"Two years have passed; how changed!" she exclaims, as if rousing
from a reverie: "I would not be surprised if he brought bad
tidings."
The postman has reached the gate and delivered a letter, which the
servant quickly bears to her hand. She grasps it anxiously, as if
recognising the superscription; opens it nervously; reads the
contents. It is from Franconia, interceding with her in behalf of
her uncle and the two children, in the following manner:--"My
dearest Friend,
"Can I appeal to one whose feelings are more ready to be enlisted in
a good cause? I think not. I wish now to enlist your feelings in
something that concerns myself. It is to save two interesting
children-who, though our eyes may at times be blinded to facts, I
cannot forget are nearly allied to me by birth and association-from
the grasp of slavery. Misfortune never comes alone; nor, in this
instance, need I recount ours to you. Of my own I will say but
little; the least is best. Into wedlock I have been sold to one it
were impossible for me to love; he cannot cherish the respect due to
my feelings. His associations are of the coarsest, and his heartless
treatment beyond my endurance. He subjects me to the meanest
grievances; makes my position more degraded than that of the slave
upon whom he gratifies his lusts. Had my parents saved me from such
a monster-I cannot call him less-they would have saved me many a
painful reflection. As for his riches-I know not whether they really
exist-they are destined only to serve his lowest passions.
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