protege and heir. But the strong
self-love defeated this resolve. If Paul were not bound to her by law,
he might forsake her, and she could not bear to lose him, for he had
become a part of her heart; but when she broached the matter, Paul
gave his parole never to leave her without consent.

He was still a slave, with the taint of a trampled race in his blood,
and he said nothing to Mrs. Everett of his origin. They crossed the
seas; they dwelt in pleasant places, beneath soft skies; and Paul grew
in knowledge. But his patron was still harassed by some deep remorse.
She hurried him from city to city like the fabled apostate, and at
length fell sick in London, on the eve of their return to America.
Paul gleaned from her ravings in delirium the cause of her unrest.
Wait had made known to her on the night of his decease the secret of
the young man's origin, and had conjured her to do justice to the lad.
Her self-love had deterred her in consummating this duty, and
conscience had therefore tortured her. She was enabled to reach New
York, where she left the preacher's son the bulk of her property, and
received his gratitude and forgiveness before she died.

Paul was free--haunted no longer by premonitions of future suffering;
and his first impulse was to return to the Eastern shore and discover
his desolate parents. His recollections of them were imperfect. He
preserved many trifling circumstances, though more important events
were forgotten; but as he made his way to the old village his heart
beat high. There were the negro quarters, the cornfields, the twisting
fences, and, at last, the shady stone parsonage--recollections they
seemed of objects beheld in a foggy dream. They directed him to the
Methodist Church--a prim, square structure in the centre of the
village--a tavern on one side, a court-house and market on the other;
and when the sexton threw open a window, the bleared light fell upon a
marble slab set in the wall:

"Near this spot lie the remains of
REV. TITUS BATES,
for two years Pastor of this Congregation,
and of PEGGY, his Wife.
'They have ceased from their labors, and their
works do follow them.'"

Paul's hopes fell. He walked through the village friendless, and,
impelled by his swift-coming fancies, strolled far into the suburbs.
A crowd was collected round a squalid negro cabin, and, less by
interest than by instinct, he bent his steps toward