The motion was her last. She sank into the faithful arms that encircled her. The one attenuated chord that bound her to the mortal life had been snapped.
Ratcliff started forward, and satisfied himself that his wife was really dead. Then he looked up at Clara.
She caught the expression of his countenance, and instinctively comprehended it, even as the little bird understands the hawk, or the lamb the wolf. Josephine saw it too. What a triumph now to think that she was no longer his slave!
But Clara,—what of her? Mrs. Ratcliff’s sudden death seemed to shatter the last barrier between her and danger.
Ratcliff did not affect to conceal his satisfaction. Here was a double victory! The Federals and his wife both disposed of in one day! Youth and beauty within his grasp! Truly, fortune seemed to be heaping her good things upon him. That half a million too, in Winslow’s hands, would come very opportunely; for slaves could be bought cheap, dog-cheap, now that croakers were predicting ruin to the institution.
“Josephine,” said he, “I must go at once to see Winslow, the late”—how readily he seized on that word!—“the late Mrs. Ratcliff’s man of business. I may not be home to dinner. You’d better not take out the carriage. The horses would be frightened; for the streets are all in commotion with salvos for our great victory. Good by till I return.”
Once more he turned on Clara that look from which she had twice before shrunk dismayed and exasperated.
After he had gone, “Help me to escape at once!” she exclaimed.
“No,” replied Josephine. “This is our safest place for the present. The avenues of escape from the city are all closed; and we should find it difficult to go where we would not be tracked. The danger is not immediate. Do not look so wild, Darling. I swear to you that I will protect you to the last. Whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge.”