets of your profession, but honor the sanctity of every humble home, and pry not into those things which a lawful pride and an honorable delicacy would hide from the eye of a stranger. Know, young man, that you have this day broken the laws of this free country, where no honest citizen can be deprived of liberty, on bare suspicion, and you yourself merit the punishment you would have brought on the guiltless. But go! I would do you no harm. Go, and be a wiser and better man for what you have heard to-day!”

Dr. Bates, with a crest-fallen air, turned in haste to leave the room, but his better feelings prevailed, and stepping back he said, “I am young, foolish, and conceited, I know, sir, and I hope I have learned a valuable lesson this day.” Then, going up to Daph, he added earnestly, “I have wronged you, good woman, and from the bottom of my heart I am sorry for it. If it should ever be in my power to serve you, I should be glad to make amends for what I have done.” “Now don’t, sir! don’t, please!” said Daph, dropping curtsy after curtsy, and murmuring, “the young gemman meant no harm, Ise sure,” while Dr. Bates slowly left the room. As soon as the doctor was out of sight, Mrs. Ray took Daph by the hand, and humbly asked her forgiveness.

“Now don’t, Miss’ Ray, I do be shamed!” said Daph, in great confusion, her own tears for the first time beginning to flow. “Don’t speak so to a poor cretur like me. We’s all poor sinners; it’s only the Lord Jesus,” sweet Miss Rose says, “that can make us clean.” The thought of having said so much in the presence of a “real gentleman” now overcame Daph, and she suddenly relapsed into silence.

“Come, Daph!” said Diedrich Stuyvesant, “it is time for you to be out of this place.”

“May I go free, sir?” said Daph, with a wondering, joyous look.

“Free as air!” was the reply of Mr. Stuyvesant; “there’s no power in New York can keep an innocent woman in such a place as this.”

Daph poured forth her thanks to her deliverer, and Diedrich Stuyvesant walked forth, followed by the woman.

He was detained but for a moment in the doorway by the officers, by whom Daph had been arrested, who pleaded that no action should be taken against them for their unwarrantable proceeding, and were glad to be assured that their fault, for this once, would be passed over.

It excited some wonder when the well-known citizen passed along the street, closely followed by Mrs. Ray and Daph; but he cared little for the remarks of the passers-by, his mind having been once made up to see Daph safely restored to the home from which she had been so rudely taken.

Diedrich Stuyvesant moved at what was an unwonted pace for him, and the house with the blue shutters was soon reached, and the door of the familiar room thrown open.

Rose Stuyvesant was sitting on a low chair, Louise at her side, and Charlie on her lap; while the book with golden clasps was open in her hand. With one shout of joy, the children darted towards Daph, and gave her a welcome which filled her honest heart with joy.

That sight was a reward to Diedrich Stuyvesant for all the unwonted labors of the day.

“Come, Rose!” he said, “they can do without us now. I must learn to know these little people some other day. But stay,” he added, as he looked round on the scrupulously neat, but very plainly furnished apartment, “Daph, I must speak to you a moment, before I go.”

The children for an instant were quiet, and the wealthy citizen drew his purse from his pocket, and holding it towards Daph, he said, “You ought to have something to make amends for this day’s trouble. Take that for you and the children.”

“Ise thank you, sir,” said Daph, drawing back, “Ise thank you, sir, but my missus’ childen shall want for nothing while poor old Daph can work for them.”

“Well, have your own way Daph,” said Diedrich Stuyvesant; “but one thing you must let me do for you. Let me take the gold chains that have given you so much trouble, and put them in safe keeping. I will see that you get their full value in money, if you should ever be in need.”

The treasured jewelry was cheerfully relinquished; and Daph even felt relieved to have them no longer in her charge.

“Remember, Daph,” said the kind-hearted citizen, as he bade her good-bye, “remember, you have something now to depend upon.”

“Ise thank you for your goodness, sir--Ise thank you. Ise sure the great Lord will nebber let Daph come to want.”

“Never, Daph! either in this world or the next!” said Rose; and with one of her sweet smiles she followed her father from the room.

XII.

Home Scenes.

The days of excitement and distress, so full of moment to Daph, were succeeded by a time of comparative quiet and peace.

