ated him, for the sake of our unborn child, to manumit me, and he
has promised to do it. If I could only be safe in New Orleans, it is
my wish to come and live with you, and find some way to support myself
and my child. But I could have no peace, so long as there was the
remotest possibility of being claimed as slaves. Mr. Fitzgerald may
not mean that I shall ever come to harm; but he may die without
providing against it, as poor papa did. I don't know what forms are
necessary for my safety. I don't understand how it is that there is no
law to protect a defenceless woman, who has done no wrong. I will
wait here a little longer to recruit my strength and have this matter
settled. I wish it were possible for you, my dear, good mother, to
come to me for two or three weeks in June; then perhaps you could take
back with you your poor Rosa and her baby, if their lives should be
spared. But if you cannot come, there is an experienced old negress
here, called Granny Nan, who, Tulee says, will take good care of me.
I thank you for your sympathizing, loving letter. Who could papa's
friend be that left me a legacy? I was thankful for the fifty dollars,
for it is very unpleasant to me to use any of Mr. Fitzgerald's money,
though he tells Tom to supply everything I want. If it were not for
you, dear friends, I don't think I should have courage to try to live.
But something sustains me wonderfully through these dreadful trials.
Sometimes I think poor Chloe's prayers bring me help from above; for
the good soul is always praying for me.

"Adieu. May the good God bless you both.

"Your loving and grateful

"ROSABELLA."

* * * * *

Week passed after week, and the promised papers did not come. The
weary days dragged their slow length along, unsoothed by anything
except Tulee's loving care and Madame's cheering letters. The piano
was never opened; for all tones of music were draped in mourning, and
its harmonies were a funeral march over buried love. But she enjoyed
the open air and the fragrance of the flowers. Sometimes she walked
slowly about the lawn, and sometimes Tulee set her upon Thistle's
back, and led him round and round through the bridle-paths. But out
of the woods that concealed their nest they never ventured, lest they
should meet Mrs. Fitzgerald. Tulee, who was somewhat proud on her
mistress's account, was vexed by this limitation. "I don't see why ye
should hide yerself from her," said s