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“I han’t got nothing to tell, Mas’r,” said Tom, with a slow, firm, deliberate ut- terance. “Do you dare to tell me, ye old black Christian, ye don’t know?” said Legree. Tom was silent. “Speak!” thundered Legree, striking him furiously. “Do you know anything?” “I know, Mas’r; but I can’t tell anything. I can die!” Legree drew in a long breath; and, suppressing his rage, took Tom by the arm, and, approaching his face almost to his, said, in a terrible voice, “Hark’e, Tom!- ye think, ‘cause I’ve let you off before, I don’t mean what I say; but this time, I’ve made up my mind, and counted the cost. You’ve always stood it out agin’ me: now, I’ll conquer ye, or kill ye!- one or t’other. I’ll count every drop of blood there is in you, and take ‘em, one by one, till ye give up!” Tom looked up to his master, and answered, “Mas’r, if you was sick, or in trouble, or dying, and I could save ye, I’d give ye my heart’s blood; and, if taking every drop of blood in this poor old body would save your precious soul, I’d give ‘em freely, as the Lord gave His for me. O Mas’r! don’t bring this great sin on your soul! It will hurt you more than ‘twill me! Do the worst you can, my trou- bles ‘ll be over soon; but, if ye don’t repent, yours won’t never end!” Like a strange snatch of heavenly music, heard in the lull of a tempest, this burst of feeling made a moment’s blank pause. Legree stood aghast, and looked at Tom; and there was such a silence, that the tick of the old clock could be heard, |