Every morning the kind voice of Rose Stuyvesant, broke in upon the solitude of Daph and the little ones. Louise learned to look as eagerly for the face of Rose as a flower for the sunlight, and to turn as fondly towards it. There seemed to be for the little girl an irresistible charm in the refinement and guilelessness of her new friend; and the sweet words of holy teaching, that ever dropped from the lips of Rose, had waked to music, a chord in the child’s heart, that had long slumbered in silence. The sensitive conscience and peculiar interest in spiritual things, that had marked her when under her mother’s influence, became again evident. As from a weary dream, she woke to the beauty and reality of religious truth.

Rose was no sentimental teacher, contented with exciting mere feeling, that worked to no good end.

The unselfish devotion and respectful deference of poor Daph, had fostered a slight imperiousness in the little Louise; and she had learned to seek her own comfort, with but too little regard for the feelings and wishes of others.

Rose soon saw that her little pet was in danger of becoming quietly selfish, and unconsciously proud and dictatorial.

Tenderly, but faithfully, the young teacher pointed out to Louise the germs of those hateful faults, growing and strengthening in the bad soil of an evil heart; and the conscience of the child, made her deeply feel the necessity of the warning thus affectionately given.

Bad habits, long indulged, are not easily overcome, even when the highest and best motives govern the conduct.

“Put on my stockings, this minute, Daph! You are so slow!” said Louise, one morning, putting out her white foot imperatively towards the kneeling negro.

“Yes, yes, Miss Lou,” said Daph, humbly, “Daph do be radder slow; but somehow she isn’t so spry as she used to be.”

This was not the only complaint that Louise had to make that morning; every thing seemed to go wrong with her, and Charlie declared, “Sister Lou” was so cross that he had rather go and play in the garden alone, than stay anywhere near her.

Daph gave a sorrowful look at her young mistress, and then went to the kitchen to prepare some of the tempting cakes which were now in such demand, and Louise was left quite alone.

She took up a piece of sewing on which Rose had been patiently trying to teach her to hem; but the thread “went in knots,” the needle pricked her finger, and she threw the work down in despair, and began to cry with all her might.

The door softly opened and a gentle hand was laid upon her shoulder. “What grieves you, darling?” said the sweet voice of Rose Stuyvesant.

“Oh, oh!” exclaimed the little girl, not looking up, “I have been so cross and naughty all this morning, I do not believe I am one of the Lord Jesus’ little lambs, at all, and I am very, very unhappy!”

Rose sat down beside her little friend, and throwing her arm tenderly around her, she said, “You must not be discouraged, my darling, listen now to me. Suppose that you were so very sick, that if you did not soon get better, you would surely die. Now, suppose a kind physician should come to you and offer you some medicine that would check your fever, and save you from the death that was so near. How you would love him, and how willingly you would do all that he said was necessary for you. It might be many, many weeks before you were quite well; but how patiently you would take the medicines he ordered, and how cheerfully you would follow his advice, until you were again full of health and strength. And when you could walk about once more and breathe the sweet, fresh air, then you would be most warmly grateful to the kind physician who had come to your sick bed, and saved you from expected death. Dear Louise, Christ has shed his blood to save you from everlasting death, which is very near to all who are not the true children of God. Whenever you put your trust in the dear Saviour, you are safe from that death; but it may be long, long before your heart will be clean from sin, and your bad habits will be wholly cured. What says the kind physician to you? ‘Watch and pray. Strive to enter in at the strait gate.’ You must be willing to struggle, patiently, against your faults, trying to do right, and looking to God for strength to go on. You must go forward cheerfully and hopefully, thinking of what Christ has done for you, and dwelling on that happy time when you will be safe in Heaven, and your heart will be full of gratitude to Him who has saved your soul from death, and purified you by His grace. Do you understand me, darling?”

“Yes, yes,” sobbed little Louise, “and indeed I will try--try harder.”

“Suppose you begin to-day,” said Rose, “to see if you cannot do something for others; that is the best cure for selfishness. Here, I have brought an apron for Daph, which I want you to make. It will please her to think you have done it for her. She is so kind to you, that you should try to make her happy.”

Louise had always accepted Daph’s services as a matter of course, and it dawned upon her as a new idea that she was to try to make happy the humble creature who never seemed to have a wish but to serve her master’s children faithfully.

