yes," she replied. Then, turning to her uncle, she said,
pleadingly, "_May_ I stay? Please, uncle! She is my own mother." He laid
his hand on her head, and said, solemnly, "Ellen, this is the secret you
have promised grandmother never to tell. If you ever speak of it to any
body, they will never let you see your grandmother again, and your mother
can never come to Brooklyn." "Uncle," she replied, "I will never tell." He
told her she might stay with me; and when he had gone, I took her in my
arms and told her I was a slave, and that was the reason she must never say
she had seen me. I exhorted her to be a good child, to try to please the
people where she was going, and that God would raise her up friends. I told
her to say her prayers, and remember always to pray for her poor mother,
and that God would permit us to meet again. She wept, and I did not check
her tears. Perhaps she would never again have a chance to pour her tears
into a mother's bosom. All night she nestled in my arms, and I had no
inclination to slumber. The moments were too precious to lose any of them.
Once, when I thought she was asleep, I kissed her forehead softly, and she
said, "I am not asleep, dear mother."

Before dawn they came to take me back to my den. I drew aside the window
curtain, to take a last look of my child. The moonlight shone on her face,
and I bent over her, as I had done years before, that wretched night when I
ran away. I hugged her close to my throbbing heart; and tears, too sad for
such young eyes to shed, flowed down her cheeks, as she gave her last kiss,
and whispered in my ear, "Mother, I will never tell." And she never did.

When I got back to my den, I threw myself on the bed and wept there alone
in the darkness. It seemed as if my heart would burst. When the time for
Ellen's departure drew nigh, I could hear neighbors and friends saying to
her, "Good by, Ellen. I hope your poor mother will find you out. _Won't_
you be glad to see her!" She replied, "Yes, ma'am;" and they little dreamed
of the weighty secret that weighed down her young heart. She was an
affectionate child, but naturally very reserved, except with those she
loved, and I felt secure that my secret would be safe with her. I heard the
gate close after her, with such feelings as only a slave mother can
experience. During the day my meditations were very sad. Sometimes I feared
I had been very selfish not to give up all claim to her, and let her go to
Illinois, t