"Wilmington," said the beautiful woman. "This is the house of Thomas
Garrett, the friend of slaves. When you can be moved, it shall be to the
green hills of the Brandywine, where all are free."
"Hills? What are they?" mused Virgie, looking at her wasted hand. "Must
I climb any more? Must I wade the swamps again? I know I have a father
somewhere."
She dreamed and wept unconsciously, and told of many things at Teackle
Hall, being, indeed, a little child again, playing with her little
mistress, Vesta. The stars stood in the sky right over her pillow, and
she talked to them, and some she seemed to know, as little Vince, or
little Roxy, or Master Willy Tilghman, all playmates of her childhood;
but ever and anon these vanished, and the young Quaker woman was reading
again from the sermons of Elias Hicks, and the words were: "Love is
quietness;" "Light only can qualify the soul;" "If I go not away, the
Comforter will not come unto you."
"What Comforter?" sighed Virgie, and there seemed a great blank, and
then she heard a scream--was it she that screamed so?--and she was
trying with all her might to get somewhere, and was fainting in the
labor, but trying again and again, and then a calmness that was like
gentle awe, strange because so painless, spread into her nature, and she
only listened.
"My daughter," said a voice, "my own child! Call me 'father,' and say I
am forgiven.
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