"Oh, mother, mother!-what have I
done?-is not God my Saviour?-has he forsaken me?-left me a prey to
those who seek my life?"
"I settle those things," said a voice in the rear, and immediately a
hand grasped her arm, and the knife fell carelessly upon the floor.
It was Graspum; the sudden surprise overcame her; she sank back in
his arms, and swooned. "She swoons,--how limber, how lifeless she
seems!" says Graspum, as with great coolness he calls a negro
attendant, orders him to remove her to the grass plat, and bathe her
well with cold water. "A good dowsing of water is the cure for
fainting niggers," he concludes.
The black man takes her in his arms, and with great kindness, lays
her on the plat, bathes her temples, loosens her dress, and with his
rough hand manipulates her arms. How soft and silky they seem to his
touch! "Him hard to slave ye, miss," he says, laying his hand upon
her temples, gently, as with commiseration he looks intently on her
pallid features.
"Now, Blowers," says Graspum, as soon as they are by themselves,
"what in the name of the Gentiles have you been up to?"
"Wal-can't say its nothin, a'cos that wouldn't do. But, ye see, the
critter made my mouth water so; there was no standin on't! And I
wanted to be civil, and she wouldn't,--and I went t' fumlin with her
hair what looked so inviting, as there was no resistin on't, and she
looked just as sassy as sixty; and to stun the whole, when I only
wanted to kiss them ar' temptin lips, the fool was going to kill
herself.
Pages:
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651