, unless he confesses!"

Tom opened his eyes, and looked upon his master. "Ye poor miserable
critter!" he said, "there ain't no more ye can do! I forgive ye, with
all my soul!" and he fainted entirely away.

"I b'lieve, my soul, he's done for, finally," said Legree, stepping
forward, to look at him. "Yes, he is! Well, his mouth's shut up, at
last,--that's one comfort!"

Yes, Legree; but who shall shut up that voice in thy soul? that soul,
past repentance, past prayer, past hope, in whom the fire that never
shall be quenched is already burning!

Yet Tom was not quite gone. His wondrous words and pious prayers
had struck upon the hearts of the imbruted blacks, who had been the
instruments of cruelty upon him; and, the instant Legree withdrew,
they took him down, and, in their ignorance, sought to call him back to
life,--as if _that_ were any favor to him.

"Sartin, we 's been doin' a drefful wicked thing!" said Sambo; "hopes
Mas'r'll have to 'count for it, and not we."

They washed his wounds,--they provided a rude bed, of some refuse
cotton, for him to lie down on; and one of them, stealing up to the
house, begged a drink of brandy of Legree, pretending that he was tired,
and wanted it for himself. He brought it back, and poured it down Tom's
throat.

"O, Tom!" said Quimbo, "we's been awful wicked to ye!"

"I forgive ye, with all my heart!" said Tom, faintly.

"O, Tom! do tell us who is _Jesus_, anyhow?" said Sambo;--"Jesus, that's
been a standin' by you so, all this night!--Who is he?"

The word roused the failing, fainting spirit. He poured forth a few
energetic sentences of that wondrous One,--his life, his death, his
everlasting presence, and power to save.

They wept,--both the two savage men.

"Why didn't I never hear this before?" said Sambo; "but I do believe!--I
can't help it! Lord Jesus, have mercy on us!"

"Poor critters!" said Tom, "I'd be willing to bar' all I have, if it'll
only bring ye to Christ! O, Lord! give me these two more souls, I pray!"

That prayer was answered!

CHAPTER XLI

The Young Master

Two days after, a young man drove a light wagon up through the avenue of
China trees, and, throwing the reins hastily on the horse's neck, sprang
out and inquired for the owner of the place.

It was George Shelby; and, to show how he came to be there, we must go
back in our story.

The letter of Miss Ophelia to Mrs. Shelby had, by some unfortunate
accident, been detained, for a