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There was a passionate exclamation from Mrs. Shelby, but Aunt Chloe said nothing. The party entered the supper-room. The money, of which Chloe was so proud, was still lying on the table. “Thar,” said she, gathering it up, and holding it, with a trembling hand, to her mistress, “don’t never want to see nor hear on’t again. Jist as I knew ‘twould be,- sold, and murdered on dem ar’ old plantations!” Chloe turned, and was walking proudly out of the room. Mrs. Shelby fol- lowed her softly, and took one of her hands, drew her down into a chair, and sat down by her. “My poor, good Chloe!” said she. Chloe leaned her head on her mistress’ shoulder, and sobbed out, “O Missis! ‘scuse me, my heart’s broke,- dat’s all!” “I know it is,” said Mrs. Shelby, as her tears fell fast; “and I cannot heal it, but Jesus can. He healeth the broken-hearted, and bindeth up their wounds.” There was a silence for some time, and all wept together. At last, George, sit- ting down beside the mourner, took her hand, and, with simple pathos, repeated the triumphant scene of her husband’s death, and his last messages of love. About a month after this, one morning, all the servants of the Shelby estate were convened together in the great hall that ran through the house, to hear a few words from their young master. |