"I do not understand, but perhaps you do not care to speak of it," he answered, as if puzzled by her manner and disturbed look.
"No there is nothing to hide. Our leaving grew out of an intolerable dislike of the surroundings of my home life that I had when a girl. I need not tell you what it was. Perhaps I was not justified, but when John asked me to marry him I refused unless he would come North. How could he, though? He had his father's plantation and the care of its slaves; and so he pleaded with me, but though I loved him, I would not yield. Thus weeks and months passed, he urging and I refusing, always with tears. Finally my mother, who knew of my reasons and how firmly I could cling to them, thought of a way out of our trouble. It was this: We were to marry and continue on, but if we had children, so she planned, we were, before any of them came of age, to leave the South and come North. To this we agreed, and gladly, for we loved each other devotedly, as we have to this day and will to the end." Here stopping, her face clouded again, as if some dire thought obtruded itself upon her to disturb her happiness and peace of mind.
"How strange; and yet I do not know that I should say that," he answered, after a while, "for others have done the same before and will probably to the end"; and ceasing to speak, his face showed in its lowering depths a trace of fear as of a vision of some far-off time when a nation should look upon slavery with her eyes and stand firm as she had stood. "Are you satisfied you have acted for the best?" he went on presently. "Your daughters will find the new life far different from the old, I fear."
At this reference Mrs. Singleton turned to her children, but they had long since gone to some other part of the boat. Facing her companion again, her eyes filled with tears, which she sought in vain to restrain; and seeing this and her deep agitation, I made as if I would go, but looking at me, she invited me to remain. Whether it was she felt the need of so soft a creature as I, or for some other reason, I know not, but plainly she asked me by her look to stay, and so believing, I sat still.
"I am not disturbed by that, Jefferson," she went on. "Their new life will give them self-reliance and strength. The hardships, I care nothing for. Besides, we were prepared to meet and lessen these, but it is in this that all my expectations have gone astray," the good lady concluded, sobs choking her utterance.
"In what way, madam, may I ask, if I do not obtrude myself upon you?" he asked, with the affection a son might show.
"Oh, can I tell you, or ought I to! Yet every one will know it soon. Yes, I must and will, and oh, Jefferson, I beseech you, for the love our families have borne each other for a hundred years, save my husband! save him from himself!" Saying which, she arose and threw herself on her knees before him, tears streaming in torrents down her sad face.
"My God, madam, rise, I beg of you!" he answered, lifting her up. "What danger menaces him? You know I would risk my life to save you or your family! I have not seen Mr. Singleton since I came aboard. What is the matter, and how can I serve him or you?" he concluded, his voice agitated so as to be hardly distinguishable.
"John has always been a devoted husband, and in everything regardful of me and our children, until the last few days. Now he is no longer himself," she answered, striving to control her emotion. "He has changed in everything. A demon has possession of him, follows him, tempts him, lures him on and on—in the morning, in the afternoon, in the night, never leaving him. Oh, my poor John! He has scarce spoken a word to me since we started. Save him, Jefferson, save him from the wretch who is ruining him body and soul! Surely men ought not to stand by and see such things. Oh, my poor husband! my poor children!" the lady concluded, burying her tear-stained face in her hands.
"Pray be calm, madam, I beseech you, and tell me what is the matter, and how I can aid you."