eberyting on to me, Missis,
when I'se jes as in'cent--"

"I wish to hear none of your palaver. You have stolen from me
repeatedly; you know you have been just as hateful as you could be ever
since--ever since Joe went away."

Mrs. Lisle had not designed this reference to Joe. Any mention of his
name only made Kizzie more intractable.

Kizzie had been standing upon the threshold of her mistress' chamber,
upon which she now sank down as if she had been shot. She had rolled
herself into a ball, her grey head buried in her lap, from which issued
the most protracted unearthly howl. This was succeeded by passionate
ejaculations, in which "my poor Joe--my poor dear Joe, my baby--my last
and only one"--were alone distinguishable.

"Kizzie, stop that acting, and get up from there," commanded Mrs. Lisle.

The ball swayed to and fro, but evinced no disposition for unbending.

"Bring me the whip, Lucy--we shall see."

The blows fell heavy and fast, but as for outward demonstration, cry or
moan, that human form might as well have been a cotton bale.

The wearied hand of the mistress dropped by her side. She leaned against
the casement panting for breath. Then Kizzie uprose tearless and stern.

"Miss Rusha, after this cruel floggin', I've a right to speak; but if
you had a human heart I would not have this much to say. One after
another ye sold my four big boys to the slave-buyer. You promised you
would leave me my baby--my Joe. When he was fourteen years old you sold
him too. You rob me of my five boys, and you 'cuse _me_ of stealin' a
barrel-cover! Miss Rusha, de judgments of de Lord will come upon you.
Dis is my prayer, ebery day, ebery hour. Ye may whip, ye may kill--my
prayer is mine own prayer to pray."

"Lucy," exclaimed Mrs. Lisle, now able again to speak, "run down to
Thornton Hall and tell Mr. Hill to come here at once."

Mr. Hill was Mrs. Lisle's overseer.

"You will do no such thing, Lucy; and, madam, you have done enough,"
said the indignant voice of Mr. Lisle, who had entered upon the scene.
"Go to your cabin, Kizzie; call for Amy and take her along with you."

Kizzie disappeared, and Mr. Lisle, meeting boldly the angered face of
his wife, inquired into the origin of this disgraceful scene.

"Kizzie is mine, not yours. I have a right to do with my slaves as
pleases me," said the wife.

"If you have a slave who deserves kindness at your hands, it is Kizzie.
You have cruelly wronged her. To have killed he