r
exhausted your ingenuity in avoiding the snares, and eluding the power of a
hated tyrant; you never shuddered at the sound of his footsteps, and
trembled within hearing of his voice. I know I did wrong. No one can feel
it more sensibly than I do. The painful and humiliating memory will haunt
me to my dying day. Still, in looking back, calmly, on the events of my
life, I feel that the slave woman ought not to be judged by the same
standard as others.

The months passed on. I had many unhappy hours. I secretly mourned over the
sorrow I was bringing on my grandmother, who had so tried to shield me from
harm. I knew that I was the greatest comfort of her old age, and that it
was a source of pride to her that I had not degraded myself, like most of
the slaves. I wanted to confess to her that I was no longer worthy of her
love; but I could not utter the dreaded words.

As for Dr. Flint, I had a feeling of satisfaction and triumph in the
thought of telling _him_. From time to time he told me of his intended
arrangements, and I was silent. At last, he came and told me the cottage
was completed, and ordered me to go to it. I told him I would never enter
it. He said, "I have heard enough of such talk as that. You shall go, if
you are carried by force; and you shall remain there."

I replied, "I will never go there. In a few months I shall be a mother."

He stood and looked at me in dumb amazement, and left the house without a
word. I thought I should be happy in my triumph over him. But now that the
truth was out, and my relatives would hear of it, I felt wretched. Humble
as were their circumstances, they had pride in my good character. Now, how
could I look at them in the face? My self-respect was gone! I had resolved
that I would be virtuous, though I was a slave. I had said, "Let the storm
beat! I will brave it till I die." And now, how humiliated I felt!

I went to my grandmother. My lips moved to make confession, but the words
stuck in my throat. I sat down in the shade of a tree at her door and began
to sew. I think she saw something unusual was the matter with me. The
mother of slaves is very watchful. She knows there is no security for her
children. After they have entered their teens she lives in daily
expectation of trouble. This leads to many questions. If the girl is of a
sensitive nature, timidity keeps her from answering truthfully, and this
well-meant course has a tendency to drive her from maternal counsels.