"Oh, Ann," she exclaimed, "dat likely-lookin' yallow man, dat cum to see you, an' fotch yer trunk de fust night yer comed here, was passin' by, an' I was stanin' at de gate; an' he axed me to han' dis to you." And she gave me the bouquet, which I took, breathing a thousand blessings upon the head of my devoted Henry. I had often wondered why Louise had never been to see me. She knew very well where I was, and access to me was easy. But I was not long kept in suspense, for, on that very night she came, bringing with her a few sweetmeats, which I distributed among those of my companions who felt more inclined to eat them than I did. "I have wondered, Louise, why you did not come sooner." "Well, the fact is, Ann, I've been busy trying to find you a home. I couldn't bear to come without bringing you good news. Henry and I have worked hard. All of our leisure moments have been devoted to it. We have scoured this city over, but with no success; and, hearing yesterday that Mr. Atkins would start down the river to-morrow, with all of you, I could defer coming no longer. Poor Henry is too much distressed to come! He says he'll not sleep this night, but will ransack the city till he finds somebody able and willing to rescue you." "How does he look?" I asked. "Six years older than when you saw him last. He takes this very hard; has lost his appetite, and can't sleep at night." I said nothing; but my heart was full, full to overflowing. I longed to be alone, to fall with my face on the earth and weep. The presence of Louise restrained me, for I always shrank from exposing my feelings. "Are we going to-morrow?" I inquired. "Yes, Mr. Atkins told me so this evening. Did you not know of it?" "No, indeed; am I among the lot?" After a moment's hesitation she replied, "Yes, he told me that you were, and, on account of your beauty, he expected you would bring a good price in the Southern market. Oh heavens, Ann, this is too dreadful to repeat; yet you will have to know of it." "Oh yes, yes;" and I could no longer restrain myself; I fell, weeping, in her arms. She could not remain long with me, for Mr. Atkins closed up the establishment at half-past nine. Bidding me an affectionate farewell, and assuring me that she would, with Henry, do all that could be done for my relief, she left me. A most wretched, phantom-peopled night was that! Ten thousand horrors haunted me! Of course I slept none; but imagination seemed turned to a fiend, and tortured me in divers ways. CHAPTER XXXIV. SCENE IN THE PEN--STARTING "DOWN THE RIVER"--UNCLE PETER'S TRIAL--MY RESCUE. On the next day, after breakfast, Mr. Atkins came in, saying, "Well, niggers, git yourselves ready. You must all start down the river to-day, at ten o'clock. A good boat is going out. Huddle up your clothes as quick as possible--no fuss, now." When he left, there was lamentation among some; silent mourning with others; joy for a few.