He took his leave then, and though he had treated me handsomely and I had reason to be grateful to him, I looked after him with envy. He was free, he was about to take the road, he had plans; the world was before him, already a reputation was his. And I lay here, useless, chained by the leg, a prisoner for the second time. I knew that I ought to be thankful; I had my life, where many had perished, and by and by, I should be grateful. But as I thought of him trailing over the flanks of the wind-swept hills, or filing through the depths of the pine-barrens, or cantering over the wide, scented savannahs, my soul pined to go with him; pined for freedom, for action, for the vast spaces with which two years had made me familiar. That I sighed for these rather than for home or friends was a token perhaps of returning strength; or it may be that the sight of this man, who within a few months had written his name so deeply on events, had roused my ambition. Be the cause what it might I found the day endless. It was in vain that Tom fretted me with attentions; I was useless, I was a log, any one might look down on me. To be taken twice! Could a man of spirit be taken twice? No, it was too much. It was bad enough to stand for that which was hateful, without also standing for that which was contemptible. It was a grey rainy day such as we have in England in July after a spell of heat; soft and perfumed, grateful to those abroad but dull to the housebound. And Wilmer was gone. I heard no voices in the house, no spinning-wheel, the business of the plantation was no longer transacted within my hearing. There was nothing to distract me, less to amuse me. I fumed and fretted. When my eyes fell on the Bible which Madam Constantia had sent me, it failed to provoke a smile. Instead, the sight chilled me. How deep must be the enmity, how stern the purpose that could foresee the night’s work, and foreseeing could still send that book! I asked Tom if I could get up. He answered that I might get up on the morrow. Not to-day. “But I am feeling much stronger,” I said. “Want no flust’ations,” he replied. “Marse take dose sassaf’ac tea now.” I swore at him and his sassafras tea. “You v’ey big man ter-day,” Mammy Jacks said. “And pickaninny yesterday,” I rejoined angrily. This time she did not answer. Instead she grinned at me. Presently, “Isn’t Miss Wilmer well?” I asked. “She sorter poorly,” Mammy Jacks said. “She skeered by dat low white trash,” with a side glance at me, to see how I took it. “Isn’t she afraid that they may return?” I asked. “Marse Marion see to dat,” the woman said, with pride. “He mighty big man. He say de wud, dey not come widin miles o’ the Bluff! You des hev de luck uv de worl’,” Mammy Jacks continued. “Dey hang nine, ten your folks day befo’ yistiddy.” “Oh, confound you, you black raven!” I cried, “Leave me alone.”