'How much is the judgment?' I asked.
'Only six hundred; but old —— has it, and he has no mercy. He'll have the money at once, or sell every thing—the negroes—every thing!' and he choked down the heavy groan which half-escaped his lips.
'Have you no produce at home?'
'Yes, about a thousand barrels of rosin; but the river is low. I can't get it down.'
'Well, that's worth five hundred where it is. Any cotton?'
'Only eleven bales—low middling.'
'That's three hundred more. Consider it ours, and draw at ninety days for the whole, judgment and all.'
The woman had risen during this conversation, and stood with her eyes riveted on his face and mine as if her eternal destiny hung on our words. When I made the last remark she staggered toward me and fell, as if dead, at my feet. I brought water from the stream hard by, and we soon restored her to herself. Preston then lifted her from the floor, and placing her tenderly on the bench, said, taking my hand:
'She and her children are very dear to me. You can not understand how much you have done for me. Words are weak—they can not tell you. I will pay you out of the next crop. Meanwhile, I will re-draw and keep it afloat.'
'Do as you like about that. Where is your owner, Phyllis?'