“Away, fiend, and let me die in peace!”
“In peace—no; you shall die as you hab made oders live—in pain! When you can’t hear dis nigga’s voice plainly, he’ll hiss it in at your ear, so it may reach your infernal soul, in de last minutes of you life!”
“Who—who are you?”
“I am Reuben, de son of Esther.”
“Esther!”
“Yes, Esther, your father’s slave. You was de cause ob her death. Do you know me now?”
Rody groaned.
“Dey call me Crookleg, kase I was lame. Who made me lame?”
Still no answer.
“It war you dat put de ball in my leg for sport, when you war a boy, and I war de same. I have been close to you for years, but you didn’t know me. I war too mean—too much below de notice of a proud gentleman like you. But I hab a good memory, and de oath I’d taken to be even wid ye, am kept. My mother war a slave, but she war my mother for all dat, an’ if I war a black man I war still a human bein’, although you and de likes of you didn’t think so. Do you know me now?”