I was left an orphan.

I shall not dwell here on the bitterness of those moments.  We have all known sorrows in our lives,—­great sorrows.  The clergyman was a wise man, and did not strive to comfort me with words.  But he sat there under the leaves with his arm about me until a blinding bolt split the blackness of the sky and the thunder rent our ears, and a Caribbean storm broke over Temple Bow with all the fury of the tropics.  Then he led me through the drenching rain into the house, nor heeded the wet himself on his Sunday coat.

A great anger stayed me in my sorrow.  I would no longer tarry under Mrs. Temple’s roof, though the world without were a sea or a desert.  The one resolution to escape rose stronger and stronger within me, and I determined neither to eat nor sleep until I had got away.  The thought of leaving Nick was heavy indeed; and when he ran to me in the dark hall and threw his arms around me, it needed all my strength to keep from crying aloud.

“Davy,” he said passionately, “Davy, you mustn’t mind what she says.  She never means anything she says—­she never cares for anything save her pleasure.  You and I will stay here until we are old enough to run away to Kentucky.  Davy!  Answer me, Davy!”

I could not, try as I would.  There were no words that would come with honesty.  But I pulled him down on the mahogany settle near the door which led into the back gallery, and there we sat huddled together in silence, while the storm raged furiously outside and the draughts banged the great doors of the house.  In the lightning flashes I saw Nick’s face, and it haunted me afterwards through many years of wandering.  On it was written a sorrow for me greater than my own sorrow.  For God had given to this lad every human passion and compassion.

The storm rolled away with the night, and Mammy came through the hall with a candle.

“Whah is you, Marse Nick?  Whah is you, honey?  You’ suppah’s ready.”

And so we went into our little dining room, but I would not eat.  The good old negress brushed her eyes with her apron as she pressed a cake upon me she had made herself, for she had grown fond of me.  And presently we went away silently to bed.

It was a long, long time before Nick’s breathing told me that he was asleep.  He held me tightly clutched to him, and I know that he feared I would leave him.  The thought of going broke my heart, but I never once wavered in my resolve, and I lay staring into the darkness, pondering what to do.  I thought of good Mr. Lowndes and his wife, and I decided to go to Charlestown.  Some of my boyish motives come back to me now:  I should be near Nick; and even at that age,—­having lived a life of self-reliance,—­I thought of gaining an education and of rising to a place of trust.  Yes, I would go to Mr. Lowndes, and ask him to let me work for him and so earn my education.

With a heavy spirit I crept out of bed, slowly disengaging Nick’s arm lest he should wake.  He turned over and sighed in his sleep.  Carefully I dressed myself, and after I was dressed I could not refrain from slipping to the bedside to bend over him once again,—­for he was the only one in my life with whom I had found true companionship.  Then I climbed carefully out of the window, and so down the corner of the house to the ground.