mistress
were both gone, she thought she might take her freedom for a while
without incurring any great risk. The other servants agreed to keep
her secret, and Joe the coachman promised to drive her most of the
way when he came back with the carriage. Accordingly, she made her
appearance at the cottage quite unexpectedly, to the great joy of
Tulee.

When she unwrapped the little black-haired baby from its foldings
of white muslin, Tulee exclaimed: "He looks jus' like his
good-for-nothing father; and so does Missy Rosy's baby. I'm 'fraid 't
will make poor missy feel bad to see it, for she don't know nothin'
'bout it."

"Yes I do, Tulee," said Rosa, who had heard Chloe's voice, and gone
out to greet her. "I heard Tom tell you about it."

She took up the little hand, scarcely bigger than a bird's claw, and
while it twined closely about her finger, she looked into its eyes,
so like to Gerald's in shape and color. She was hoping that those
handsome eyes might never be used as his had been, but she gave
no utterance to her thoughts. Her manner toward Chloe was full of
grateful kindness; and the poor bondwoman had some happy hours,
playing free for a while. She laid the infant on its face in her lap,
trotting it gently, and patting its back, while she talked over with
Tulee all the affairs at the "Grat Hus." And when the babe was asleep,
she asked and obtained Rosa's permission to lay him on her bed beside
his little brother. Then poor Chloe's soul took wing and soared aloft
among sun-lighted clouds. As she prayed, and sang her fervent hymns,
and told of her visions and revelations, she experienced satisfaction
similar to that of a troubadour, or palmer from Holy Land, with an
admiring audience listening to his wonderful adventures.

While she was thus occupied, Tulee came in hastily to say that a
stranger gentleman was coming toward the house. Such an event in that
lonely place produced general excitement, and some consternation. Rosa
at once drew her curtain and bolted the door. But Tulee soon came
rapping gently, saying, "It's only I, Missy Rosy." As the door
partially opened, she said, "It's a friend Madame has sent ye." Rosa,
stepping forward, recognized Mr. Duroy, the cousin in whose clothes
Madame had escaped with them from New Orleans. She was very slightly
acquainted with him, but it was such a comfort to see any one who knew
of the old times that she could hardly refrain from throwing herself
on his neck and b