"But still a slave!"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the hostess.
"I am not a slave! You know this is the plot of a villain like yourself. The true will has been found."
"Indeed! Is it here?" said Maxwell, with a sneer, for while he had Emily in his power he feared nothing.
"No; but it shall be brought forth in due season."
"Until which time you are a slave; and not only a slave, but my slave," replied Maxwell, with perfect coolness, as he drew from his pocket-book the forged bill of sale.
"Great God, desert me not in this hour of my afflictions!" groaned Emily. This last revelation entirely unnerved her, and exposed in a more terrible light her appalling position. She doubted not the paper she saw in Maxwell's hands was a bill of sale of her person, and that it would establish his claim; for his present purposes seemed too flagrant to be pursued without good authority. Her features, dress and language, she felt, would be no safeguards. She had seen slave-girls as fair and white as herself. She had heard of those who, with scarcely a drop of negro blood in their veins, were educated to pander to the appetite of depravity. She had seen them in the streets of New Orleans, in no manner differing in appearance from, the best-born ladies. Her situation, then, was an awful one.
"Will you read this paper?" continued Maxwell.
"No; like the will, it is a forgery!" replied Emily, determined to die rather than yield herself to the guidance of the attorney.
"It gives me an undeniable right to your person, and you must obey me. The carriage waits in the road."