"S'pose I has?"—and in her impatience she began to dance outright.
"It's jus' so with the present hour," he continued, not giving her time to interpose about escape again. "You have liberty offered you. If you refuses, how can you answer for it when your spirit 'pears afore the Judge? You choose him, and you choose righteousness, you chooses the chance to make yourself white in the Lord's eyes,—your spirit, Lome. Refuse, and you take sin and chains and darkness; you gets to deserve the place where they hab their share of fire and brimstone."
"Take mine wid 'lasses," said Flor, who, though inwardly a trifle cowed, never meant to show it. "W'a' 's de use o' boderin' 'bout all dat ar, w'en dar 's Miss Emma a-cotchin' her deff, an' I 's jus' starved? Ef you 's go'n' to help us, Sarp"——
"You don' know what chains means, chil'," said the imperturbable Sarp. "They're none the lighter because you can't see 'em. It a'n't jus' the power to sell your body and the work of your hands; it's the power to sell your soul! Ef Mas'r Henry hab de min',—ef Mas'r Henry have the mind, I say, to make you go wrong, can you help it while you 's a slave?"
"'Taan' no fault o' mine ter be bad, ef I caan' help it. Come now," said Flor sullenly, seeing little hope of respite,—"should t'ink 'twas de Ol' Sarpint hisself!"
"And 'taan' no virtue of yours to be good, ef you caan' help it; you 'd jus' stay put—jus' between—in de brown earth, as you said. You 'd never see that beautiful land beyond the grave, wid the river of light flowing troo der place, an' the people singing songs before the great white t'rone."
"Tell me 'bout dat ar, Sarp," said Flor, forgetfully.
"Dey 's all free there, Lome."
"How was dis dey got dere? Could n' walk nowes, an' could n' fly"——
"Haan' you seen into Miss Emma's prayer-book the angels with wings high and shining all from head to foot?"