uried. Nearly two
thousand dead bodies lay uncovered in the burial-ground, with only here
and there a little lime thrown over them, to prevent the air becoming
infected. The negro, whose home is in a hot climate, was not proof
against the disease. Many plantations had to suspend their work for
want of slaves to take the places of those who had been taken off by
the fever.

CHAPTER XXIII

MEETING OF THE COUSINS.

The clock in the hall had scarcely finished striking three when Mr.
Taylor entered his own dwelling, a fine residence in Camp Street, New
Orleans, followed by the slave-girl whom he had just purchased at the
negro-pen. Clotelle looked around wildly as she passed through the hall
into the presence of her new mistress. Mrs. Taylor was much pleased
with her servant's appearance, and congratulated her husband on his
judicious choice.

"But," said Mrs. Taylor, after Clotelle had gone into the kitchen, "how
much she looks like Miss Jane Morton."

"Indeed," replied the husband, "I thought, the moment I saw her that
she looked like the Mortons."

"I am sure I never saw two faces more alike in my life, than that
girl's and Jane Morton's," continued Mrs. Taylor.

Dr. Morton, the purchaser of Maron, the youngest daughter of Agnes, and
sister to Isabella, had resided in Camp Street, near the Taylors, for
more than eight years, and the families were on very intimate terms,
and visited each other frequently. Every one spoke of Clotelle's close
resemblance to the Mortons, and especially to the eldest daughter.
Indeed, two sisters could hardly have been more alike. The large, dark
eyes, black, silk-like hair, tall, graceful figure, and mould of the
face, were the same.

The morning following Clotelle's arrival in her new home, Mrs. Taylor
was conversing in a low tone with her husband, and both with their eyes
following Clotelle as she passed through the room.

"She is far above the station of a slave," remarked the lady. "I saw
her, last night, when removing some books, open one and stand over it a
moment as if she was reading; and she is as white as I am. I almost
sorry you bought her."

At this juncture the front door-bell rang, and Clotelle hurried through
the room to answer it.

"Miss Morton," said the servant as she returned to the mistress' room.

"Ask her to walk in," responded the mistress.

"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Taylor to her husband, "just look and see if
you do not notice a marked resemblanc