eep, dreaming strange dreams of the dead and the living.

It was sad to witness the grief of my bereaved grandmother. She had always
been strong to bear, and now, as ever, religious faith supported her. But
her dark life had become still darker, and age and trouble were leaving
deep traces on her withered face. She had four places to knock for me to
come to the trapdoor, and each place had a different meaning. She now came
oftener than she had done, and talked to me of her dead daughter, while
tears trickled slowly down her furrowed cheeks. I said all I could to
comfort her; but it was a sad reflection, that instead of being able to
help her, I was a constant source of anxiety and trouble. The poor old back
was fitted to its burden. It bent under it, but did not break.

XXIX. Preparations For Escape.

I hardly expect that the reader will credit me, when I affirm that I lived
in that little dismal hole, almost deprived of light and air, and with no
space to move my limbs, for nearly seven years. But it is a fact; and to me
a sad one, even now; for my body still suffers from the effects of that
long imprisonment, to say nothing of my soul. Members of my family, now
living in New York and Boston, can testify to the truth of what I say.

Countless were the nights that I sat late at the little loophole scarcely
large enough to give me a glimpse of one twinkling star. There, heard the
patrols and slave-hunters conferring together about the capture of
runaways, well knowing how rejoiced they would be to catch me.

Season after season, year after year, I peeped at my children's faces, and
heard their sweet voices, with a heart yearning all the while to say, "Your
mother is here." Sometimes it appeared to me as if ages had rolled away
since I entered upon that gloomy, monotonous existence. At times, I was
stupefied and listless; at other times I became very impatient to know when
these dark years would end, and I should again be allowed to feel the
sunshine, and breathe the pure air.

After Ellen left us, this feeling increased. Mr. Sands had agreed that
Benny might go to the north whenever his uncle Phillip could go with him;
and I was anxious to be there also, to watch over my children, and protect
them so far as I was able. Moreover, I was likely to be drowned out of my
den, if I remained much longer; for the slight roof was getting badly out
of repair, and uncle Phillip was afraid to remove the shingles, lest some