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.”
Meanwhile, Daph went cheerfully and industriously on, providing for
the physical wants of the children so dear to her; while Rose, with
almost a mother’s love, led them in the way of truth and moulded them
by her sweet influence. Little by little she managed to throw an air
of refinement about the humble room where they dwelt, and to add many
comforts and luxuries to their hitherto simple way of life. She advised
Daph as to their plain but tasteful style of dress, and gave to their
manners that nameless charm of delicacy and true politeness, which Daph
felt herself so unable to describe, or impart.
While Louise grew tall, graceful and attractive, and Charlie’s ruddy
face was bright with frank cheerfulness, Rose fancied that Daph’s step
waxed feeble, and her figure less straight than in the first days of
their acquaintance.
When Rose expressed anxiety about the health of the poor negro, to whom
she was really strongly attached, Daph would answer with a smile:
“Daph do be a bit older, Miss Rose; but nebber you fret for her. De
great Lord wont take her away yet, she most sure. Nebber you mind Daph;
she do be well enough--and oh, so happy!”
The upward glance of the eye of honest Daph, told of the source of her
happiness, and the spring of her faithful, conscientious life.