still haunted me--those
features of strange type--its strangely-beautiful expression, not
Caucasian, not Indian, not Asiatic. Was it possible--probable--

"Could you describe her, Scipio?" I repeated.

"'Scribe her, mass'r; daat what you mean? ye--yes."

I had no hope of a very lucid painting, but perhaps a few "points" would
serve to identify the likeness of my vision. In my mind the portrait
was as plainly drawn as if the real face were before my eyes. I should
easily tell if Aurore and my dream were one. I began to think it was no
dream, but a reality.

"Well, mass'r, some folks says she am proud, case de common niggers envy
ob her--daat's de troof. She nebber proud to Ole Zip, daat I knows--she
talk to 'im, an tell 'im many tings--she help teach Ole Zip read, and de
ole Chloe, and de leettle Chloe, an she--"

"It is a description of her person I ask for, Scipio."

"Oh! a 'scription ob her person--ye--daat is, what am she like?"

"So. What sort of hair, for instance? What colour is it?"

"Brack, mass'r; brack as a boot."

"Is it straight hair?"

"No, mass'r--ob course not--Aurore am a quaderoom."

"It curls?"

"Well, not dzactly like this hyar;" here Scipio pointed to his own kinky
head-covering; "but for all daat, mass'r, it curls--what folks call de
wave."

"I understand; it falls down to her shoulders?"

"Daat it do, mass'r, down to de berry small ob her back."

"Luxuriant?"

"What am dat, mass'r?"

"Thick--bushy."

"Golly! it am as bushy as de ole coon's tail."

"Now the eyes?"

Scipio's description of the quadroon's eyes was rather a confused one.
He was happy in a simile, however, which I felt satisfied with: "Dey am
big an round--dey shine like de eyes of a deer." The nose puzzled him,
but after some elaborate questioning, I could make out that it was
straight and small. The eyebrows--the teeth--the complexion--were all
faithfully pictured--that of the cheeks by a simile, "like de red ob a
Georgium peach."

Comic as was the description given, I had no inclination to be amused
with it. I was too much interested in the result, and listened to every
detail with an anxiety I could not account for.

The portrait was finished at length, and I felt certain it must be that
of the lovely apparition. When Scipio had ended speaking, I lay upon my
couch burning with an intense desire to see this fair--this priceless
quadroon. Just then a bell rang from the house.

"Scipio wanted