“Sit down. I’ve something important to communicate,” said the schoolmistress. “You’ve often asked me to whom you are indebted for your support. Learn now that you belong to Mr. Carberry Ratcliff, whom you met here some weeks ago. He is the rich planter whose house and grounds in Lafayette you’ve often admired.”
“Belong to him?” cried Clara. “What do you mean? Am I his daughter? Am I in any way related?”
“No, you’re his slave. He bought you at auction.”
Impulsive as her own mocking-bird by nature, Clara had learned that cruel lesson, which gifted children are often compelled to acquire when subjected to the rule of inferior minds,—the art, namely, of checking and disguising the emotions.
Excepting a quivering of her lips, a flushing of her brow, a slight heaving of her bosom, and a momentary expression as of deadly sickness in her face, she did not betray, by outward signs, the intensity of that feeling of disgust, hate, and indignation which Mrs. Gentry’s communication had aroused.
“Did Mr. Ratcliff request you to inform me that he considered me his slave?” she asked, in a tone which, by a strenuous effort, she divested of all significance.
“Yes; he concluded you are now of an age to understand the responsibilities of your real situation. He not only paid a price for you when you were yet an infant, but he has maintained you ever since. But for him you might have been toiling in the sun on a plantation. But for him you might never have got an education. But for him you might never have heard of salvation through Christ. But for him you might never have had the privilege of attending the Rev. Dr. Palmer’s Sunday school. Is there any sacrifice too great for you to make for such a master? Would it be too much for you to lay down your life for him? Speak!”
Mrs. Gentry, it will be seen, pursued the Socratic method of impressing truth upon her pupils. As Clara made no reply to her interrogatories, she continued: “As your instructress, it has been my object to make you feel sensibly the importance of doing your duty in whatever sphere you may be cast.”
“And what, madame, may be the duty of a slave?” interposed Clara, stifling down and masking the rage of her heart.
“The duty of a slave,” said Mrs. Gentry, “is to obey her master. Prompt and unhesitating obedience, that is her duty.”