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Betting upon the turn of the cards, I knew what was coming: They never left their pigeons a single feather to fly with. Next day I saw them together,—the stranger and one of the gamblers:

Picturesque rascal he was, with long black hair and moustaches,

Black slouch hat drawn down to his eyes from his villanous

forehead:

On together they moved, still earnestly talking in whispers, On toward the forecastle, where sat the woman alone by the

gangway.

Roused by the fall of feet, she turned, and, beholding her

master

Greeted him with a smile that was more like a wife's than

another's,

Rose to meet him fondly, and then, with the dread apprehen

sion

Always haunting the slave, fell her eye on the face of the gambler,

Dark and lustful and fierce and full of merciless cunning. Something was spoken so low that I could not hear what the

words were;

Only the woman started and looked from one to the other, With imploring eyes, bewildered hands, and a tremor

All through her frame; I saw her from where I was standing,

she shook so.

'Say ! is it so?' she cried. On the weak, white lips of her

master

Died a sickly smile, and he said,—' Louise, I have sold you.' God is my judge! May I never see such a look of despairing, Desolate anguish, as that which the woman cast on her

master,

Gripping her breast with her little hands, as if he had stabbed

her,

Standing in silence a space, as fixed as the Indian woman,

Carved out of wood, on the pilot-house of the old Pocahontas! Then, with a gurgling moan, like the sound in the throat of the dying,

Came back her voice, that, rising, fluttered, through wild incoherence,

Into a terrible shriek that stopped my heart while she answered:

Sold me? sold me ? sold—And you promised to give me my freedom!—

Promised me for the sake of your little boy in Saint Louis! What will you say to our boy, when he cries for me there in Saint Louis?

What will you say to our God?—Ah, you have been joking! I see it!

No? God! God! He shall hear it,—and all of the angels in heaven,

Even the devils in hell!-and none will believe when they

hear it!

Sold me!'-Fell her voice with a thrilling wail, and in silence Down she sank on the deck, and covered her face with her fingers."

IV.

In his story a moment the pilot paused, while we listened
To the salute of a boat, that, rounding the point of an island,
Flamed toward us with fires that seemed to burn from the

waters,

Stately and vast and swift, and borne on the heart of the

current.

Then, with the mighty voice of a giant challenged to battle, Rose the responsive whistle, and all the echoes of island, Swamp-land, glade, and brake replied with a myriad clamor, Like wild birds that are suddenly startled from slumber at

midnight;

Then were at peace once more, and we heard the harsh cries of the peacocks

Perched on a tree by a cabin door, where the white-headed

settler's

White-headed children stood to look at the boat as it passed

them,

Passed them so near that we heard their happy talk and their

laughter.

Softly the sunset had faded, and now in the eastern horizon Hung, like a tear in the sky, the beautiful star of the evening.

V.

Still with his back to us standing, the pilot went on with his

story:

"Instantly, all the people, with looks of reproach and compas

sion,

Flocked round the prostrate woman. The children cried, and their mothers

Hugged them tight to their breasts; but the gambler said to

the captain,

'Put me off there at the town that lies round the bend of the

river.

Here, you! rise at once, and be ready now to go with me.' Roughly he seized the woman's arm and strove to uplift her. She-she seemed not to heed him, but rose like one that is

dreaming,

Slid from his grasp, and fleetly mounted the steps of the

gangway,

Up to the hurricane-deck, in silence, without lamentation. Straight to the stern of the boat, where the wheel was, she

ran, and the people

Followed her fast till she turned and stood at bay for a moment,

Looking them in the face, and in the face of the gambler.

Not one to save her,-not one of all the compassionate people!

Not one to save her, of all the pitying angels in heaven!
Not one bolt of God to strike him dead there before her!
Wildly she waved him back, we waiting in silence and horror!
Over the swarthy face of the gambler a pallor of passion
Passed, like a gleam of lightning over the west in the night-

time.

White, she stood, and mute, till he put forth his hand to secure her;

Then she turned and leaped,-in mid-air fluttered a moment,— Down, there, whirling, fell, like a broken-winged bird from a

tree-top,

Down on the cruel wheel, that caught her, and hurled her, and crushed her,

And in the foaming water plunged her, and hid her forever."

VI.

Still with his back to us all the pilot stood, but we heard him Swallowing hard, as he pulled the bell-rope to stop her. Then, turning,—

"This is the place where it happened," brokenly whispered the

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pilot.

Somehow, I never like to go by here alone in the night-time." Darkly the Mississippi flowed by the town that lay in the

starlight,

Cheerful with lamps. Below we could hear them reversing the engines,

And the great boat glided up to the shore like a giant exhausted.

Heavily sighed her pipes. Broad over the swamps to the eastward

Shone the full moon, and turned our far-trembling wake into

silver.

All was serene and calm, but the odorous breath of the

willows

Smote like the subtile breath of an infinite sorrow upon us.

Jean Lefelow

ECHO AND THE FERRY.

Ay, Oliver! I was but seven, and he was eleven;

He looked at me pouting and rosy. I blushed where I stood.
They had told us to play in the orchard (and I only seven!
A small guest at the farm); but he said, "Oh, a girl was no
good!"

So he whistled and went, he went over the stile to the wood.
It was sad, it was sorrowful! Only a girl-only seven!
At home in the dark London smoke I had not found it out.
The pear-trees looked on in their white, and blue-birds
flash'd about,

And they too were angry as Oliver. Were they eleven?
I thought so. Yes, everyone else was eleven-eleven!

So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at my feet,
And all the white orchard with fast-falling blossom was

litter'd;

And under and over the branches those little birds twitter'd, While hanging head downward they scolded because I was

seven.

A pity. A very great pity. One should be eleven.

But soon I was happy, the smell of the world was so sweet,
And I saw a round hole in an apple-tree rosy and old.
Then I knew! for I peeped, and I felt it was right they
should scold!

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