ter and I supported ourselves comfortably in Boston.
At the end of that time, my brother William offered to send Ellen to a
boarding school. It required a great effort for me to consent to part with
her, for I had few near ties, and it was her presence that made my two
little rooms seem home-like. But my judgment prevailed over my selfish
feelings. I made preparations for her departure. During the two years we
had lived together I had often resolved to tell her something about her
father; but I had never been able to muster sufficient courage. I had a
shrinking dread of diminishing my child's love. I knew she must have
curiosity on the subject, but she had never asked a question. She was
always very careful not to say any thing to remind me of my troubles. Now
that she was going from me, I thought if I should die before she returned,
she might hear my story from some one who did not understand the palliating
circumstances; and that if she were entirely ignorant on the subject, her
sensitive nature might receive a rude shock.

When we retired for the night, she said, "Mother, it is very hard to leave
you alone. I am almost sorry I am going, though I do want to improve
myself. But you will write to me often; won't you, mother?"

I did not throw my arms round her. I did not answer her. But in a calm,
solemn way, for it cost me great effort, I said, "Listen to me, Ellen; I
have something to tell you!" I recounted my early sufferings in slavery,
and told her how nearly they had crushed me. I began to tell her how they
had driven me into a great sin, when she clasped me in her arms, and
exclaimed, "O, don't, mother! Please don't tell me any more."

I said, "But, my child, I want you to know about your father."

"I know all about it, mother," she replied; "I am nothing to my father, and
he is nothing to me. All my love is for you. I was with him five months in
Washington, and he never cared for me. He never spoke to me as he did to
his little Fanny. I knew all the time he was my father, for Fanny's nurse
told me so, but she said I must never tell any body, and I never did. I
used to wish he would take me in his arms and kiss me, as he did Fanny; or
that he would sometimes smile at me, as he did at her. I thought if he was
my own father, he ought to love me. I was a little girl then, and didn't
know any better. But now I never think any thing about my father. All my
love is for you." She hugged me closer as she spoke, and I th