p entered the room, behind him, and the light of a lantern
flashed on his eyes.

"Who's there? O, for the Lord's massy, please give me some water!"

The woman Cassy--for it was she,--set down her lantern, and, pouring
water from a bottle, raised his head, and gave him drink. Another and
another cup were drained, with feverish eagerness.

"Drink all ye want," she said; "I knew how it would be. It isn't the
first time I've been out in the night, carrying water to such as you."

"Thank you, Missis," said Tom, when he had done drinking.

"Don't call me Missis! I'm a miserable slave, like yourself,--a lower
one than you can ever be!" said she, bitterly; "but now," said she,
going to the door, and dragging in a small pallaise, over which she had
spread linen cloths wet with cold water, "try, my poor fellow, to roll
yourself on to this."

Stiff with wounds and bruises, Tom was a long time in accomplishing this
movement; but, when done, he felt a sensible relief from the cooling
application to his wounds.

The woman, whom long practice with the victims of brutality had made
familiar with many healing arts, went on to make many applications to
Tom's wounds, by means of which he was soon somewhat relieved.

"Now," said the woman, when she had raised his head on a roll of damaged
cotton, which served for a pillow, "there's the best I can do for you."

Tom thanked her; and the woman, sitting down on the floor, drew up her
knees, and embracing them with her arms, looked fixedly before her, with
a bitter and painful expression of countenance. Her bonnet fell back,
and long wavy streams of black hair fell around her singular and
melancholy-face.

"It's no use, my poor fellow!" she broke out, at last, "it's of no use,
this you've been trying to do. You were a brave fellow,--you had the
right on your side; but it's all in vain, and out of the question, for
you to struggle. You are in the devil's hands;--he is the strongest, and
you must give up!"

Give up! and, had not human weakness and physical agony whispered
that, before? Tom started; for the bitter woman, with her wild eyes and
melancholy voice, seemed to him an embodiment of the temptation with
which he had been wrestling.

"O Lord! O Lord!" he groaned, "how can I give up?"

"There's no use calling on the Lord,--he never hears," said the woman,
steadily; "there isn't any God, I believe; or, if there is, he's taken
sides against us. All goes against us, heaven and ea