other land but that of slavery,
would have been respected and beloved. What would have been her
feelings if she could have known that the child for whose rescue she had
sacrificed herself would one day be free, honored, and loved in another
land?

CHAPTER XVII. CLOTELLE

THE curtain rises seven years after the death of Isabella. During that
interval, Henry, finding that nothing could induce his mother-in-law to
relinquish her hold on poor little Clotelle, and not liking to contend
with one on whom a future fortune depended, gradually lost all interest
in the child, and left her to her fate.

Although Mrs. Miller treated Clotelle with a degree of harshness
scarcely equalled, when applied to one so tender in years, still the
child grew every day more beautiful, and her hair, though kept closely
cut, seemed to have improved in its soft, silk-like appearance. Now
twelve years of age, and more than usually well-developed, her harsh old
mistress began to view her with a jealous eye.

Henry and Gertrude had just returned from Washington, where the husband
had been on his duties as a member of Congress, and where he had
remained during the preceding three years without returning home. It
was on a beautiful evening, just at twilight, while seated at his parlor
window, that Henry saw a young woman pass by and go into the kitchen.
Not aware of ever having seen the person before, he made an errand into
the cook's department to see who the girl was. He, however, met her in
the hall, as she was about going out.

"Whom did you wish to see?" he inquired.

"Miss Gertrude," was the reply.

"What did you want to see her for?" he again asked.

"My mistress told me to give her and Master Henry her compliments, and
ask them to come over and spend the evening."

"Who is your mistress?" he eagerly inquired.

"Mrs. Miller, sir," responded the girl.

"And what's your name?" asked Henry, with a trembling voice.

"Clotelle, sir," was the reply.

The astonished father stood completely amazed, looking at the now
womanly form of her who, in his happier days, he had taken on his knee
with so much fondness and alacrity. It was then that he saw his own
and Isabella's features combined in the beautiful face that he was then
beholding. It was then that he was carried back to the days when with
a woman's devotion, poor Isabella hung about his neck and told him how
lonely were the hours in his absence. He could stand it no longer. Te