“Yes, ’Lizy; but—”
“Ain’t he the one that made you haul him in the wheelbar’, an’ whipped you because you couldn’t go fast enough?”
“Yes, yes; but that—”
“Ain’t he the one that lef’ that scar there?” she cried, with a sudden motion of her hand toward his neck.
“Yes,” said Nelse, very quietly; but he put his hand up and felt the long, cruel scar that the lash of a whip had left, and a hard light came into his eyes.
His wife went on: “An’ you want to take me an’ the childern in to see that man? No!” The word came with almost a snarl. “Me an’ my childern are free born, an’, ef I kin help it, they sha’n’t never look at the man that laid the lash to their father’s back! Shame on you, Nelse, shame on you, to want your childern, that you’re tryin’ to raise independent,—to want ’em to see the man that you had to call ‘master’!”
The man’s lips quivered, and his hand opened and shut with a convulsive motion; but he said nothing.
“What did you tell me?” she asked. “Didn’t you say that if you ever met him again in this world you’d—”
“Kill him!” burst forth the man; and all the old, gentle look had gone out of his face, and there was nothing but fierceness and bitterness there, as his mind went back to his many wrongs.
“Go on away from the house, ’Lizy,” he said hoarsely; “if anything happens, I do’ want you an’ the childern around.”