This harsh mandate was obeyed to the letter. With great expedition, Nace and Jake dug a hole in the earth, and laid a few planks at the bottom, upon which I threw an old quilt, and on that hard bed they laid her. Good and faithful servant, even in death thou wast not allowed a bed! Over the form I spread a covering, and the men laid a few planks, box-fashion, over that, and then began roughly throwing on the fresh earth. "Dust to dust," I murmured, and, with a secret prayer, turned from her unmarked resting-place. Mr. Peterkin expressly ordered that it should not have a grave shape, and so it was patted and smoothed down, until, save for the moisture and fresh color of the earth, you could not have known that the ground had ever been broken. CHAPTER XX. THE TRADER--A TERRIBLE FRIGHT--POWER OF PRAYER--GRIEF OF THE HELPLESS. About noon a gaudily-dressed and rough-looking man rode up to the gate, and alighted from a fine bay horse. With that free and easy sort of way so peculiar to a _certain class_ of mankind, he walked up the avenue to the front door. "Gal," he said, addressing me, "whar's yer master?" "In the house. Will you walk in?" "No, it is skersely worth while; jist tell him that me, Bill Tompkins, wants to see him; but stay," he added, as I was turning to seek my master, "is you the gal he sold to me yesterday?" "I don't know, sir." "Wal, you is devilish likely. Put out yer foot. Wal, it is nice enuff to belong to a white 'ooman. You is a bright-colored mulatto. I _must_ have you." "Heavens! I hope not," was my half-uttered expression, as I turned away, for I had caught the meaning of that lascivious eye, and shrank from the threatened danger. Though I had been cruelly treated, yet had I been allowed to retain my person inviolate; and I would rather, a thousand-fold, have endured the brutality of Mr. Peterkin, than those loathsome looks which I felt betokened ruin. "Master, a man, calling himself Bill Tompkins, wishes to see you," said I, as I entered his private apartment. "Can't yer say Mr. Tompkins?" "He told me to tell you Bill Tompkins; I only repeat his words." "Whar is he?" "At the front door." "Didn't yer ax him in, hussy?" "Yes, sir, but he refused, saying it was not worth while." "Oh," thought I, when left alone, "am I sold to that monster? Am I to become so utterly degraded? No, no; rather than yield my purity I will give up my life, and trust to God to pardon the suicide."