I remembered how he had defrauded my grandmother of the hard earnings she had loaned; how he had tried to cheat her out of the freedom her mistress had promised her, and how he had persecuted her children; and I thought to myself that she was a better Christian than I was, if she could entirely forgive him.  I cannot say, with truth, that the news of my old master’s death softened my feelings towards him.  There are wrongs which even the grave does not bury.  The man was odious to me while he lived, and his memory is odious now.

His departure from this world did not diminish my danger.  He had threatened my grandmother that his heirs should hold me in slavery after he was gone; that I never should be free so long as a child of his survived.  As for Mrs. Flint, I had seen her in deeper afflictions than I supposed the loss of her husband would be, for she had buried several children; yet I never saw any signs of softening in her heart.  The doctor had died in embarrassed circumstances, and had little to will to his heirs, except such property as he was unable to grasp.  I was well aware what I had to expect from the family of Flints; and my fears were confirmed by a letter from the south, warning me to be on my guard, because Mrs. Flint openly declared that her daughter could not afford to lose so valuable a slave as I was.

I kept close watch of the newspapers for arrivals; but one Saturday night, being much occupied, I forgot to examine the Evening Express as usual.  I went down into the parlor for it, early in the morning, and found the boy about to kindle a fire with it.  I took it from him and examined the list of arrivals.  Reader, if you have never been a slave, you cannot imagine the acute sensation of suffering at my heart, when I read the names of Mr. and Mrs. Dodge, at a hotel in Courtland Street.  It was a third-rate hotel, and that circumstance convinced me of the truth of what I had heard, that they were short of funds and had need of my value, as they valued me; and that was by dollars and cents.  I hastened with the paper to Mrs. Bruce.  Her heart and hand were always open to every one in distress, and she always warmly sympathized with mine.  It was impossible to tell how near the enemy was.  He might have passed and repassed the house while we were sleeping.  He might at that moment be waiting to pounce upon me if I ventured out of doors.  I had never seen the husband of my young mistress, and therefore I could not distinguish him from any other stranger.  A carriage was hastily ordered; and, closely veiled, I followed Mrs. Bruce, taking the baby again with me into exile.  After various turnings and crossings, and returnings, the carriage stopped at the house of one of Mrs. Bruce’s friends, where I was kindly received.  Mrs. Bruce returned immediately, to instruct the domestics what to say if any one came to inquire for me.

It was lucky for me that the evening paper was not burned up before I had a chance to examine the list of arrivals.  It was not long after Mrs. Bruce’s return to her house, before several people came to inquire for me.  One inquired for me, another asked for my daughter Ellen, and another said he had a letter from my grandmother, which he was requested to deliver in person.