354 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR
THE LITTLE EVANGELIST.
It was Sunday afternoon. St. Clare was stretched on a bamboo lounge in the veranda, solacing himself with a cigar. Marie lay reclined on a sofa, opposite the window opening on the veranda, closely secluded, under an awning of transparent gauze, from the outrages of the mosquitoes, and languidly holding in her hand an elegantly bound prayer-book. She was holding it because it was Sunday, and she imagined she had been reading it, — though, in fact, she had been only taking a succession of short naps, with it open in her hand.
Miss Ophelia, who, after some rummaging, had hunted up a small Methodist meeting within riding distance, had gone out, with Tom as driver, to attend it; and Eva had accompanied them.
" I say, Augustine," said Marie, after dozing awhile, " I must send to the city after my old Dr. Posey; I 'm sure I 've got the complaint of the heart."
" Well; why need you send for him ? This doctor that attends Eva seems skillful."
" I would not trust him in a critical case," said Marie; " and I think I may say mine is becoming so ! I 've been thinking of it, these two or three nights past; I have such distressing pains, and such strange feelings."
" Oh, Marie, you are blue; I don't believe it's heart complaint."
" I dare say you don't," said Marie ; " I was prepared to expect that. You can be alarmed enough, if Eva coughs, or has the least thing the matter with her; but you never think of me."