Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue: A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-west — John Shaqi
Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue: A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-westOptic, Oliver
General
Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue: A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-west
Optic, Oliver
African Americans -- Fiction; Enslaved persons -- United States -- Fiction
While thus laboring in his perplexity, the door communicating with the
ante-chamber was opened, and the boy in attendance very formally
announced "Miss Dumont."
This announcement seemed to dissipate the vexatious clouds which had
environed the attorney, and a light and cheerful smile came, as if by
magic, upon his care-worn features, as he apologized to the lady for the
smoky atmosphere of the room.
"I trust your honored father is well," said he, after disposing of the
usual commonplace introductions of conversation.
"I regret to say that his failing health is the occasion of this visit,"
replied the lady, in a cold and even serious tone. "I have called to
request your immediate attendance at Bellevue. My father has some
business matters upon which he requires your professional advice."
"Col. Dumout, I trust, is not seriously ill," returned Maxwell, with an
appearance of sympathy.
"He is confined to his room, but not entirely to his bed. When shall I
say you will come?" said the lady.
"I will be there within an hour after your own arrival, if you go
direct."
"Very well, sir;" and she turned to depart.
This intention on the part of the lady did not seem to meet the
approbation of the attorney.
"Stay a moment, Miss Dumont," said he, in an embarrassed manner; "pray,
honor me with a moment's conversation."
"Nay, sir. I know too well your object in this request, and cannot
accede to it," replied the lady, in a firm and dignified manner, while
a rich crimson shade suffused her beautiful countenance.
"Be not so unkind,--a moment is all I ask," said Maxwell, with pleading
earnestness.
"No, sir; not a moment. Your unopened letter, which I yesterday
returned, should be enough to convince you that my mind is not changed,"
replied she, moving to the door.
The lawyer was vexed. The letter alluded to by the lady he had received,
and it had troubled him exceedingly. He had a great purpose in view,--a
purpose which, accomplished, would enable him to realize the cherished
object of his life,--would enable him to revel in the ease and affluence
he so much coveted. Something must be done. Here was an opportunity
afforded by the providential visit of Miss Dumont which might never
occur again, and he resolved to improve it. Determined to detain her, he
adopted the first expedient which presented itself.
"Pardon me," said he, "I have not received the letter, and was not aware
that you intended to return it."
"Indeed!" replied the lady, with evident astonishment, as she
relinquished her hold of the door-handle, and returned to the table by
the side of which the attorney stood.
"I regret that I did not, as it would have saved you from further
annoyance, and me from a few of the hours of anguish with which I have
awaited your reply," returned the lawyer, in accents of humility, which
were too well feigned to permit the lady to suspect them. "The
bitterness of a blighted hope were better than the agony of suspense."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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