And he gazed fondly in her face. He noticed that her cheek was pale, and her countenance pensive, but hoped that it was from the excitement of the night before. He could not bear to think of its being regret for Frank. He feared to ask her the cause of her seriousness. He disliked to recall Frank in any manner to her recollection. He wished her to forget him, if possible. At least, he would do so.
“Zuleime,” he said, after he had stroked her hair some time, “you know, my love, that your aunt Cabell, and your cousins, are going back to Richmond to-day.”
“Are they, sir? I did not know it,” said Zuleime, turning paler, with apprehension of something that might be coming.
“Yes, my dear, they are. And, Zuleime—” here he paused—then he went on, “you have been thinking, I suppose, that you should have to return with them, to enter upon your school duties again, as the first of September is so near.”
“I had not thought of it, sir! So many things happening, put it out of my head. But I am quite willing to go, and can be ready in half an hour.”
“Thank you, my dear child. I am very glad to see you so prompt to oblige me; but, my dear Zuleime, I have good news for you.”
“Good news, sir?”
“Yes, girl! the best news! the very best news! news that young ladies always rejoice to hear!”
“What news, sir?” she asked, fearfully.
“Don’t whine, girl! it is not your sentence of death! It is your deed of emancipation! Your ‘free papers,’ as the niggers would say. You are not to return to school any more! Are you not surprised? Are you not rejoiced now?”