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Sam’s vein of piety was always uncommonly fervent in his mistress’ pres- ence; and he made great capital of Scriptural figures and images. “Come up here, Sam,” said Mr. Shelby, who had followed on to the verandah, “and tell your mistress what she wants. Come, come, Emily,” said he, passing his arm around her, “you are cold and all in a shiver; you allow yourself to feel too much.” “Feel too much! Am not I a woman,- a mother? Are we not both responsible to God for this poor girl? My God! lay not this sin to our charge.” “What sin, Emily? You see yourself that we have only done what we were obliged to.” “There’s an awful feeling of guilt about it, though,” said Mrs. Shelby, “I can’t reason it away.” “Here, Andy, you nigger, be alive!” called Sam, under the verandah; “take these yer hosses to der barn; don’t yer hear Mas’r a-callin’?” and Sam soon ap- peared, palm-leaf in hand, at the parlor door. “Now, Sam, tell us distinctly how the matter was,” said Mr. Shelby. “Where is Eliza, if you know?” “Wal, Mas’r, I saw her, with my own eyes, a-crossin’ on the floatin’ ice. She crossed most ‘markably; it wasn’t no less nor a miracle; and I saw a man help her up the ‘Hio side, and then she was lost in the dusk.” |