One day Marston had
strong hopes of saving them; but his hopes vanished on the next. The
fair creature, by him made a wretch, seemed before him, on her
bended knees, clasping his hand while imploring him to save her
child. The very thought would have doubly nerved him to action; and
yet, what mattered such action against the force of slavery
injustice? All his exertions, all his pleadings, all his
protestations, in a land where liberty boasts its greatness, would
sink to nothing under the power he had placed in their possession
for his overthrow.
With this fatal scene before him, this indecision, he walked the
streets, resolving and re-resolving, weighing and re-weighing the
consequences, hoping without a chance for hope. He would be a father
as he has been a kind master; but the law says, no! no! Society
forbids right, the law crushes justice,--the justice of heaven!
Marston is like one driven from his home, from the scene of his
happy childhood, upon which he can now only look back to make the
present more painful. He has fallen from the full flow of pleasure
and wealth to the low ebb of poverty clothed in suspicion; he is
homeless, and fast becoming friendless. A few days after, as he
takes his morning walk, he is pointed to the painful fact, made
known through certain legal documents, posted at certain corners of
streets, that his "negro property" is advertised for sale by the
sheriff. He fears his legal notice has done little legal good,
except to the legal gentlemen who receive the costs.
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