“Maldonard, then, was my grandfather; and, with my grandmother and three children, was of those who suffered the cruelties I have detailed. Two of his children were girls, fair and beautiful, whom the tyrant, under the pretext of bettering their condition in another colony, sold away into slavery. One was my dear mother.” Here tears coursed down the woman’s cheeks. “And she, though I blush to tell it, was sold to Rovero, who was indeed my father as well as Franconia’s. But I was years older than Franconia-I visit her grave by day, and dream of her by night;—nor was it strange that she should trace the cause of similarity in our features. Forsooth, it was that singular discovery-of which I was long ignorant-coupled with the virtues of a great soul, that incited her to effect my escape. Rovero, ere he married Franconia’s mother, sold Sylvia Maldonard, who was my mother; and may angels bring glad tidings of her spirit! Yes, true is it that my poor mother was sold to one Silenus, of whom Marston bought my body while heaven guarded the soul: but here would I drop the curtain over the scene, for Maldonard is dead; and in the grave of his Italian wife, ere he gained his freedom, was he buried.” Here again the fond mother, as she concluded, lifted her eyes invokingly, fondled her long-lost child to her bosom,—smiled upon her, kissed her, and was happy.
In which A plot is disclosed, and the man-seller made to pay the penalty of his crimes.
While the scenes which we have detailed in the foregoing chapter were being enacted at Nassau, there stood in the portico of a massive dwelling, fronting what in Charleston is called the “Battery Promenade,” the tall and stately figure of a man, wrapped in a costly black cloak, the folds of which lay carelessly about his neck and shoulders. For some minutes did he stand, hesitating, and watching up and down the broad walk in front. The gas-light overhead