"Harry!"
"Yes, Lisette, you may well open your eyes," said Harry, rising involuntarily; "I'm Colonel Gordon's oldest son! Let me have the comfort of saying it once, if I never do again."
"Harry, who told you?"
"He told me, Lisette—he, himself, told me, when he was dying, and charged me always to watch over her; and I have done it! I never told Miss Nina; I wouldn't have her told for the world. It wouldn't make her love me; more likely it would turn her against me. I've seen many a man sold for nothing else but looking too much like his father, or his brothers and sisters. I was given to her, and my sister and my mother went out to Mississippi with Miss Nina's aunt."
"I never heard you speak of this sister, Harry. Was she pretty?"
"Lisette, she was beautiful, she was graceful, and she had real genius. I've heard many singers on the stage that could not sing, with all their learning, as she did by nature."
"Well, what became of her?"
"Oh, what becomes of such women always, among us! Nursed, and petted, and caressed; taught everything elegant, nothing solid. Why, the woman meant well enough that had the care of her,—Mrs. Stewart, Colonel Gordon's sister,—but she couldn't prevent her son's wanting her, and taking her, for his mistress; and when she died there she was."
"Well."
"When George Stewart had lived with her two or three years, he was taken with small-pox. You know what perfect horror that always creates. None of his white acquaintances and friends would come near his plantation; the negroes were all frightened to death, as usual; overseer ran off. Well, then Cora Gordon's blood came up; she nursed him all through that sickness. What's more, she had influence to keep order on the place; got the people to getting the cotton crops themselves, so that when the overseer came sneaking back, things hadn't all gone to ruin, as they might have done. Well, the young fellow had more in him than some of them do; for when he got well he left his plantation, took her up to Ohio, and married her, and lived with her there."