“Yes!” replies Franconia, more calm; “even at this hour!  It is never too late to serve our sisters.  Could I smile-could I seem happy, and so many things to contemplate?  We cannot disguise them now; we cannot smother scandal with a silken mantle.  Clotilda must be with me.  Negro as she is by law, she is no less dear to me.  Nor can I yield to those feelings so prominent in southern breasts,—­I cannot disclaim her rights, leave her the mere chattel subject of brute force, and then ask forgiveness of heaven!” This declaration, made in a positive tone, at once disclosed her resolution.  We need not tell the reader with what surprise it took the household; nor, when she as suddenly went into a violent paroxysm of hysterics, the alarm it spread.

The quiet of the mansion has changed for uproar and confusion.  Servants are running here and there, getting in each other’s way, blocking the passages, and making the confusion more intense.  Colonel M’Carstrow is sent for, reaches the mansion in great consternation, expects to find Franconia a corpse, for the negro messenger told him such a crooked story, and seemed so frightened, that he can’t make anything straight of it-except that there is something very alarming.

She has been carried to one of the ante-chambers, reclines on a couch of softest tapestry, a physician at one side, and Alice, bathing her temples with aromatic liquid, on the other.  She presents a ravishing picture of delicacy, modesty, and simplicity,—­of all that is calmly beautiful in woman.  “I can scarcely account for it; but, she’s coming to,” says the man of medicine, looking on mechanically.  Her white bosom swells gently, like a newly-waked zephyr playing among virgin leaves; while her eyes, like melancholy stars, glimmer with the lustre of her soul.  “Ah me!” she sighs, raising her hand over her head and resting it upon the cushion, as her auburn hair floats, calm and beautiful, down her pearly shoulder.

The colonel touches her hand; and, as if it had been too rudely, she draws it to her side, then places it upon her bosom.  Again raising her eyes till they meet his, she blushes.  It is the blush of innocence, that brightens beneath the spirit of calm resolution.  She extends her hand again, slowly, and accepts his.  “You will gratify me-will you not?” she mutters, attempting to gain a recumbent position.  They raise her as she intimates a desire; she seems herself again.

“Whatever your wish may be, you have but to intimate it,” replies the colonel, kissing her hand.

“Then, I want Clotilda.  Go, bring her to me; she only can wait on me; and I am fond of her.  With her I shall be well soon; she will dress me.  Uncle will be happy, and we shall all be happy.”

“But,” the colonel interrupts, suddenly, “where is she to be found?”