Rosebrook knows
goodness always deserves its reward; and Harry assures him he never
will violate the trust. Having said thus much, he rises from his
chair, takes Harry by the arm, and leading him to the door of the
conservatory, points him to a passage leading to the right, and
says: "In there!-proceed into that passage, enter a door, first door
on the left, and then you will find something you may consider your
own."
Harry hesitated for a moment, watched master's countenance
doubtingly, as if questioning the singular command.
"Fear not! nobody will hurt you," continues Rosebrook.
"Master never had a bad intention," thinks Harry; "I know he would
not harm me; and then missus is so good." Slowly and nervously he
proceeds, and on reaching the door hears a familiar "come in"
answering his nervous rap. The door opened into a neat little room,
with carpet and chairs, a mahogany bureau and prints, all so neatly
arranged, and wearing such an air of cleanliness. No sooner has he
advanced beyond the threshold than the emaciated figure of a black
sister vaults into his arms, crying, "Oh Harry! Harry! Harry!-my
dear husband!" She throws her arms about his neck, and kisses, and
kisses him, and buries her tears of joy in his bosom. How she pours
out her soul's love!-how, in rapturous embraces, her black impulses
give out the purest affection!
"And you!-you!-you!-my own dear Jane! Is it you? Has God commanded
us to meet once more, to be happy once more, to live as heaven hath
ordained us to live?" he returns, as fervently and affectionately he
holds her in his arms, and returns her token of love.
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