e habit of certain sects
to mistake for religious impulses, even from the negroes of the Clawbonny
property. Neb's speech sounded more like an innovation of this nature than
I had ever heard among my people; and I looked hard at the fellow for an
instant, before I answered.

"I am afraid I understand you, Neb," was my reply, after a meaning pause.
"It is a relief to me to find that my people retain all their affections
for the children of their old master and mistress."

"We hard-hearted indeed, sir, if we don't. Ah! _Masser_ Mile, you and I
see many dreadful t'ing togeder, but we nebber see any t'ing like dis!"

Neb's dark cheek was glistening with tears as he spoke, and I spurred my
horse, lest my own manhood might give way, there in the road, and in the
presence of those who were fast approaching. Why Neb had expressed sorrow
for having ever gone to sea, I could not account for in any other manner
than by supposing that he imagined Grace was, in some manner, a sufferer
by my absence from home.

When I reached the house, not a soul was visible. The men had all gone to
church, and were to be seen in the distance, coming, along the road,
singly and in a melancholy manner, not a sign of the customary,
thoughtless merriment of a negro escaping a single individual among them;
but it was usual for some of the black Venuses to be seen sunning
themselves at that season, exhibiting their summer finery to each other
and their admirers. Not one was now visible. All the front of the house,
the lawn, the kitchens, of which there were no less than three, and the
kitchen yards; in short, every familiar haunt of the dwelling was deserted
and empty. This boded evil; and, throwing the bridle over a post, I walked
hurriedly towards the part of the building, or _buildings_, would be a
better word, inhabited by Grace.

As I entered the passage which communicated with my sisters own room, the
departure from ordinary appearances was explained. Six or seven of the
negresses were kneeling near the door, and I could hear the low, solemn,
earnest voice of Lucy, reading some of the collects and other prayers
suited to the sick-chamber and to the wants of a parting soul. Lucy's
voice was music itself, but never before had it sounded so plaintively
sweet. The lowest intonation was distinctly audible, as if the dear,
devout creature felt that the Being she addressed was not to be approached
in any other manner, while the trembling earnestness o