asters of the earth and lift them nearer
heaven? Should I have urged the beauty of forgiveness, the duty of
devout submission? He had no religion, for he was no saintly "Uncle
Tom," and Slavery's black shadow seemed to darken all the world to him
and shut out God. Should I have warned him of penalties, of judgments,
and the potency of law? What did he know of justice, or the mercy that
should temper that stern virtue, when every law, human and divine, had
been broken on his hearthstone? Should I have tried to touch him by
appeals to filial duty, to brotherly love? How had his appeals been
answered? What memories had father and brother stored up in his heart to
plead for either now? No,--all these influences, these associations,
would have proved worse than useless, had I been calm enough to try
them. I was not; but instinct, subtler than reason, showed me the one
safe clue by which to lead this troubled soul from the labyrinth in
which it groped and nearly fell. When I paused, breathless, Robert
turned to me, asking, as if human assurances could strengthen his faith
in Divine Omnipotence,--

"Do you believe, if I let Marster Ned live, the Lord will give me back
my Lucy?"

"As surely as there is a Lord, you will find her here or in the
beautiful hereafter, where there is no black or white, no master and no
slave."

He took his hand from his brother's throat, lifted his eyes from my face
to the wintry sky beyond, as if searching for that blessed country,
happier even than the happy North. Alas, it was the darkest hour before
the dawn!--there was no star above, no light below but the pale glimmer
of the lamp that showed the brother who had made him desolate. Like a
blind man who believes there is a sun, yet cannot see it, he shook his
head, let his arms drop nervelessly upon his knees, and sat there dumbly
asking that question which many a soul whose faith is firmer fixed than
his has asked in hours less dark than this,--"Where is God?" I saw the
tide had turned, and strenuously tried to keep this rudderless life-boat
from slipping back into the whirlpool wherein it had been so nearly
lost.

"I have listened to you, Robert; now hear me, and heed what I say,
because my heart is full of pity for you, full of hope for your future,
and a desire to help you now. I want you to go away from here, from the
temptation of this place, and the sad thoughts that haunt it. You have
conquered yourself once, and I honor you for it, b