mposed upon, opened his
door, came out with stick in hand, and said, "Is dat you, Mr. Mark?
you imp, if I can get to you I'll larn you how to come here wid your
nonsense."

Mark and his companions left the garden, feeling satisfied that Uncle
Tony was not as ready to go with "de angel of de Lord" as he would have
others believe.

CHAPTER XIV. THE PRISON

WHILE poor little Clotelle was being kicked about by Mrs. Miller, on
account of her relationship to her son-in-law, Isabella was passing
lonely hours in the county jail, the place to which Jennings had
removed her for safe-keeping, after purchasing her from Mrs. Miller.
Incarcerated in one of the iron-barred rooms of that dismal place, those
dark, glowing eyes, lofty brow, and graceful form wilted down like a
plucked rose under a noonday sun, while deep in her heart's ambrosial
cells was the most anguishing distress.

Vulgar curiosity is always in search of its victims, and Jennings'
boast that he had such a ladylike and beautiful woman in his possession
brought numbers to the prison who begged of the jailer the privilege of
seeing the slave-trader's prize. Many who saw her were melted to
tears at the pitiful sight, and were struck with admiration at her
intelligence; and, when she spoke of her child, they must have been
convinced that a mother's sorrow can be conceived by none but a mother's
heart. The warbling of birds in the green bowers of bliss, which she
occasionally heard, brought no tidings of gladness to her. Their joy
fell cold upon her heart, and seemed like bitter mockery. They reminded
her of her own cottage, where, with her beloved child, she had spent so
many happy days.

The speculator had kept close watch over his valuable piece of property,
for fear that it might damage itself. This, however, there was no danger
of, for Isabella still hoped and believed that Henry would come to her
rescue. She could not bring herself to believe that he would allow her
to be sent away without at least seeing her, and the trader did all he
could to keep this idea alive in her.

While Isabella, with a weary heart, was passing sleepless nights
thinking only of her daughter and Henry, the latter was seeking relief
in that insidious enemy of the human race, the intoxicating cup. His
wife did all in her power to make his life a pleasant and a happy one,
for Gertrude was devotedly attached to him; but a weary heart gets no
gladness out of sunshine. The secret r