The face and air of Candace presented a curious picture at this moment; a sort of rude sense of delicacy embarrassed her, and she turned a deprecating look, first on Mrs. Marvyn and then on her master.
‘Don’t mind us, Candace,’ said Mrs. Marvyn; ‘tell the Doctor the exact truth.’
Candace stood still a moment, and the spectators saw a deeper shadow roll over her sable face, like a cloud over a dark pool of water, and her immense person heaved with her laboured breathing.
Candace receives her Freedom.
‘Ef I must speak I must,’ she said. ‘No,—I neber did tink ’twas right. When General Washington was here, I hearn ’em read de Declaration ob Independence and Bill o’ Rights; an’ I tole Cato den, says I, “Ef dat ar’ true, you an’ I are as free as anybody.” It stands to reason. Why, look at me,—I a’n’t a critter. I’s neider huffs nor horns. I’s a reasonable bein’,—a woman,—as much a woman as anybody,’ she said, holding up her head with an air as majestic as a palm-tree;—‘an’ Cato,—he’s a man born free an’ equal, ef dar’s any truth in what you read,—dat’s all.’
‘But, Candace, you’ve always been contented and happy with us, have you not?’ said Mr. Marvyn.
‘Yes, Mass’r,—I ha’n’t got nuffin to complain of in dat matter. I couldn’t hab no better friends ’n you an’ Missis.’
‘Would you like your liberty, if you could get it, though?’ said Mr. Marvyn. ‘Answer me honestly.’
‘Why, to be sure I should! Who wouldn’t? Mind ye,’ she said, earnestly raising her black, heavy hand, ‘’ta’n’t dat I want to go off, or want to shirk work; but I want to feel free. Dem dat isn’t free has nuffin to give to nobody;—dey can’t show what dey would do.’