Stories in Verse | Page 7

her hundred
household cares,
Thought of the dark face and noble heart
Of
Karagwe, and truly pitied him.
He, when the labor of the day was done,
Moved through the dusk,
among the dewy leaves,
And, darker than the shadows, scaled the
wall,
And waited in the garden, crouching down
Among the foliage
of the fragrant trees,
Hoping that she again might come that way.

He saw her through the window of the house,
Pass and repass, and
heard her sweetly sing
A tender song of love and pity blent;
But
would not call to her, nor give a sign
That he was there; to see her
was enough.
Perhaps, if those about her knew he came
To meet her
in the garden, they would place
Some punishment upon her, some
restraint,

That she, though innocent, might have to bear.
So he
passed back again to his low cot,
And on his poor straw pallet,

dreamed of her,
As loyally perhaps as Chastelard,
Lying asleep
upon his palace couch,
Dreamed of Queen Mary, and the love he
gave.
VII.
Ruth was but tinged with shade, and always seemed
Some luscious
fruit, with but the slightest hint
Of something foreign to the grafted
bough
Whereon it grew. Her eyes were black, and large,
And
passionate, and proved the deathless soul,
That through their portals
looked upon the world,
Was capable of hatred and revenge.
Her
long black lashes hung above their depths,
Like lotus leaves o'er
some Egyptian spring.
And they were dreamy, too, at intervals,
And
glowed with tender beauty when she loved.
Her grace made for her
such appropriate wear,
That, though her gown was of the coarsest
cloth,
And though her duty was the lowest kind,
It seemed apparel
more desirable
Than trailing robes of velvet or of silk.
Her voice
was full, and sweet, and musical,
Soft as the low breathings of an
instrument
Touched by the unseen fingers of the breeze.
VIII.
The large plantation, next to Dalton Earl's,
Was owned by Richard
Wain, a hated man--
Hated among his slaves and in the town.

Uncouth, revengeful, and a drunkard he.
Two miles up by the river
ran his lands;
And here, within a green-roofed kirk of woods,
The
slave found that seclusion he desired.
His only treasure was a
Testament
Hid in the friendly opening of a tree.
Often the book was
kept within his cot,
At times lay next his heart, nor did its beat

Defile the fruity knowledge on the leaves.
The words were sweet as
wine of Eshcol grapes
To his parched lips. He saw the past arise.

Vague were the people, and the pageant moved,
Uncertain as the
figures in the dusk;

Yet One there was, who stood in bold relief;
A
lovely, noble face with sweeping beard,
And hair that trailed in

beauty round his neck;
A patient man, whose deeds were always good.

Whose words were brave for freedom and mankind.
IX.
In passing through the grounds of Richard Wain,
Karagwe found,
upon a plat of grass,
Some sheets of paper fastened at the ends,

Blown from the house, he thought, or thrown away.
The sheets were
closely written on and sealed.
Here was a long-sought opportunity

To learn the older letters of the pen.
That night the writings, wrapped
about the Book,
Were safe within the hollow of the tree.
X.
All day he dreamed, "What token shall I give.
That she will know my
thought and understand."
He caught at last a velvet honey-bee,

Weighed down with its gold treasure in its belt,
And killed it; then,
when morning came again,
Bore it to Ruth beneath the fragrant trees.

"I bring you, Ruth, a dead bee for a sign.
For if to-day you wear it
in your hair,
When once again you come to walk the lane,
I then
shall know that you are truly mine,
Willing to be my wife, and share
my lot,
And let me toil with you like any bee;
But if you do not
wear it, then I shall care
No more for anything; but waste my life,
A
bee without a queen." Then not one word
Spoke Ruth; but when the
sunset came, and she
Went from the house again to walk alone,
The
dead bee glittered gem-like in her hair.
And him she met for whom
the sign was meant,
And in his hand she laid her own, and smiled.
XI.
The next day, Richard Wain, when riding past,
Heard Ruth's
bird-voice trilling in the lane,
And caught a glimpse of her between
the trees,
A picture, for an instant, in a frame.
He thought, "The
prize I coveted is near;
She will be mine before the set of sun."


Returning soon, toward the house he went,
Strode to the door, calling
for Dalton Earl,
And told him for what merchandise he came.
The
girl was not for sale, the other said.
"You talk at random now," said
Richard Wain,
"You know I hold the deed of all your lands,
And so,
unless you let the woman go,
Your whole estate shall have a sheriff's
sale."
The planter turned a coward at the threat,
And knowing well
what blood ran in the veins
Of her he sold, reluctant gave consent.
Above his wine he told Ruth of her fate,
And to the floor she fell, and
swooned away.
Recovering, she rose upon her knees,
And begged,
and