“God bless me!—­Captain Wallingford come to life, as I live!”

It was old Jared Jones, the man who had been miller at Clawbonny from my infancy to the day I left home.  I had supposed him to be at work there still; but the look he gave me—­the tears that I could see were forcing themselves from his eyes—­his whole manner, indeed,—­gave me at once to understand that all was not right.  My countenance, rather than my tongue, demanded an explanation.  Jared understood me, and we walked together towards the Battery; leaving Marble and Neb to proceed with the luggage to the modest lodgings in which we had proposed to hide ourselves until I had time to look about me—­a house frequented by Moses for many years.

“You perceive I do not return home, Jared, in precisely the condition in which I went abroad.  My ship and cargo are both lost, and I come among you, now, a poor man, I fear.”

“We were afraid that something of the sort must have happened, or such bad news would never have reached Clawbonny, sir.  Some of your men got back months ago and they brought the tidings that the Dawn was captivated by the English.  From that hour, I think, Mr. Hardinge gave the matter up.  The worst news, however, for us,—­that of your death excepted,—­was that of the mortgage on Clawbonny.”

“The mortgage on Clawbonny!  Has anything been done in connection with that?”

“Lord bless you, my dear Mr. Miles, it has been foreclosed, under the statue I believe they call it; and it was advertised to be sold three months.  Then, when it was sold, how much do you think the place, mill and all, actually brought?  Just give a guess, sir?”

“Brought!  Clawbonny is then sold, and I am no longer the owner of my father’s house!”

“Sold, sir; and we have been sent adrift—­niggers and all.  They said the freedom-laws would soon let all the older blacks be their own masters; and, as to the young ’uns, why, your creditors might sell their times.  But Mr. Hardinge put the poor critturs into houses, near the rectory, and they work about among the neighbours, until things are settled.  It’s to their credit, Mr. Miles, that not one of ’em all thinks of runnin’ away.  With the feelin’ that’s up in the country consarnin’ blacks, and no master to look arter them, every one of ’em might be off, without risk.”

“And Chloe, my sister’s own girl, what has become of Chloe, Jared?”

“Why, I believe Miss Lucy has tuck her.  Miss Lucy is dreadful rich, as all allow:  and she has put it in her father’s power to take care of all the moveables.  Every huff [hoof] of living thing that was on the place, has been put on the Wright farm, in readiness for their owner, should he ever come to claim them.”

“Has Miss Hardinge had the consideration to hire that farm, with such an object?”

“They say she has bought it, out of the savings of her income.  It seems she is mistress of her income, though under age.  And this is the use she has made of some of her money.”