"Lawrence looked at me steadily while the old man was speaking, so steadily, that I felt the hot blood rush to my face. Mr. Dennison observed this, and went on triumphing in the love he so truly believed to be his.
"'You see, my friend, how the very remembrance of that sweet confession bathes her face with blushes. She had taken a fancy to the old fellow long before a younger rival could think of entering the field against him, and married him for true love only, not because he was considered the richest planter in this district. She was innocent as a lamb, and as disinterested.'
"'Oh, Mr. Dennison,' I broke forth, 'do not talk about these things, they only weary Mr. Lawrence.'
"'Certainly not. I am deeply interested in everything that makes the happiness or misery of my friend,' said Lawrence, coldly.
"'Ah, she is too modest, I have always told her so, and far too careless about her own interests. Why, would you believe it, Lawrence, I could not get her to look into the state of my property, and learn how much or how little might hereafter come to her. She did not marry my property, but my own dear self; these were her very words, and for such words you cannot blame me if I adore her.'
"I felt myself glowing with shame. If I had ever used such words, it was when this old man seemed the only refuge left to me in my utter desolation. Perhaps I said them and felt them just then, for quiet home, protection, and a shelter were all I asked or hoped for in life; but now, with that man drinking in every word, I felt such protestations as a bitter humiliation.
"I arose to go. The conversation had become unbearable. I felt my lips quiver, and tears of intense mortification gathering to my eyes.
"Lawrence came toward me a step or two, and then retreated, for Mr. Dennison had given me his arm, and I left the room, bowed down with humiliation, and burning with shame. Why would the old man talk of me as he did? Even if I had loved him, it would have been embarrassing; as it was, all the pride of my nature rose up in revolt against him. At the foot of the stairs I dropped his arm, and insisted on going up alone. He seemed astonished and a little hurt. How would it have been had I dared to express all the rage that was struggling in my bosom?
"Cora was waiting for me. Poor girl! she had been sadly shocked by the abrupt account of my danger, which Tom had repeated to every one he met. She is a wayward creature, and at times, I really believe, hates herself with bitter detestation for the black tinge which taints every drop of blood in her veins. Never in my whole life have I seen a human being so sensitive. No matter to her that she is beautiful, and that even the blacks look upon her as apart from themselves, this bitter truth is always uppermost in her mind. She has black blood in her veins, and she was born a slave. I remember how this beautiful girl hated her mother, because it was through her that the taint and the bonds came. One would have thought this wretched woman was the slave of her own child, for one was made to feel all the degradation of her lot, and the other was, to a certain extent, lifted out of it, from the day she was given to me—a child myself—as my especial maid. How it used to amuse my father when this colored child would domineer over and scorn her own mother.
"Sometimes I think Cora is seized with a venomous dislike of myself. I do not wonder at it. In her way, she is quite as beautiful as I ever was, and as for talent, the girl surpasses me in everything. Her industry is untiring, her perceptions quick as lightning. In some other country she might marry well, and take rank in social life scarcely second to my own. Sometimes I think her ambition turns that way, for she is constantly teasing me to take her to Europe. I only wish it were in my power, for I love the poor girl dearly, and should rejoice to see her lifted out of the pitiful condition that all of her race must occupy here, bond or free, for at least a century to come.