"Ann, dearest, Louise will tell you all. Our dream is broken forever! I am sold; but I shall be a slave no more. Forgive me for what I am going to do. Madness has driven me to it! I love you, even in death I love you. Say farewell to Miss Nancy—I am gone!"
I read it over twice slowly. One scalding tear, large and round, fell upon it! I know not where it came from, for my eyes were dry as a parched leaf.
The note dropped from my hands, almost unnoticed by me. Biddy picked it up, and handed it to Miss Nancy, who read it and fainted. I moved about mechanically; assisted in restoring Miss Nancy to consciousness; chafed her hands and temples; and, when she came to, and burst into a flood of tears, I soothed her and urged that she would not weep or distress herself.
"I wonder that the earth don't open and swallow them," cried the weeping Biddy.
"Hush, Biddy, hush!" I urged.
"They ought to be hung!"
"'Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord,'" I replied.
"Oh, Ann, you are crazy!" she uttered.
And so, in truth, I was. That granite-like composure was a species of insanity. I comprehended nothing that was going on around me. I was in a sort of sleep-waking state, when I asked Louise if she thought they would bury him decently; and gave her a bunch of flowers to place in the coffin.
And so my worst suspicion was realized! Through Lindy came my heaviest blow of affliction! I fear that even now, after the lapse of years, I have not the Christianity to ask, "Father, forgive her, for she knew not what she did!" Lying beside me now, dear, sympathetic reader, is that note—his last brief words. Before writing this chapter I read it over. Old, soiled and worn it was, but by his trembling fingers those blotted and irregular lines were penned; and to me they are precious, though they awaken ten thousand bitter emotions! I look at the note but once a year, and then on the fatal anniversary, which occurs to-day! I have pressed it to my heart, and hearsed it away, not to be re-opened for another year. This is the blackest chapter in my dark life, and you will feel, with me, glad that it is about to close. I have nerved myself for the duty of recording it, and, now that it is over, I sink down faint and broken-hearted beside the accomplished task.