"Well, Atkins, a negro-trader down here, on Second street."
"Good gracious!" she cried out; then, turning to me, said, "does Henry know it?"
"I have not seen him." She darted off from us, and we walked on. I hoped that she would not see Henry, for I could not bear to meet him. It would dispossess me of the little forced composure that I had; but, alas! for the fulfilment of my hopes! in the lower hall, with a countenance full of terror, he stood.
"What are you going to do with Ann, Mr. Summerville?" he inquired.
"I have sold her to Atkins, and am now taking her to the pen."
Alas! though his life, his blood, his soul cried out against it, he dared not offer any objection or entreaty; but oh, that hopeless look of brokenness of heart! I see it now, and "it comes over me like the raven o'er the infected house."
"I'll take your trunk round for you, Ann, to-night. It is too heavy for you," and so saying, he kindly removed it from my shoulder. This little act of kindness was the added drop to the already full glass, and my heart overflowed. I wept heartily. His tender, "don't cry, Ann," only made me weep the more; and when I looked up and saw his own eyes full of tears, and his lip quivering with the unspoken pang, I felt (for the slave at least) how wretched a possession is life!
Master William cut short this parting interview, by saying,
"Never mind that trunk, Henry, Ann can carry it very well."
And, as I was about to re-shoulder it, Henry said,