“The poor wretch was not in good health at the time; and our owner had occasion to employ him in the valley of the island far inland. I have been told, and can well believe, that the climate there is different from the climate on the coast--in which the unfortunate slave had been accustomed to live. The overseer wouldn’t believe him when he said the valley air would be his death--and the negroes, who might otherwise have helped him, all avoided a man whom they knew to be under a spell. “This, you see, accounts for what might appear incredible to civilized persons. If you will do me a favor, you will burn this little book, as soon as you have read what I have written here. If my request is not granted, I can only implore you to let no eyes but your own see these pages. My life might be in danger if the blacks knew what I have now told you, in the interests of truth.” Francine closed the book, and locked it up again in her desk. “Now I know,” she said to herself, “what reminded me of St. Domingo.” When Francine rang her bell the next morning, so long a time elapsed without producing an answer that she began to think of sending one of the house-servants to make inquiries. Before she could decide, Mrs. Ellmother presented herself, and offered her apologies. “It’s the first time I have overslept myself, miss, since I was a girl. Please to excuse me, it shan’t happen again.” “Do you find that the air here makes you drowsy?” Francine asked. Mrs. Ellmother shook her head. “I didn’t get to sleep,” she said, “till morning, and so I was too heavy to be up in time. But air has got nothing to do with it. Gentlefolks may have their whims and fancies. All air is the same to people like me.” “You enjoy good health, Mrs. Ellmother?” “Why not, miss? I have never had a doctor.” “Oh! That’s your opinion of doctors, is it?” “I won’t have anything to do with them--if that’s what you mean by my opinion,” Mrs. Ellmother answered doggedly. “How will you have your hair done?” “The same as yesterday. Have you seen anything of Miss Emily? She went back to London the day after you left us.” “I haven’t been in London. I’m thankful to say my lodgings are let to a good tenant.” “Then where have you lived, while you were waiting to come here?” “I had only one place to go to, miss; I went to the village where I was born. A friend found a corner for me. Ah, dear heart, it’s a pleasant place, there!” “A place like this?” “Lord help you! As little like this as chalk is to cheese. A fine big moor, miss, in Cumberland, without a tree in sight--look where you may. Something like a wind, I can tell you, when it takes to blowing there.” “Have you never been in this part of the country?” “Not I! When I left the North, my new mistress took me to Canada. Talk about air! If there was anything in it, the people in _that_ air ought to live to be a hundred. I liked Canada.” “And who was your next mistress?”