“I thank you,” she replied; “but I am much fatigued, and will bid you good morning.”  She rose to leave the room, but turned back and added, with solemn earnestness, “I think it will be a consolation on your death-bed if you do not neglect to fulfil Rosa’s last request.”  She passed into the adjoining room, fastened the door, and threw herself on the couch, utterly exhausted.  How strange and spectral this meeting seemed!  She heard his retreating footsteps without the slightest desire to obtain a last glimpse of his figure.  How entirely he had passed out of her life, he who so lately was all her life!

The next day Rosa wrote as follows to Madame and the Signor:—­

“Dearest and best friends,—­It would take days to explain to you all that has happened since I wrote you that long, happy letter; and at present I have not strength to write much.  When we meet we will talk about it more fully, though I wish to avoid the miserable particulars as far as possible.  The preparations I so foolishly supposed were being made for me were for a rich Northern bride,—­a pretty, innocent-looking little creature.  The marriage with me, it seems, was counterfeit.  When I discovered it, my first impulse was to fly to you.  But a strange illness came over me, and I was oblivious of everything for four months.  My good Tulee and a black woman named Chloe brought me back to life by their patient nursing.  I suppose it was wrong, but when I remembered who and what I was, I felt sorry they didn’t let me go.  I was again seized with a longing to fly to you, who were as father and mother to me and my darling little sister in the days of our first misfortune.  But I was too weak to move, and I am still far from being able to bear the fatigue of such a journey.  Moreover, I am fastened here for the present by another consideration.  Mr. Fitzgerald says he bought us of papa’s creditors, and that I am his slave.  I have entreated him, for the sake of our unborn child, to manumit me, and he has promised to do it.  If I could only be safe in New Orleans, it is my wish to come and live with you, and find some way to support myself and my child.  But I could have no peace, so long as there was the remotest possibility of being claimed as slaves.  Mr. Fitzgerald may not mean that I shall ever come to harm; but he may die without providing against it, as poor papa did.  I don’t know what forms are necessary for my safety.  I don’t understand how it is that there is no law to protect a defenceless woman, who has done no wrong.  I will wait here a little longer to recruit my strength and have this matter settled.  I wish it were possible for you, my dear, good mother, to come to me for two or three weeks in June; then perhaps you could take back with you your poor Rosa and her baby, if their lives should be spared.  But if you cannot come, there is an experienced old negress here, called Granny Nan, who, Tulee says, will take good care of me.  I thank you for your sympathizing, loving