As I arose the next morning I began to wonder what reception would be accorded me by Mrs. Clayton, not to say Dorothy.  No one was astir but the colored butler and the maids.  Yes, slavery was very well for them.  I could see that all that was said in favor of the benevolence of the institution had verification in them and perhaps in all slaves doing like service.  But what of the field hands, the heavier workers?  I was thinking of these things, but mostly of the desperate situation I was in and of this day ahead of me.  Would Dorothy see me again?  Would I be the honored guest of yesterday?  This silence of the mansion made me feel that its hospitality had cooled toward me.  But in a little while Mrs. Clayton appeared on the stair and descended to find me rather restlessly pacing the room.

I could not specify any change in her manner.  Perhaps as a matter of breeding I was to be bowed out with all possible courtesy.  She smiled me a “Good morning,” said that Dorothy would not be down until later.  We two went in to breakfast.

I began to feel embarrassed.  I could not be at ease.  Mrs. Clayton sensed my diffidence.  We managed the conversation in broken sentences and forced remarks.  My pride asserted itself.  I had done nothing myself for which I could be blamed.  For the rest, if I was not wanted I should go my way.  I asked Mrs. Clayton when I could get a boat to St. Louis.  She did not know, but one ran almost every day either directly, or I could change boats at a place called Freesland on the Ohio River.  Accordingly, after breakfast, I went to the steamboat landing to make inquiries ... and without seeing Dorothy.

A kind of rebellion and resentment were rising in me.  Dorothy was Reverdy’s sister; but surely she was of a different spirit if she disapproved of me for what I had done.  Perhaps it would be well to be free of my love for Dorothy, to be once more without any feeling that my life needed completion by uniting it with a woman’s life.  I had offered myself.  I was not accepted.  My dignity, and place in the world, as I saw them, were dishonored.

When I returned to the house Dorothy had appeared.  She smiled gently in recognition of me.  I broke the silence by telling her that I could get a boat the next day, and that I must be off.  She made no reply.

Later we went to the yard, under one of the great trees.  Dorothy was evidently tortured in her mind and did not know what to say to me.  She looked worn and as if she had not slept.  I searched her face.  A tear stole down her cheek.  She averted her eyes and clasped her hands together nervously.  I could endure the suspense no longer.

“It is best for me to go,” I said.  She made no reply.  “I am sorry that I have made you suffer.  Let me erase everything by withdrawing what I have said to you.”  “You can’t,” said Dorothy.  “You are Reverdy’s friend; you know how I love him.  You couldn’t suppose that anything that has affected you so deeply would not affect him and therefore me.  I never believed that I could be so unhappy.  You are going and that leaves me to think and think.”