“Yes, Pompey, I am going if nothing happens to prevent me, as I have a great mystery to solve and I cannot do it if I stay here.”
“Why Massa, de ’riginal ob dat picture is dead; Massa told Missus so; I heard him tell her.”
“My man, there is a mystery about it and I must find it out!” exclaimed the young man in a decisive tone.
He placed the papers carefully back and handed the box to his servant, saying, “Keep this carefully, Pompey, as by and by the papers will be of great importance to me.”
“I will do as you tells me,” answered the servant, taking the box from his young master’s hand.
Many injunctions were given for the future, then each one returned to his respective chamber, but not to sleep, as Pompey was thinking of his young master, who was going away early the next morning and would not tell him where he was going or when he should hear from him.
“Poor soul, I’s afraid he will neber come back. Oh, how I lub dat boy. May de good Lawd watch ober him and keep him from bad company!”
Thus the negro mused until daylight dawned.
Paul threw himself on the bed but could not sleep. He was deeply troubled as he lay thinking of his mother’s troubles, the mortgage, and lastly of his journey on the morrow, and as morning dawned he had made up his mind where he should go.
“I do not care; I will take the stage for New York and trust to Providence for the rest.”