Mrs. Gentry looked significantly at the gentleman, and he, as if anticipating her interrogatory, replied: “The child came into my possession only within this hour. I bought her quite accidentally at auction. She has none of my blood in her veins, I assure you.” “Can I see her?” “Yes”; and, walking to the window, Ratcliff motioned to one of his negroes to bring the child in. This was done; and the infant was placed on the floor with her little bundle by her side, and nude as she was when exposed on the auction-block. “A quadroon, I should think,” said Mrs. Gentry. “I really don’t know what she is,” replied Ratcliff. “I want you, however, to take her into your family, and raise her as carefully as if you knew her to be my daughter. You shall be liberally paid for your trouble.” “Is she to know that she is a slave?” “As to that I can instruct you hereafter. Meanwhile keep the fact a secret, and mention my name to no one in connection with her. You can occasionally send me a daguerrotype, that I may see if her looks fulfil her promise. I wish you to be particular about her music and French, also her dancing. Let her understand all about dress too. You can draw upon me as often as you choose for the amount we fix upon; and the probability is, I shall not wish to see her till she reaches her fifteenth or sixteenth year. I rely upon you to keep her strictly, and, as she grows older, to guard her against making acquaintances with any of the other sex. Will seven hundred dollars a year pay you for your trouble?” “Amply, sir,” said the gratified lady. “I will do my best to carry out your wishes.” “You need not write me oftener than once a year,” said Ratcliff. “Not if she were dangerously ill?” “No; not even then. You could take better care of her than I; and all my interest in her is _in futuro_.” “I think I understand, sir,” said Mrs. Gentry; “and I will at once make a note of what you say.” “Here is payment for the first half-year in advance,” said Ratcliff. “Thank you, sir,” returned the lady, quite overwhelmed at the great planter’s munificence. “Shall I write you a receipt?” “It is superfluous, madam.” All this while the child, with a seriousness strangely at variance with her infantile appearance, sat on the floor, looking intently first at the woman, then at the man, and evidently striving to understand what they were saying. Ratcliff now took his leave; but Mrs. Gentry called him back before he had reached the door. “Excuse me, sir, there is something I wished to ask you? What was it? Oh! By what name shall we call the child?” “Upon my word,” said Ratcliff, “I have forgotten the name the auctioneer gave her. No matter! Call her anything you please.” “Well, then, Estelle is a pretty name. Shall I call her Estelle?” Ratcliff started, came close up to Mrs. Gentry, looked her steadily in the face, and asked, “What put that name into your head?” “I don’t know. Probably I have seen it in some novel.”