iven to this lad every human passion and compassion.

The storm rolled away with the night, and Mammy came through the hall
with a candle.

"Whah is you, Marse Nick? Whah is you, honey? You' suppah's ready."

And so we went into our little dining room, but I would not eat. The
good old negress brushed her eyes with her apron as she pressed a
cake upon me she had made herself, for she had grown fond of me. And
presently we went away silently to bed.

It was a long, long time before Nick's breathing told me that he was
asleep. He held me tightly clutched to him, and I know that he feared I
would leave him. The thought of going broke my heart, but I never once
wavered in my resolve, and I lay staring into the darkness, pondering
what to do. I thought of good Mr. Lowndes and his wife, and I decided
to go to Charlestown. Some of my boyish motives come back to me now:
I should be near Nick; and even at that age,--having lived a life of
self-reliance,--I thought of gaining an education and of rising to a
place of trust. Yes, I would go to Mr. Lowndes, and ask him to let me
work for him and so earn my education.

With a heavy spirit I crept out of bed, slowly disengaging Nick's arm
lest he should wake. He turned over and sighed in his sleep. Carefully
I dressed myself, and after I was dressed I could not refrain from
slipping to the bedside to bend over him once again,--for he was the
only one in my life with whom I had found true companionship. Then I
climbed carefully out of the window, and so down the corner of the house
to the ground.

It was starlight, and a waning moon hung in the sky. I made my way
through the drive between the black shadows of the forest, and came at
length to the big gates at the entrance, locked for the night. A strange
thought of their futility struck me as I climbed the rail fence beside
them, and pushed on into the main road, the mud sucking under my shoes
as I went. As I try now to cast my memory back I can recall no fear,
only a vast sense of loneliness, and the very song of it seemed to be
sung in never ending refrain by the insects of the night. I had been
alone in the mountains before. I have crossed great strips of wilderness
since, but always there was love to go back to. Then I was leaving the
only being in the world that remained to me.

I must have walked two hours or more before I came to the mire of a
cross-road, and there I stood in a quandary of doubt as to which side
led to C