“Is the Governor comin’?”

“What, Karen?” said Elizabeth, knowing very well what she had asked, but not knowing so well the drift and intent of it.

“Is the Governor comin’? will he be along directly?”

“No —­ I suppose not.  Do you want to see him, Karen?”

“I’d like to see him,” said the old woman covering her eyes with her withered hand.  “I thought he was comin’.”

“Perhaps something may bring him, some day.  I dare say you will see him by and by —­ I don’t know how soon.”

“I’ll see him there,” said the old woman.  “I can’t stay here long.”

“Why, you don’t seem any worse, Karen, do you?  Aren’t you going to be well again?”

“Not here,” said the old woman.  “I’m all goin’ to pieces.  I’ll go to bed to-night, and I won’t get up again.”

“Don’t say that, Karen; because I think you will.”

“I’ll go to bed,” she repeated in a rather plaintive manner.  “I thought he’d be here.”

It touched Elizabeth acutely; perhaps because she had so near a fellow feeling that answered Karen’s, and allowed her to comprehend how exceedingly the desire for his presence might grow strong in one who had a right to wish for it.  And she knew that he would reckon old Karen his friend, whatever other people would do.

“What can I do for you, Karen?” she said gently.  “Let me be the best substitute I can.  What can I do for you, that he could do better?”

“There can’t nobody do just the Governor’s work,” said his old nurse.  “I thought he’d ha’ been here.  This’ll be my last night, and I’d like to spend it hearin’ good things.”

“Would you like me to send for anybody,” said Elizabeth.

“Could ye send for him?” said Karen earnestly.

“Not in time.  No, Karen, —­ there’d be no time to send a message from here to Mannahatta and get him here to-night.”

She jogged herself back and forward a little while on her rocking-chair; and then said she would go to bed.  Elizabeth helped her into the little room, formerly Asahel’s, opening out of the kitchen, which she had insisted Karen should take during her illness; and after she was put to bed, came again and asked her what she should do for her.  Karen requested to have the Bible read.

Elizabeth set open the kitchen door, took a low seat by Karen’s bedside, and established herself with her book.  It was strange work to her, to read the Bible to a person who thought herself dying.  She, who so lately had to do with everything else but the Bible, now seated by the bedside of an old black woman, and the Bible the only matter in hand between the two.  Karen’s manner made it more strange.  She was every now and then breaking in upon the reading, or accompanying it, with remarks and interjections.  Sometimes it was “Hallelujah!” —­ sometimes, “That’s true, that’s true!” —­ sometimes, and very often, “Praise the Lord!” Not loud,