I used to think, if there was anything in the world
he did love, it was our dear little Eva; but he seems to be forgetting
her very easily. I cannot ever get him to talk about her. I really did
think he would show more feeling!"

"Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me," said Miss Ophelia,
oracularly.

"O, I don't believe in such things; it's all talk. If people have
feeling, they will show it,--they can't help it; but, then, it's a great
misfortune to have feeling. I'd rather have been made like St. Clare. My
feelings prey upon me so!"

"Sure, Missis, Mas'r St. Clare is gettin' thin as a shader. They say, he
don't never eat nothin'," said Mammy. "I know he don't forget Miss Eva;
I know there couldn't nobody,--dear, little, blessed cretur!" she added,
wiping her eyes.

"Well, at all events, he has no consideration for me," said Marie; "he
hasn't spoken one word of sympathy, and he must know how much more a
mother feels than any man can."

"The heart knoweth its own bitterness," said Miss Ophelia, gravely.

"That's just what I think. I know just what I feel,--nobody else seems
to. Eva used to, but she is gone!" and Marie lay back on her lounge, and
began to sob disconsolately.

Marie was one of those unfortunately constituted mortals, in whose
eyes whatever is lost and gone assumes a value which it never had in
possession. Whatever she had, she seemed to survey only to pick flaws in
it; but, once fairly away, there was no end to her valuation of it.

While this conversation was taking place in the parlor another was going
on in St. Clare's library.

Tom, who was always uneasily following his master about, had seen him go
to his library, some hours before; and, after vainly waiting for him to
come out, determined, at last, to make an errand in. He entered softly.
St. Clare lay on his lounge, at the further end of the room. He was
lying on his face, with Eva's Bible open before him, at a little
distance. Tom walked up, and stood by the sofa. He hesitated; and, while
he was hesitating, St. Clare suddenly raised himself up. The honest
face, so full of grief, and with such an imploring expression of
affection and sympathy, struck his master. He laid his hand on Tom's,
and bowed down his forehead on it.

"O, Tom, my boy, the whole world is as empty as an egg-shell."

"I know it, Mas'r,--I know it," said Tom; "but, oh, if Mas'r could only
look up,--up where our dear Miss Eva is,--up to the dear Lord Jesus!"