the professor at the breakfast table-第76部分

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this　their　child。　　Oh；　turn　away　from　him　the　penalties　of　his　own

transgressions！　　Thou　hast　laid　upon　him；　from　infancy；　the　cross

which　thy　stronger　children　are　called　upon　to　take　up；　and　now　that

he　is　fainting　under　it；　be　Thou　his　stay；　and　do　Thou　succor　him

that　is　tempted！　　Let　his　manifold　infirmities　come　between　him　and

Thy　judgment；　in　wrath　remember　mercy！　　If　his　eyes　are　not　opened

to　all　Thy　truth；　let　Thy　compassion　lighten　the　darkness　that　rests

upon　him；　even　as　it　came　through　the　word　of　thy　Son　to　blind

Bartimeus；　who　sat　by　the　wayside；　begging！



Many　more　petitions　he　uttered；　but　all　in　the　same　subdued　tone　of

tenderness。　　In　the　presence　of　helpless　suffering；　and　in　the　fast…

darkening　shadow　of　the　Destroyer；　he　forgot　all　but　his　Christian

humanity；　and　cared　more　about　consoling　his　fellow…man　than　making

a　proselyte　of　him。



This　was　the　last　prayer　to　which　the　Little　Gentleman　ever

listened。　　Some　change　was　rapidly　coming　over　him　during　this　last

hour　of　which　I　have　been　speaking。　　The　excitement　of　pleading　his

cause　before　his　self…elected　spiritual　adviser；the　emotion　which

overcame　him；　when　the　young　girl　obeyed　the　sudden　impulse　of　her

feelings　and　pressed　her　lips　to　his　cheek；the　thoughts　that

mastered　him　while　the　divinity…student　poured　out　his　soul　for　him

in　prayer；　might　well　hurry　on　the　inevitable　moment。　　When　the

divinity…student　had　uttered　his　last　petition；　commending　him　to

the　Father　through　his　Son's　intercession；　he　turned　to　look　upon

him　before　leaving　his　chamber。　　His　face　was　changed。　There　is　a

language　of　the　human　countenance　which　we　all　understand　without　an

interpreter；　though　the　lineaments　belong　to　the　rudest　savage　that

ever　stammered　in　an　unknown　barbaric　dialect。　　By　the　stillness　of

the　sharpened　features；　by　the　blankness　of　the　tearless　eyes；　by

the　fixedness　of　the　smileless　mouth；　by　the　deadening　tints；　by　the

contracted　brow；　by　the　dilating　nostril；　we　know　that　the　soul　is

soon　to　leave　its　mortal　tenement；　and　is　already　closing　up　its

windows　and　putting　out　its　fires。　Such　was　the　aspect　of　the　face

upon　which　the　divinity…student　looked；　after　the　brief　silence

which　followed　his　prayer。　　The　change　had　been　rapid；　though　not

that　abrupt　one　which　is　liable　to　happen　at　any　moment　in　these

cases。　The　sick　man　looked　towards　him。　Farewell；he　said；I

thank　you。　　Leave　me　alone　with　her。



When　the　divinity…student　had　gone；　and　the　Little　Gentleman　found

himself　alone　with　Iris；　he　lifted　his　hand　to　his　neck；　and　took

from　it；　suspended　by　a　slender　chain；　a　quaint；　antique…looking

key；the　same　key　I　had　once　seen　him　holding。　　He　gave　this　to

her；　and　pointed　to　a　carved　cabinet　opposite　his　bed；　one　of　those

that　had　so　attracted　my　curious　eyes　and　set　me　wondering　as　to

what　it　might　contain。



Open　it；he　said；and　light　the　lamp。　The　young　girl　walked　to

the　cabinet　and　unlocked　the　door。　　A　deep　recess　appeared；　lined

with　black　velvet；　against　which　stood　in　white　relief　an　ivory

crucifix。　　A　silver　lamp　hung　over　it。　　She　lighted　the　lamp　and

came　back　to　the　bedside。　　The　dying　man　fixed　his　eyes　upon　the

figure　of　the　dying　Saviour。　Give　me　your　hand；　he　said；　and　Iris

placed　her　right　hand　in　his　left。　　So　they　remained；　until

presently　his　eyes　lost　their　meaning；　though　they　still　remained

vacantly　fixed　upon　the　white　image。　　Yet　he　held　the　young　girl's

