I knew she would remember me; I knew her ardent soul would give forth its measure of gratitude.  Happy am I that you have come-though years have rolled by since I gave up all hopes of the joyous consummation-to relieve this sorrowing child,” she says, running to Annette, and with tears of joy in her eyes, exclaiming, “My child! my child! you ’ll yet be saved.  The ruffian who tortured you to-day will torture you no more-no more!” And she kisses the sorrowing girl’s cheek, as tears of sympathy gush into her eyes.

Rosebrook handed Franconia the letter, which she read as her face brightened with joy.  “Good Clotilda! how happy she must be!  How generous, how kind, how true dear Maxwell was to her; and they are living together so comfortably, and have such a nice family growing up; but she wants her slave child!  A slave mother never forgets her slave offspring!” she exclaims, with enthusiastic delight, as she reads and re-reads the letter.  Back she paces to Annette, lays her right arm gently over her shoulder, and pats her cheek with her left hand:  “Annette will see her mother, yet.  There is an all-protecting hand guiding us through every ill of life.  Be of good cheer, my child; never despond while there is a hope left; bury the horrors of the past in the brighter prospect of the future.”  And leading her to the table she seats her by her side and reads the letter aloud, as with joy the forlorn girl’s feelings bound forth.  We need scarcely tell the reader that Clotilda’s letter was read in listening silence, and ran thus:—­“Nassau, New Providence, “October 24, 18-.  “My Dear Franconia,

“My thoughts have never ceased to recur to you, nor to my dear Annette.  You were a mother and a deliverer to me; I know-though I have not received a word in reply to any of my letters-you have been a mother to my child.  As you know, I dare not write as much as I would, lest this letter fall into the hands of those whose interest it is to perpetuate our enslavement.  I hope you are happy with a good husband, as I am.  Years have rolled by since we parted, and many have been the scenes and changes through which I have passed, but they were all pleasant changes, each for brighter and happier prospects.  I was married to him who, with you, effected my escape, a few weeks after landing at Harbour Island.  Since then we have resided in Nassau, where my husband, who loves me dearly, pursues an extensive and lucrative business, and we both move in the best society of the place.  We have a pretty family of three children, the oldest nine years old, and the youngest five.  How my heart would leap with joy if I thought you would accept an invitation to come and see me, to spend a few weeks with me, and see yourself how comfortable and happy a slave may be!  Perhaps I should not say happy, for I never can be truly happy without my Annette.  Something haunts my mind whenever I recur to her,—­which is every day.  And then I have written so many letters to which no answers have been returned; but, a whispering angel, as if to console me, says, Franconia will be her mother, and you will yet see her.