“What is the matter with me?” said Armstrong, presently to himself, upon being left alone.  “I invite this poor fellow, whose only fault is that he loves me too much, to speak freely, and then treat him harshly for his unintentional impertinence, assuming an importance that belongs to no one, and as if we were not worms creeping together towards the edge of that precipice from which we must fall into eternity.  Whence springs my conduct but from pride, self-will, selfishness?  I would arrogate a superiority over this poor negro.  Poor negro!  There spoke the pride of your heart, James Armstrong!  But well is he called Felix in comparison with you.  Happy in being born of a despised and persecuted race; happy in being condemned to the life of a servant, to an ignorance that diminishes responsibility; happy in receiving no good thing here.  Strut about, James Armstrong, in purple and fine linen, but know that for all these things, God will assuredly call thee to judgment.”

That whole day Armstrong seemed debating some question with himself.  He paid less than even his usual attention to what was passing around, and more than once was spoken to without heeding the address.  In the afternoon, he started off by himself, saying he might not return until evening.  Felix, whose anxiety the rebuff in the morning had strengthened and confirmed, watched his master as he left the house, and would have followed to guard him against a danger, the approach of which he instinctively felt, but which he could not see, unless Faith, to whom he thought proper to communicate his intention, had forbidden him.  She found it difficult to prevent him, so greatly were the fears of the black excited, on whose mind the motives of delicacy that induced Faith to desire to guard the movements of her father from observation, cannot be supposed to have exerted so much force.  Much doubting and questioning the wisdom of the young lady, yet not venturing to disobey her, Felix blamed himself for making her acquainted with his design.

“This child head,” he said, apostrophizing himself, “ain’t no better than a squash.  What made me tell Miss Faith what I were going to do?”

After Armstrong left the house, he continued in the street only a little way, soon striking across the fields and thus greatly abridging the distance he must have passed over had he pursued the high road.  The truth is, he was directing his steps towards the very spot he had visited with Judge Bernard.  He reached it, notwithstanding he was afoot, in much less time than the drive had taken, so rapidly did he walk when out of sight, and so much was the length of the way shortened.  Upon arriving at the place, he sat down upon the same log which had been his former seat, and folding his arms sunk into a reverie.  After the space of an hour, perhaps, thus passed, he rose and commenced piling up near the brook some pieces of wood which he took from the heaps about him, making another, differing from them principally in being smaller.  As he crossed the sticks laid regularly at right angles upon each other, he filled up the intervals with the loose leaves and dry brush lying around.  In this way he proceeded until he had raised a cube, perhaps six feet long, four wide, and four high.