“I am thankful that I do not despise him,” I replied.

He raised his hand to strike me; but it fell again.  I don’t know what arrested the blow.  He sat down, with lips tightly compressed.  At last he spoke.  “I came here,” said he, “to make you a friendly proposition; but your ingratitude chafes me beyond endurance.  You turn aside all my good intentions towards you.  I don’t know what it is that keeps me from killing you.”  Again he rose, as if he had a mind to strike me.

But he resumed.  “On one condition I will forgive your insolence and crime.  You must henceforth have no communication of any kind with the father of your child.  You must not ask any thing from him, or receive any thing from him.  I will take care of you and your child.  You had better promise this at once, and not wait till you are deserted by him.  This is the last act of mercy I shall show towards you.”

I said something about being unwilling to have my child supported by a man who had cursed it and me also.  He rejoined, that a woman who had sunk to my level had no right to expect any thing else.  He asked, for the last time, would I accept his kindness?  I answered that I would not.

“Very well,” said he; “then take the consequences of your wayward course.  Never look to me for help.  You are my slave, and shall always be my slave.  I will never sell you, that you may depend upon.”

Hope died away in my heart as he closed the door after him.  I had calculated that in his rage he would sell me to a slave-trader; and I knew the father of my child was on the watch to buy me.

About this time my uncle Phillip was expected to return from a voyage.  The day before his departure I had officiated as bridesmaid to a young friend.  My heart was then ill at ease, but my smiling countenance did not betray it.  Only a year had passed; but what fearful changes it had wrought!  My heart had grown gray in misery.  Lives that flash in sunshine, and lives that are born in tears, receive their hue from circumstances.  None of us know what a year may bring forth.

I felt no joy when they told me my uncle had come.  He wanted to see me, though he knew what had happened.  I shrank from him at first; but at last consented that he should come to my room.  He received me as he always had done.  O, how my heart smote me when I felt his tears on my burning cheeks!  The words of my grandmother came to my mind,—­“Perhaps your mother and father are taken from the evil days to come.”  My disappointed heart could now praise God that it was so.  But why, thought I, did my relatives ever cherish hopes for me?  What was there to save me from the usual fate of slave girls?  Many more beautiful and more intelligent than I had experienced a similar fate, or a far worse one.  How could they hope that I should escape?

My uncle’s stay was short, and I was not sorry for it.  I was too ill in mind and body to enjoy my friends as I had done.  For some weeks I was unable to leave my bed.  I could not have any doctor but my master, and I would not have him sent for.  At last, alarmed by my increasing illness, they sent for him.  I was very weak and nervous; and as soon as he entered the room, I began to scream.  They told him my state was very critical.  He had no wish to hasten me out of the world, and he withdrew.