“Ha! the time I been waitin’ for has come at last. It hab been long, but it am come! Do you know war you son Warren am?”
“Thank heaven! away from this, and in safety.”
“Ha! ha! ha! Safe; yes, he am safe enough wid a big bullet through his brain!”
Elias Rody, with an effort, raised himself into a sitting posture, and glared upon the speaker.
“Dead!”
“Yes, dead; and it war me dat bro’t him to it. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Who are you? Has hell let loose its fiends to mock me?”
“Perhaps it have. Who am I? Don’t you know me yet, Rody—Massa Rody?”
“No, devil! I know you not. My son dead—oh, God! what have I done to deserve all this?”
“What hab you done? What hab you not done? You had done ebery ting that de black heart ob a white man do, and de day of recknin’ am come at last. So you don’t know me, don’t you?”