"
Franconia arranges her dress as best she can, adjusts her bonnet,
embraces Marston, imprints a fond kiss on his cheek, reluctantly
relinquishes his hand, whispers a last word of consolation, and bids
him good night,--a gentle good night-in sorrow.
She has gone, and the old slave is her guide, her human watch-dog.
Slowly Marston paces the silent chamber alone, giving vent to his
pent-up emotions. What may to-morrow bring forth? runs through his
wearied mind. It is but the sudden downfall of life, so inseparable
from the planter who rests his hopes on the abundance of his human
property. But the slave returns, and relieves him of his musings. He
has seen his young missus safe to her door; he has received her kind
word, and her good, good night! Entering the chamber with a smile,
he sets about clearing away the little things, and, when done, draws
his seat close to Marston, at the fire-place. As if quite at home
beside his old master, he eyes Marston intently for some time,--seems
studying his thoughts and fears. At length the old slave commences
disclosing his feelings. His well-worn bones are not worth a large
sum; nor are the merits of his worthy age saleable;--no! there is
nothing left but his feelings, those genuine virtues so happily
illustrated. Daddy Bob will stand by mas'r, as he expresses it, in
power or in prison. Kindness has excited all that vanity in Bob so
peculiar to the negro, and by which he prides himself in the prime
value of his person.
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