Little by little, Louise began to take hold of the idea that to be Christ-like is to be useful, fond of making others happy, and forgetful of self.

Daph resisted stoutly when Louise first proposed to dress herself, and began by degrees to take some care of Charlie. “But,” thought the poor negro, “Daph may die some day, and the sweet little mistress do be right; she must learn to help herself a little, for nobody knows what may happen.”

“Here Daffy, I have made this for you all myself!” said Louise, joyfully, as she held up the apron, which after many days of secret toil she had completed.

“For Daph, Miss Lou! and all made with those dear little hands. Now Daph do feel proud!” and tears filled the eyes of the honest creature.

It was not the mere gift that made the heart of the negro throb with pleasure; but it was the kind consideration, the patient thought for her welfare that overcame her, as she said, “You do be like dear missus now! Dat’s de way she used to speak to poor Daph.”

“Dear Daffy,” said Louise, bursting into tears, “I do not mean to be ever naughty to you again. Indeed, I am very, very sorry. I am going to be one of the Lord Jesus’ little children now, and you know he was always kind and gentle.”

“Now de great Lord be praised!” said Daph, as she sank down quite overcome. “Daph do be too full of joy, to hear dose words from her own little dear. De Lord help her, and bring her to his beautiful home!”

To be able to read her mother’s Bible now became the dearest wish of the little Louise, and with this strong motive she made rapid progress in the daily lessons she took from her kind friend Rose. The patience and perseverance of both teacher and scholar were at length rewarded. Louise was able, after a few months of careful instruction, to take her mother’s Bible, and, in her sweet, childlike way, read the words of truth and beauty that flowed from the lips of Him who “spake as never man spake.”

The leaves, brightened by early frosts, still fluttered on the trees, and the soft air of Indian summer floated in at the open windows. A lovely autumn day was drawing to a close. Daph and her little charge had taken their simple evening meal, and for a moment there was silence in the cheerful room.

“Daffy,” said Louise, “I will read to you now out of the dear book.”

Daph sat down reverently on her low bench, and Charlie, in imitation, quietly took his own little chair.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” read the subdued voice of the child, while the negro bent forward to catch each word of the beautiful psalm.

“She do be one of the great shepherd’s lambs, sure ’nough,” murmured Daph, as the little girl closed the book and said,

“Now Daffy, we’ll sing a hymn.”

Little Charlie joined his voice with that of his earnest sister, and poor Daph, ’mid fast flowing tears, added her notes of praise to that evening hymn. Joy and peace that evening pervaded those few hearts in that humble room, for it was bright with His presence who has said, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”

XIII.

Mary Ray.

It was midnight. Charlie and Louise were locked in the sound sleep of youth and vigorous health; but Daph, with the half-wakefulness of a faithful dog, was not so dead to the outer world.

A slight knock, and then a stealthy footstep, roused the negro, and she started up and looked about her. In the dim moonlight she saw Mary Ray standing at her bedside, with her finger on her lips, and herself setting the example in every motionless limb, of the silence she imposed.

Mary took Daph by the hand, and led her into the hall, and then said in a whisper,

“I could not go without bidding you good-bye, you have always been so kind to me?”

Daph looked in wonder at the slender young girl, wrapped in her shawl, and carrying a small bundle in her hand.

“Where is you going, Mary?” she said, anxiously; “it’s no good is takin’ you from home at this time of night.”

“I can bear it no longer,” said Mary, with quiet determination; “I have never had a home, and now I am going to look for one for myself. Mother may find out that, if I am ‘only a girl,’ she will miss me. Good-bye, Daph. I should like to kiss the children once more, but I am afraid I should wake them. Good-bye!” and the young girl shook the hand of her humble friend.

The hand she had given was not so easily released; it was held gently but firmly as if in a vice.

“Ise wont let you go--go straight to black sin,” said Daph, earnestly; “you’s a leavin’ the mother the great Lord gave you; you’s a leavin’ the home the great Lord put you in, and there’s black sin a waitin’ outside for you, if you go so young and lone; Ise will not let you go!”

“I cannot bear it any longer,” said Mary, and she sank down on the floor, and wiped away her fast-flowing tears.

