Her's
is a single-hearted sincerity, dispensing its goodness for the
benefit of the needy; she suppresses her own troubles that she may
administer consolation to others. "The affection that refuses to
follow misfortune to its lowest step is weak indeed. If you go to
prison, Franconia will follow you there," she says, with touching
pathos, her musical voice adding strength to the resolution. Blended
with that soft angelic expression her eyes give forth, her calm
dignity and inspiring nobleness show how firm is that principle of
her nature never to abandon her old friend.
The old negro, who had seemed absorbed in his sympathetic
reflections, gazes steadfastly at his old master, until his emotions
spring forth in kindest solicitude. Resistance is beyond his power.
"Neber mind, old mas'r," (he speaks in a devoted tone) "dar's better
days comin, bof fo' old Bob and mas'r. Tink 'um sees de day when de
old plantation jus so 't was wid mas'r and da' old folks."
Concluding in a subdued voice, he approaches Franconia, and seats
himself, book in hand, on the floor at her feet. Moved by his
earnestness, she lays her hand playfully upon his head, saying:
"Here is our truest friend, uncle!"
"My own heart lubs Miss Frankone more den eber," he whispers in
return. How pure, how holy, is the simple recompense! It is nature's
only offering, all the slave can give; and he gives it in the bounty
of his soul.
Marston's grief having subsided, he attempts to soothe Franconia's
feelings, by affecting an air of indifference.
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