Jack hastened out—and his mistress remained for a few minutes, with her hands pressed to her heart, repeating to herself, with agonizing earnestness—
“Would—oh!—would to Heaven, I too, might go.” Soon she started, as with sudden recollection, and hurried off to write the pass, and the directions about the road. And when in less than half an hour Jack appeared before her again, she was ready for him. “Here,” she said, “is your pass, and written directions, lest you should forget what I tell you.”
“Nebber fear me forgettin’, mist’ess, dear.”
“You must take the road to Alexandria, which is seventy miles from here. When you reach that town, take the ferry-boat and cross the Potomac to the Maryland side. Then inquire your road to the village of Benedict, on the Patuxent, which is thirty or forty miles further down the country. When you reach the village, ask the way to St. Leonard’s. Arrived at your journey’s end, find Colonel Wadsworth, or Major Stuart, or Captain Miller, show your pass and tell your errand, and they will direct you where to find your master. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mist’ess.”
“All this that I have told you is written down here on this piece of parchment; take care of it, lest you should forget, and lose your way.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be berry cautiencious.”
“And now listen to me, Jack;” her voice broke down, some emotion seemed struggling in her bosom for expression—she quelled it and went on—“When you find your master, write to me at once; thank Heaven I taught you to write! write then to me at once, and tell me how he is. Will you promise me that?”
“Faithful, mist’ess—faithful.”
“And, Jack, when you have once found him, be faithful unto death to him. Never leave him. Nurse him, wait on him, watch over him day and night—do so, if you love him, Jack;” again the inward struggle choked her voice, and when she resumed, it was with broken and faltering accents, “and, Jack, attend—take this note—and when his fever is off—mind you, when he is calm—give it to him.”