ened.
The sleep broken, troubled by convulsions, or by frightful visions, was
worse than the waking hours; and when the reason sank under a delirium
which had its seat in the brain, repose utterly forsook the patient's
couch. The progress of the fever within was marked by yellowish spots,
which spread over the surface of the body. If then, a happy crisis came
not, all hope was gone. Soon the breath infected the air with a fetid
odor, the lips were glazed, despair painted itself in the eyes, and
sobs, with long intervals of silence, formed the only language. From
each side of the mouth, spread foam tinged with black and burnt blood.
Blue streaks mingled with the yellow all over the frame. All remedies
were useless. This was the yellow fever. The disorder spread alarm and
confusion throughout the city. On an average more than four hundred died
daily. In the midst of disorder and confusion, death heaped victims
on victims. Friend followed friend in quick succession. The sick were
avoided from the fear of contagion, and for the same reason the dead
were left unburied. Nearly two thousand dead bodies lay uncovered in the
burial-ground, with only here and there a little lime thrown over them,
to prevent the air becoming infected. The negro, whose home is in a
hot climate, was not proof against the disease. Many plantations had to
suspend their work for want of slaves to take the places of those who
had been taken off by the fever.

CHAPTER XXIII. MEETING OF THE COUSINS

THE clock in the hall had scarcely finished striking three when Mr.
Taylor entered his own dwelling, a fine residence in Camp Street, New
Orleans, followed by the slave-girl whom he had just purchased at the
negro-pen. Clotelle looked around wildly as she passed through the hall
into the presence of her new mistress. Mrs. Taylor was much pleased with
her servant's appearance, and congratulated her husband on his judicious
choice.

"But," said Mrs. Taylor, after Clotelle had gone into the kitchen, "how
much she looks like Miss Jane Morton."

"Indeed," replied the husband, "I thought, the moment I saw her that she
looked like the Mortons."

"I am sure I never saw two faces more alike in my life, than that girl's
and Jane Morton's," continued Mrs. Taylor.

Dr. Morton, the purchaser of Marion, the youngest daughter of Agnes, and
sister to Isabella, had resided in Camp Street, near the Taylors, for
more than eight years, and the families were on very