“You need’nt look so serious, Daddy; it only gives an extra shade to your face, already black enough for any immediate purpose!” says Marston, turning round and smiling at the old slave’s discomfiture.  To make amends, master takes a plate from the table, and gives Bob a share of his homony and bacon.  This is very pleasing to the old slave, who regains his wonted earnestness, takes the plate politely from his master’s hand, retires with it to the chest, and keeps up a regular fire of chit-chat while dispensing its contents.  In this humble apartment, master and slave-the former once opulent, and the latter still warm with attachment for his friend-are happily companioned.  They finish their breakfast,—­a long pause intervenes.  “I would I were beyond the bounds of this our south,” says Marston, breaking the silence, as he draws his chair and seats himself by the window, where he can look out upon the dingy little houses in the lane.

The unhappy man feels the burden of a misspent life; he cannot recall the past, nor make amends for its errors.  But, withal, it is some relief that he can disclose his feelings to the old man, his slave.

“Mas’r,” interrupts the old slave, looking complacently in his face, “Bob ’ll fowler ye, and be de same old friend.  I will walk behind Miss Frankone.”  His simple nature seems warming into fervency.

“Ah! old man,” returns Marston, “if there be a wish (you may go before me, though) I have on earth, it is that when I die our graves may be side by side, with an epitaph to denote master, friend, and faithful servant lie here.”  He takes the old man by the hand again, as the tears drop from his cheeks.  “A prison is but a grave to the man of honourable feelings,” he concludes.  Thus disclosing his feelings, a rap at the door announces a messenger.  It is nine o’clock, and immediately the sheriff, a gentlemanly-looking man, wearing the insignia of office on his hat, walks in, and politely intimates that, painful as may be the duty, he must request his company to the county gaol, that place so accommodatingly prepared for the reception of unfortunates.

“Sorry for your misfortunes, sir! but we’ll try to make you as comfortable as we can in our place.”  The servitor of the law seems to have some sympathy in him.  “I have my duty to perform, you know, sir; nevertheless, I have my opinion about imprisoning honest men for debt:  it’s a poor satisfaction, sir.  I’m only an officer, you see, sir, not a law-maker-never want to be, sir.  I very much dislike to execute these kind of writs,” says the man of the law, as, with an expression of commiseration, he glances round the room, and then at Daddy, who has made preparations for a sudden dodge, should such an expedient be found necessary.

“Nay, sheriff, think nothing of it; it’s but a thing of common life,—­it may befall us all.  I can be no exception to the rule, and may console myself with the knowledge of companionship,” replies Marston, as coolly as if he were preparing for a journey of pleasure.