“No; I don’t think these Abolitionists have any right to meddle in our affairs.  I believe they are prejudiced against us, and want to get our property.  I read about them in the papers when I was at home.  I don’t want to hear my part of the country run down.  My father says the slaves would be very well contented if no one put wrong notions in their heads.”

“I don’t know,” was the response of her friend, “but I do not think that that slave mother who took her four children, crossed the Ohio River on the ice, killed one of the children and attempted the lives of the other two, was a contented slave.  And that other one, who, running away and finding herself pursued, threw herself over the Long Bridge into the Potomac, was evidently not satisfied.  I do not think the numbers who are coming North on the Underground Railroad can be very contented.  It is not natural for people to run away from happiness, and if they are so happy and contented, why did Congress pass the Fugitive Slave Bill?”

“Well, I don’t think,” answered Iola, “any of our slaves would run away.  I know mamma don’t like slavery very much.  I have often heard her say that she hoped the time would come when there would not be a slave in the land.  My father does not think as she does.  He thinks slavery is not wrong if you treat them well and don’t sell them from their families.  I intend, after I have graduated, to persuade pa to buy a house in New Orleans, and spend the winter there.  You know this will be my first season out, and I hope that you will come and spend the winter with me.  We will have such gay times, and you will so fall in love with our sunny South that you will never want to come back to shiver amid the snows and cold of the North.  I think one winter in the South would cure you of your Abolitionism.”

“Have you seen her yet?”

This question was asked by Louis Bastine, an attorney who had come North in the interests of Lorraine.  The scene was the New England village where Mr. Galen’s academy was located, and which Iola was attending.  This question was addressed to Camille Lecroix, Bastine’s intimate friend, who had lately come North.  He was the son of a planter who lived near Leroy’s plantation, and was familiar with Iola’s family history.  Since his arrival North, Bastine had met him and communicated to him his intentions.

“Yes; just caught a glimpse of her this morning as she was going down the street,” was Camille’s reply.

“She is a most beautiful creature,” said Louis Bastine.  “She has the proud poise of Leroy, the most splendid eyes I ever saw in a woman’s head, lovely complexion, and a glorious wealth of hair.  She would bring $2000 any day in a New Orleans market.”