"Lors, Sarp!" cried Flor, shrinking from the shallow grave she had not seen, "how's I to know dat?"—and she gave herself safe distance.
"Help me yere, then," said he.
But Flor remained immovable, and Sarp was obliged to perform by himself the last offices for the old slave, who, living out his term of harassments and hungers, had grown gray and died in the swamps. He went at last and brought an armful of broken sweet-flowering boughs and spread them over the place.
"Free among the dead," he said; then turned to Flor, who, having long since seen daylight through the darkness of her fears, proceeded glibly and volubly to pour out her troubles, on his beckoning her away, and to demand the help she had refused to render.
"There's the boat," said Sarp, reflectively. "And the rain will float it 'most anywheres to-night. But—come so far and troo so much to go back?"
Flor flung up her face and held her head back proudly.
"Yes, Sah! Doan' s'pose I'd be stealin' Mas'r Henry's niggers?"
For, having meditated upon it an hour ago, she was able to repel the charge vigorously.
"Go'n' to stay a slave all your life?"
"All Miss Emma's life."