Roux clasped his hands and bowed his head. In that instant, Harrington flashed a lightning glance at Emily, so stern, so menacing, so agonized in its look of warning and entreaty, that Emily was confounded. The next second, Roux’s face was raised, and Harrington’s wore an expression of such bland indifference, that Emily could hardly believe she had seen the other.
“We will speak of this another time,” said Harrington. “At present, I think I must go. Shall I see you to the carriage, ladies, or do you remain longer?”
Roux threw himself on his knees, and bending, grovelled at Emily’s feet. Then raising his black face, convulsed, and streaming with tears, he faltered out the broken words of his gratitude.
“I’ll pray for ye, forever and ever, Miss Ames,” he said. “I’ll pray to the Lord for ye, Miss Ames. And the blessing of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, be on ye, Miss Ames. I’ve had a good deal of kindness, but there’s never been no kindness like yours, Miss Ames, an’ I don’t want ye to give away all that money, madam, for it’s a mighty deal of money, though it’s for my brother, Miss Ames, and I’d clean give my life to see my poor brother, madam. And oh, if Master Lafitte will only sell him, if he’s alive, madam, I’ll pray for him too, and for everybody, forever and ever, amen, an’ for you more especial than anybody, for there never was such kindness as yours to a poor, miser’ble, forsaken black man—no, never, never.”
Uncouth words poured forth rapidly in a weak, broken voice, with sobs and tears; but words that blanched the gold and roses of the face that bent with swimming eyes over the bowed and weeping figure on the floor. In the cold, succeeding silence, there was no sound but the dim sobs of Roux. The Captain stood with his features screwed into a hard rigor, gazing at the abject form beneath him. Harrington’s face was wan and rigid, and fixed on vacancy. The two little ones, frightened and almost crying, clung around the stupefied and staring Tugmutton, who sat holding the baby, with the big whites of his eyes glaring at Roux from the ashy pallor of his fat visage.
“Mr. Roux.”
At the gentle, silver tones of Muriel, at the firm touch of her hand on his shoulder, the negro lifted up his bowed head from his breast, and gazed with a haggard, beseeching face, all wet with tears, at the benignant countenance that bent above him. For an instant only, and then rising to his feet, ashamed of his emotion, yet unable to repress it wholly, the poor fellow stood awkwardly wiping away his tears with his rough sleeve, with his breast heaving, and the stertorous sobs still breaking from him.
“It will all be well,” said Muriel, gently. “Do not grieve, Mr. Roux.”
“Yes, Miss Eas’man, I wont; indeed I wont grieve. But sometimes I git desperate, Miss Eas’man,” he faltered. “’Pears sometimes as if everybody was against us colored folks, Miss Eas’man.”
“Cheer up, Roux, we are all your friends here.”