hand　firmly；　as　if　it　were　leading　him　through　some　deep…shadowed

valley　and　it　was　all　he　could　cling　to。　　But　presently　an

involuntary　muscular　contraction　stole　over　him；　and　his　terrible

dying　grasp　held　the　poor　girl　as　if　she　were　wedged　in　an　engine　of

torture。　　She　pressed　her　lips　together　and　sat　still。　　The

inexorable　hand　held　her　tighter　and　tighter；　until　she　felt　as　if

her　own　slender　fingers　would　be　crushed　in　its　gripe。　　It　was　one

of　the　tortures　of　the　Inquisition　she　was　suffering；　and　she　could

not　stir　from　her　place。　　Then；　in　her　great　anguish；　she；　too；　cast

her　eyes　upon　that　dying　figure；　and；　looking　upon　its　pierced　hands

and　feet　and　side　and　lacerated　forehead；　she　felt　that　she　also

must　suffer　uncomplaining。　　In　the　moment　of　her　sharpest　pain　she

did　not　forget　the　duties　of　her　under　office；　but　dried　the　dying

man's　moist　forehead　with　her　handkerchief；　even　while　the　dews　of

agony　were　glistening　on　her　own。　　How　long　this　lasted　she　never

could　tell。　　Time　and　thirst　are　two　things　you　and　I　talk　about；

but　the　victims　whom　holy　men　and　righteous　judges　used　to　stretch

on　their　engines　knew　better　what　they　meant　than　you　or　I！　What

is　that　great　bucket　of　water　for？　　said　the　Marchioness　de

Brinvilliers；　before　she　was　placed　on　the　rack。　For　you　to

drink；said　the　torturer　to　the　little　woman。　She　could　not　think

that　it　would　take　such　a　flood　to　quench　the　fire　in　her　and　so

keep　her　alive　for　her　confession。　　The　torturer　knew　better　than

she。



After　a　time　not　to　be　counted　in　minutes；　as　the　clock　measures；

without　any　warning；there　came　a　swift　change　of　his　features；　his

face　turned　white；　as　the　waters　whiten　when　a　sudden　breath　passes

over　their　still　surface；　the　muscles　instantly　relaxed；　and　Iris；

released　at　once　from　her　care　for　the　sufferer　and　from　his

unconscious　grasp；　fell　senseless；　with　a　feeble　cry；the　only

utterance　of　her　long　agony。



Perhaps　you　sometimes　wander　in　through　the　iron　gates　of　the　Copp's

Hill　burial…ground。　　You　love　to　stroll　round　among　the　graves　that

crowd　each　other　in　the　thickly　peopled　soil　of　that　breezy　summit。

You　love　to　lean　on　the　freestone　slab　which　lies　over　the　bones　of

the　Mathers；to　read　the　epitaph　of　stout　William　Clark；　〃Despiser

of　Sorry　Persons　and　little　Actions；〃to　stand　by　the　stone　grave

of　sturdy　Daniel　Malcolm　and　look　upon　the　splintered　slab　that

tells　the　old　rebel's　story；to　kneel　by　the　triple　stone　that　says

how　the　three　Worthylakes；　father；　mother；　and　young　daughter；　died

on　the　same　day　and　lie　buried　there；　a　mystery；　the　subject　of　a

moving　ballad；　by　the　late　BENJAMIN　FRANKLIN；　as　may　be　seen　in　his

autobiography；　which　will　explain　the　secret　of　the　triple

gravestone；　though　the　old　philosopher　has　made　a　mistake；　unless

the　stone　is　wrong。



Not　very　far　from　that　you　will　find　a　fair　mound；　of　dimensions　fit

to　hold　a　well…grown　man。　　I　will　not　tell　you　the　inscription　upon

the　stone　which　stands　at　its　head；　for　I　do　not　wish　you　to　be　sure

of　the　resting…place　of　one　who　could　not　bear　to　think　that　he

should　be　known　as　a　cripple　among　the　dead；　after　being　pointed　at

so　long　among　the　living。　　There　is　one　sign；　it　is　true；　by　which；

if　you　have　been　a　sagacious　reader　of　these　papers；　you　will　at

once　know　it；　but　I　fear　you　read　carelessly；　and　must　study　them

more　diligently　before　you　will　detect　the　hint　to　which　I　allude。



The　Little　Gentleman　lies　where　he　longed　to　lie；　among　the　old

names　an