Mrs. Delano told him she didn’t see how she could help him, but she would think about it; and Flora, with a sideway inclination of the head toward her, gave Tom an expressive glance, which he understood as a promise to persuade her.  He urged the matter no further, but asked what time it was.  Being told it was near nine o’clock, he said he must hasten to Chloe, for it was not allowable for negroes to be in the street after that hour.

He had scarcely closed the door, before Mrs. Delano said, “If Chloe is sold, I must buy her.”

“I thought you would say so,” rejoined Flora.

A discussion then took place as to ways and means, and a strictly confidential letter was written to a lawyer from the North, with whom Mrs. Delano was acquainted, requesting him to buy the woman and her children for her, if they were to be sold.

It happened fortunately that a steamer was going to New Orleans the next day.  Just as they were going on board, a negro woman with two children came near, and, dropping a courtesy, said:  “Skuse, Missis.  Dis ere’s Chloe.  Please say Ise yer nigger!  Do, Missis!”

Flora seized the black woman’s hand, and pressed it, while she whispered:  “Do, Mamita!  They’re going to sell her, you know.”

She took the children by the hand, and hurried forward without waiting for an answer.  They were all on board before Mrs. Delano had time to reflect.  Tom was nowhere to be seen.  On one side of her stood Chloe, with two little ones clinging to her skirts, looking at her imploringly with those great fervid eyes, and saying in suppressed tones, “Missis, dey’s gwine to sell me away from de chillen”; and on the other side was Flora, pressing her hand, and entreating, “Don’t send her back, Mamita!  She was so good to poor Rosa.”

“But, my dear, if they should trace her to me, it would be a very troublesome affair,” said the perplexed lady.

“They won’t look for her in New Orleans.  They’ll think she’s gone North,” urged Flora.

During this whispered consultation, Mr. Jacobs approached with some of their baggage.  Mrs. Delano stopped him, and said:  “When you register our names, add a negro servant and her two children.”

He looked surprised, but bowed and asked no questions.  She was scarcely less surprised at herself.  In the midst of her anxiety to have the boat start, she called to mind her former censures upon those who helped servants to escape from Southern masters, and she could not help smiling at the new dilemma in which she found herself.

The search in New Orleans availed little.  They alighted from their carriage a few minutes to look at the house where Flora was born.  She pointed out to Mrs. Delano the spot whence her father had last spoken to her on that merry morning, and the grove where she used to pelt him with oranges; but neither of them cared to enter the house, now that everything was so changed.  Madame’s house was occupied