"Yes, even chained with strong irons. It need not surprise you. Slavery is a crime; and they chain the innocent lest the wrong should break forth upon themselves." And she raised her hands to her face, shook her head, and laid Annette in the little bed at the foot of her own. What is it that in chaining a woman, whether she be black as ebony or white as snow, degrades all the traits of the southerner's character, which he would have the world think noble? It is fear! The monster which the southerner sees by day, tolerates in his silence, protects as part and parcel of a legal trade, only clothes him with the disgrace that menials who make themselves mere fiends are guilty of, Maxwell thought to himself. "I will set you free, if it cost my life!" he exclaimed. "Hush, hush!" rejoined Clotilda: "remember those wretches on the plantation. They, through their ignorance, have learned to wield the tyranny of petty power; they look upon us with suspicious eyes. They know we are negroes (white negroes, who are despicable in their eyes), and feeling that we are more favoured, their envy is excited. They, with the hope of gaining favour, are first to disclose a secret. Save my child first, and then save me"-- "I will save you first; rest assured, I will save you;" he responded, shaking her hand, bidding her good night. On returning to the mansion he found Marston seated at the table in the drawing-room, in a meditative mood. Good night, my friend!" he accosted him. "Ah, good night!" was the sudden response. "You seem cast down?" "No!-all's not as it seems with a man in trouble. How misfortune quickens our sense of right! O! how it unfolds political and moral wrongs! how it purges the understanding, and turns the good of our natures to thoughts of justice. But when the power to correct is beyond our reach we feel the wrong most painfully," Marston coldly replied. "It never is too late to do good; my word for it, friend Marston, good is always worth its services. I am young and may serve you yet; rise above trouble, never let trifles trouble a man like you. The world seems wagging pleasantly for you; everybody on the plantation is happy; Lorenzo has gone into the world to distinguish himself; grief should never lay its scalpel in your feelings. Remember the motto-peace, pleasantry, and plenty; they are things which should always dispel the foreshadowing of unhappiness," says Maxwell, jocularly, taking a chair at Marston's request, and seating himself by the table.