“O, but master is so kind!”
“Yes, but who knows?—he may die—and
then he may be sold to nobody knows who. What
pleasure is it that he is handsome, and smart, and
bright? I tell you, Eliza, that a sword will pierce
through your soul for every good and pleasant thing
your child is or has; it will make him worth too much
for you to keep.”
The words smote heavily on Eliza’s heart; the
vision of the trader came before her eyes, and, as
if some one had struck her a deadly blow, she turned
pale and gasped for breath. She looked nervously
out on the verandah, where the boy, tired of the grave
conversation, had retired, and where he was riding
triumphantly up and down on Mr. Shelby’s walking-stick.
She would have spoken to tell her husband her fears,
but checked herself.
“No, no,—he has enough to bear, poor
fellow!” she thought. “No, I won’t
tell him; besides, it an’t true; Missis never
deceives us.”
“So, Eliza, my girl,” said the husband,
mournfully, “bear up, now; and good-by, for
I’m going.”
“Going, George! Going where?”
“To Canada,” said he, straightening himself
up; “and when I’m there, I’ll buy
you; that’s all the hope that’s left us.
You have a kind master, that won’t refuse to
sell you. I’ll buy you and the boy;—God
helping me, I will!”
“O, dreadful! if you should be taken?”
“I won’t be taken, Eliza; I’ll die
first! I’ll be free, or I’ll die!”
“You won’t kill yourself!”
“No need of that. They will kill me, fast
enough; they never will get me down the river alive!”
“O, George, for my sake, do be careful!
Don’t do anything wicked; don’t lay hands
on yourself, or anybody else! You are tempted
too much—too much; but don’t—go
you must—but go carefully, prudently; pray
God to help you.”
“Well, then, Eliza, hear my plan. Mas’r
took it into his head to send me right by here, with
a note to Mr. Symmes, that lives a mile past.
I believe he expected I should come here to tell you
what I have. It would please him, if he thought
it would aggravate ‘Shelby’s folks,’
as he calls ’em. I’m going home quite
resigned, you understand, as if all was over.
I’ve got some preparations made,—and
there are those that will help me; and, in the course
of a week or so, I shall be among the missing, some
day. Pray for me, Eliza; perhaps the good Lord
will hear you.”
“O, pray yourself, George, and go trusting in
him; then you won’t do anything wicked.”
“Well, now, good-by,” said George,
holding Eliza’s hands, and gazing into her eyes,
without moving. They stood silent; then there
were last words, and sobs, and bitter weeping,—such
parting as those may make whose hope to meet again
is as the spider’s web,—and the husband
and wife were parted.
An Evening in Uncle Tom’s Cabin
