master is kind to him, if he would prefer his freedom and go north?-At first he will hesitate, dilate upon his master’s goodness, his affection for him, the kindly feeling evinced for him by the family-they often look upon him with a patriarchal tenderness-and, finally, he will conclude by telling you he wishes master and missus would live for ever.  He tells you, in the very simplicity of his nature, that “Eve’ ting so unsartin! and mas’r don’t know if he die when he gwine to.”  That when he is dying he does not realise it; and though his intention be good, death may blot out his desires, and he, the dependent, being only a chattel, must sink into the uncertain stream of slave-life.  Marston’s plantation might have been taken as an illustration of the truth of this saying.  Long had it been considered one of eminent profit; his field slaves were well cared for; his favourite house servants had every reasonable indulgence granted them.  And, too, Marston’s mansion was the pleasant retreat of many a neighbour, whose visits were welcomed by the kindly attention he had taught his domestics to bestow.  Marston’s fault lay in his belonging to that class of planters who repose too much confidence in others.

The morning following Lorenzo’s departure ushered forth bright and balmy.  A quiet aspect reigned in and about the plantation, servants moved sluggishly about, the incidents of the preceding night oppressed Marston’s mind; his feelings broke beyond his power of restraint.  Like contagion, the effect seized each member of his household,—­forcibly it spoke in word and action!  Marston had bestowed much care upon Lorenzo and Franconia; he had indulged and idolised the latter, and given the former some good advice.  But advice without example seldom produces lasting good; in truth, precept had the very worst effect upon Lorenzo,—­it had proved his ruin!  His singular and mysterious departure might for a time be excused,—­even accounted for in some plausible manner, but suspicion was a stealing monster that would play upon the deeply tinctured surface, and soar above in disgrace.  That the Rovero family were among the first of the State would not be received as a palliation; they had suffered reverses of fortune, and, with the addition of Lorenzo’s profligacy, which had been secretly drawing upon their resources, were themselves well nigh in discredit.  And now that this sudden and unexpected reverse had befallen Marston, he could do nothing for their relief.  Involved, perplexed, and distrusted-with ever-slaying suspicion staring him in the face-he was a victim pursued by one who never failed to lay low his object.  That man moved with unerring method, could look around him upon the destitution made by his avarice, without evincing a shadow of sympathy.  Yes! he was in the grasp of a living Shylock, whose soul, worn out in the love of gold, had forgotten that there existed a distinction between right and wrong.