“Yes, missus, and I don’t know what’ll come of poor Hasty when she knows it.  She was here dis morning, and said that you had gone to Massa Nelson’s, and was going to try to get me off; but I knowed how it would be; but I couldn’t bar to cast her down when she was so hopeful like, so I didn’t tell her I was sold.  O Missus Jennings! do please comfort de poor soul, she’s so sick and weak, she can hardly bar up.  I used to give her all the arnings I got from people, but I can’t give her any more.  O Lord! it comes nigh breakin’ me down when I think of it,” said Mark, the big tears coursing down his face.

“Don’t cry, Mark,” said little Bell, “Eddie and I will save up our money, and by the time we are big, we’ll have enough to buy you; then I’ll send Eddie down to bring you home.”

“Yes,” said Eddie, “and mamma will give us many a picayune, when we tell her what it’s for.”

Mrs. Jennings had been an interested spectator of the scene, and would have remained longer with Mark, to comfort him; but as it was after the dinner hour, she feared Mrs. Nelson would be anxious about the children, so she told them it was time to go, and that they must part with Mark.

“Well, Mark, if we must go,” said the children, throwing their arms around his neck, “Good by.”

“Good by, dear children,” he said, “and please be kind to my poor little Fanny, that will soon have no father.”

“We will,” they answered, as they sadly passed from the yard.

CHAPTER IV.

The following morning that sun rose warm and bright.  All was bustle and excitement on the levee.  Its broad top was crowded with drays and cabs conveying the freight and passengers to and from the steamboats, that lay compactly wedged together at its edge.

About ten o’clock the bell of the “Aldon Adams” announced that its time for starting had come.  The cabs threaded their way through the piles of goods and bales of cotton to the plank, and delivered their loads of travelers flitting to the sunny South.  The last package of freight was being carried aboard, and everything was ready for the start.  But all who are going have not arrived.  A sad procession is marching down to the boat.  It is M’Affee’s gang! the men handcuffed, the women and children walking double file, though not fettered.  A little apart from the rest we recognise Mark, and by his side walks Hasty.  Little is said by either, but O! they feel the more.  At last they reached the plank that was to separate them forever, yes, forever.

At that same spot farewells had been exchanged; farewells, sad and tearful.  Yet amid these tears, and with this sadness, hope whispered of a glad meeting in the future—­of a joyful reunion.  But here there was no such hope.  Each felt that for them all was despair.  Hark! the shrill whistle and the impatient puffing of the steam, tell them they must part.  The rest have taken their places on the deck, and they too are standing on the levee alone.