Mary had of late had a hard life, indeed. Mrs. Ray had been slowly coming to a knowledge of herself, and this knowledge, instead of bringing repentance and reformation, had made her doubly unreasonable and irritable, and on Mary she had vented all her ill-humor.

Though still treated as a child, Mary had become, in feeling and strength of character, a woman. The sense of injustice and ill-treatment, which had grown with her growth, had now reached its height. The down-trodden child, now felt herself a curbed, thwarted, almost persecuted woman, and she was determined to bear her present life no longer.

It was in vain that Daph plead with her to give up her wild purpose; at last all the poor negro’s store of persuasion and warning was exhausted, and in her despair, she said desperately, “Now you Mary jus sit still here, and let Daph tell you somewhat dat do be all solemn true, ebery single word.” Daph had been no inattentive listener to Rose’s frequent reading of the Saviour’s life on earth; and now, in her own simple, graphic language, she sketched the outline of his patient suffering, and painful, unresisted death. She told of the glory of His heaven, where those who humbly follow Him, shall rejoice forever; and the speaker and the listener forgot the dreary place and the midnight hour, as she dwelt in faith on that glorious theme. “Dere’ll be nobody dere, Mary, dat turns de back on de work de Lord gibs em to do!” said Daph, earnestly. “Stay, Mary, and try to bear for de Lord Jesus’ sake! Who knows but your poor ma, her own self, may learn to know bout de heavenly home?”

“Every human heart has its trials, which it can only bear in the strength that God alone can give. Every human heart feels the need of comfort and hope, which can only be found in God’s truth.”

Mary Ray was touched by the simple eloquence of her humble friend, and acted upon by the glorious motives held out to her for new efforts of forbearance and patient endurance.

The world she had known was dreary and dismal enough; but what terrors, trials, and temptations might not await her in the new scenes into which she was hastily rushing. Subdued and softened, she crept back to her bed, and lay down beside the mother whom she had so nearly forsaken. Compared with the wide, lone world without, that poor, low room seemed a kindly and comfortable shelter; and as her mother sighed and groaned in her sleep, Mary felt that natural affection was not yet dead in her heart--that a tie bound her to her on whose bosom she had been nursed.

True prayer was at that moment going up to heaven for the poor, tried, desperate girl. And what faithful petition was ever unnoticed or unanswered!

Mary met Daph’s kind “good morning,” with a shy, averted face, and kept out of her way as much as possible during the day.

When evening came on and the sound of singing was heard in the room of the lodgers. Mary lingered at the open door, and did not resist when Daph noiselessly stepped to her side and drew her to the low bench where she herself was seated.

Mary Ray learned to love that evening hour when she could hear Louise read of the blessed Saviour, and join her voice in the hymns of praise, that went up from the faithful worshippers.

Even this pleasure she was soon obliged to deny herself; for all her time and attention were needed beside the sick bed of her mother.

Mrs. Ray had never wholly recovered from the severe cold with which she had been attacked soon after the arrival of Daph. At times, her cough returned upon her with violence, and at length a sudden hemorrhage laid her low. Prostrate, enfeebled and helpless, Mrs. Ray had time to dwell upon her past life, and see all too plainly, the hatefulness of her own wicked heart. A dull despair crept over her. She gave herself up as a lost and hopeless being, waiting for her eternal doom. Daph felt her own incapacity to reason with, and comfort the wretched woman, and to Rose she turned for aid and counsel.

Often and long Rose Stuyvesant sat beside the bed of the unhappy woman, and strove to open her mind to the free forgiveness, granted through the blood of Christ Jesus. Her words of peace seemed to fall on a deaf ear and a deadened heart; but to the listening, unnoticed Mary, they were the message of pardon and joy in believing.

Long years of humbling sickness were in store for Mrs. Ray, during which she was to be dependent for care and sustenance upon the child she had undervalued and ill-treated. From that child to whom she had given life, she was to receive the still greater blessing of being gently led towards the life eternal.

Mary’s days and nights of watching, and words of holy comfort, fell like the noiseless dew on the heart of the mother, till at last, remorse was exchanged for repentance, and the cold alienation of a sinful heart, for the loving trust of one, forgiven through the “Only Mediator.”