“So she kep’ on moanin’ an’ moanin’, ’til at las’ she seem to take frought, an’ she say, my ole mist’ess say:
“‘Po’ ole Moses, he meant well; he did it all fo’ me! Go to him, Marfar, an’ tell him dat I freely fo’gibs him, for I do.’
“Dat was de way, young marse, as I knowed she didn’t know as my po’ ole man were gone. Yo’ see, arter hearin’ the wuss she mus’ a drop yight down by de bed w’ere I foun’ her, an’ kivered up her head, an’ never moved ’til I come an’ helped her up an’ took her out, an’ so she nebber knowed w’en my po’ ole angel breaved his las’. He mus’ ’a’ ’parted berry peaceful.”
Martha stopped, wiped away a few quiet tears, and resumed:
“I ’suaded my ole mist’ess to lay down, an’ den I made her a cup o’ tea an’ gib her, an’ at las’ I went to my po’ ole man to set long ob him an’ hab my cry out, ’caze I was fillin’ up an’ chokin’ all de time de ole madam was talkin’ an’ moanin’, an’ I didn’t wan’ to let out ’fo’ her. Dat arternoon I did my las’ dooty to my po’ ole man. Dere wa’n’t nobody to do nuffin dat day but me. An’ ef dere’d bin frousan’s, I wouldn’ ’a’ let anybody tech my po’ ole angel but me—no, sah, I wouldn’—not ’til de man wid de coffin came, I wouldn’.”
“And you were alone there with your mistress, without any help?”
“Yes, sah, ’til Mr. Silence Wyn’op come. Some ob dem w’ite folks used to come ebery day. Dey was moughty good to me w’ile my po’ ole man was sick, yit’ letters fo’ me an’ sent good tings to eat fo’ him. Yes, dey did. Dat ebenin’ Mr. Silence he come, an’ w’en he fin’ how it all was yere, he tuk all de ’sponsibility on hisse’f, young Mr. Silence did, an’ had eberyting ’tended to, he did—young Mr. Silence did—an’ my po’ ole angel had as ’spectable a funeral as I could wish—yes, he had. An’ he’s gone to glory, ’caze he were a good angel, an’ nebber frought ’bout hisse’f—no, sah, he didn’t. An’ he’s gone to glory, an’ I won’t be long ’hind him—dat’s wot comfo’ts me mos’ ob all.”
“And your mistress?” inquired Harcourt.
“Oh, w’en I tell her my po ’ole man were gone she were berry sorry—berry sorry fo’ him an’ berry sorry fo’ me, an’ moughty good she was to me; but she nebber lef’ her bed, de ole madam didn’. Eben fo’ de fun’al she seem perfec’ly ’x’austed, an’ she did nuffin but moan an’ groan, an’ mutter ’bout disg’ace.”
“Yet you told me in the beginning of your talk about her that she was happier now than she had been since the death of my father.”