The first recognizable person whom I met was Mr. Winston. I knew there was but little to hope for from him, for ever since the argument between himself and Mr. Trueman, he had appeared unusually haughty; and the waiters said that he had become excessively overbearing, that he was constantly knocking them around with his gold-headed cane, and swearing that Kentucky slaves were almost as bad as Northern free negroes.
Henry (who had become a most dear friend of mine) told me that Mr. Winston had on one or two occasions, without the slightest provocation, struck him severely over the head; but these things were pretty generally done in the presence of Mr. Trueman, and for no higher object, I honestly believe, than to annoy that pure-souled philanthropist. So I was assured that he was not one to entrust with my secret, especially as a great intimacy had sprung up between him and Miss Jane. I, therefore, hastily passed him, and a few steps on met Mr. Trueman. How serene appeared his chaste, marble face! Who that looked upon him, with his quiet, reflective eye, but knew that an angel sat enthroned within his bosom? Do not such faces help to prove the perfectibility of the race? If, as the transcendentalists believe, these noble characters are only types of what the whole man will be, may we not expect much from the advent of that dubious personage?
"Mr. Trueman," I said, and my voice was clear and unfaltering, for something in his face and manner exorcised all fear, "I have done a fearful deed."
"What, child?" he asked, and his eye was full of solicitude.
I then gave him a hurried account of what had occurred in the cellar. After a slight pause, he said:
"The best thing for you to do will be to make instant confession to Mr. Summerville. Alas! I fear it will go hard with you, for you are a slave."
I thanked him for the interest he had manifested in me, and passed on to Miss Jane's room. I paused one moment at the door, before turning the knob. What a variety of feelings were at work in my breast! Had I a fellow-creature's blood upon my hands? I trembled in every limb, but at length controlled myself sufficiently to enter.
There sat Miss Jane, engaged at her crochet-work, and Master William playing with the balls of cotton and silk in her little basket.
"Well, Ann, I trust you've got your just deserts, a good whipping," said Miss Jane, as she fixed her eyes upon me.
Very calmly I related all that had occurred. Mr. Summerville sprang to his feet and rushed from the room, whilst Miss Jane set up a series of screams loud enough to reach the most distant part of the house. All my services were required to keep her from swooning, or affecting to swoon.