“No, but I have had such sad forebodings that they almost set me wild.  One night I dreamt that you were dead; that the lawyers entered the house, seized our property, and remanded us to slavery.  I never can be satisfied in the South with such a possibility hanging over my head.”

“Marie, dear, you are growing nervous.  Your imagination is too active.  You are left too much alone on this plantation.  I hope that for your own and the children’s sake I will be enabled to arrange our affairs so as to find a home for you where you will not be doomed to the social isolation and ostracism that surround you here.”

“I don’t mind the isolation for myself, but the children.  You have enjoined silence on me with respect to their connection with the negro race, but I do not think we can conceal it from them very long.  It will not be long before Iola will notice the offishness of girls of her own age, and the scornful glances which, even now, I think, are leveled at her.  Yesterday Harry came crying to me, and told me that one of the neighbor’s boys had called him ‘nigger.’”

A shadow flitted over Leroy’s face, as he answered, somewhat soberly, “Oh, Marie, do not meet trouble half way.  I have manumitted you, and the children will follow your condition.  I have made you all legatees of my will.  Except my cousin, Alfred Lorraine, I have only distant relatives, whom I scarcely know and who hardly know me.”

“Your cousin Lorraine?  Are you sure our interests would be safe in his hands?”

“I think so; I don’t think Alfred would do anything dishonorable.”

“He might not with his equals.  But how many men would be bound by a sense of honor where the rights of a colored woman are in question?  Your cousin was bitterly opposed to our marriage, and I would not trust any important interests in his hands.  I do hope that in providing for our future you will make assurance doubly sure.”

“I certainly will, and all that human foresight can do shall be done for you and our children.”

“Oh,” said Marie, pressing to her heart a beautiful child of six summers, “I think it would almost make me turn over in my grave to know that every grace and charm which this child possesses would only be so much added to her value as an article of merchandise.”

As Marie released the child from her arms she looked wonderingly into her mother’s face and clung closely to her, as if to find refuge from some unseen evil.  Leroy noticed this, and sighed unconsciously, as an expression of pain flitted over his face.

“Now, Marie,” he continued, “stop tormenting yourself with useless fears.  Although, with all her faults, I still love the South, I will make arrangements either to live North or go to France.  There life will be brighter for us all.  Now, Marie, seat yourself at the piano and sing:—­

’Sing me the songs that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago. 
Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,
Long, long ago.”