Clara paused a moment, and sat looking with clasped hands at the keys. Then, after a delicate prelude, she gave that song of Pestal, already quoted.[[30]] She gave it with her whole soul, as if a personal wrong were adding intensity to the defiance of her tones.
Kenrick, wrought to a state of sympathy which he could not disguise, had taken a seat where he could watch her features while she sang. When she had finished, she covered her face with her hands, then, finding her emotion uncontrollable, rose and passed out of the room.
“What do you think of that, Charles?” asked Onslow.
“It was terrible,” said Kenrick. “I wanted to kill a slaveholder while she sang.”
“But she has the powers of a prima donna,” said Onslow, turning to Laura.
“Yes, one would think she had practised for the stage.”
Clara now returned with a countenance placid and smiling.
“How long do you stay in New Orleans, Miss Brown?” inquired Onslow.
“How long, Laura?” asked Clara.
“A week or two.”