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Adams, F. Colburn (Francis Colburn)

"Our World, Or, the Slaveholder's Daughter"

The paper was a bail writ,
demanding the body of the accused. The officer serving had been kind
enough to allow Marston his parole of honour until the next morning.
He granted this in accordance with Marston's request, that by the
lenity he might see Daddy Bob and Franconia once more.
Lifting Franconia in his arms, her hair falling loosely down,
Marston lays her gently on the cot, and commences bathing her
temples. He has nothing but water to bathe them with,--nothing but
poverty's liquid. The old negro, frightened at the sudden change
that has come over his young missus, falls to rubbing and kissing
her hands,--he has no other aid to lend. Marston has drawn his chair
beside her, sits down upon it, unbuttons her stomacher, and
continues bathing and chafing her temples. How gently heaves that
bosom so full of fondness, how marble-like those features, how
pallid but touchingly beautiful that face! Love, affection, and
tenderness, there repose so calmly! All that once gave out so much
hope, so much joy, now withers before the blighting sting of
misfortune. "Poor child, how fondly she loves me!" says Marston,
placing his right arm under her head, and raising it gently. The
motion quickens her senses-she speaks; he kisses her pallid
cheek-kisses and kisses it. "Is it you uncle?" she whispers. She has
opened her eyes, stares at Marston, then wildly along the ceiling.
"Yes, I'm in uncle's arms; how good!" she continues, as if fatigued.
Reclining back on the pillow, she again rests her head upon his arm.


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