"'I can do nothing for you; go, get your trunk ready, here comes Mr. Atkins for you.'
Henry turned towards the hard trader, and with a face contracted with pain, and eyes raining tears, begged for mercy.
"'Go long you fool of a nigger! an' git ready to go to the pen, without this fuss, or I'll have you tied with ropes, and taken.'
"Henry said no more; I had overheard all from an adjoining room. I tried to avoid him; but he sought me out.
"'Louise,' he said, in a tone which I shall never forget.
"'I have heard all,' was my reply.
"'Will you see Ann for me? Take her a word from me? Tell how it was, Louise; break the news gently to her.' Here he quite gave up, and, sinking into a chair, sobbed and cried like a child.
"'Be a friend to her, Louise; I know that she will need much kindness to sustain her. Thank Miss Nancy for all her kindness; tell her that I blest her before I went. Tell Ann to stay with her, and oh, Louise'—here he wrung his hands in agony—'tell Ann not to grieve for me; but she mustn't forget me. Poor, wretched outcast that I am, I have loved her well! After awhile, when time has softened this blow, she must try to love and be happy with—— No, no, I'll not ask that; only bid her not be wretched;—but give me pen and ink, I'll write just one word to her.'
"I gave him the ink, pen and paper, and he wrote this."
As Louise drew a soiled, blotted paper from her bosom, I eagerly snatched it and read: