“Two rather personable fellows,” replied Kenrick, laughing; “one of them ten or twelve years older than the other; height of the two, about the same; figures very much alike, inclining to slimness, but compact, erect, well-knit; hands and feet small; heads,—I have no fault to find with the shape or size of either; hair similar in color; eyes,—as near as I can see, the two pairs resemble each other, and the crow’s-feet at the corners are the same in each; features,—nose,—brows—I see why you’ve brought me here, Mr. Vance! We are enough alike to be brothers.” “Can you explain the mystery?” asked Vance, “for I can’t. Can there be any family relationship? I had an aunt, now deceased, who was married to a Louisianian. But his name was not Kenrick.” “What was it?” “Arthur Maclain.” “My father! Cousin, your hand! In order to inherit property, my father, after his marriage, procured a change of name. I can’t tell you how pleasant to me it is to meet one of my mother’s relations.” They had come together still more akin in spirit than in blood. The night was all too short for the confidences they now poured out to each other. Vance told his whole story, pausing occasionally to calm down the excitement which the narrative caused in his hearer. When it was finished Kenrick said: “Cousin, count me your ally in compassing your revenge. May God do so to me, and more also, if I do not give this beastly Slave Power blood for blood.” “I can’t help thinking, Charles,” said Vance, “that your zeal has the purer origin. _Mine_ sprang from a personal experience of wrong; yours, from an abstract conception of what is just; from those inner motives that point to righteousness and God.” “I almost wish sometimes,” replied Kenrick, “that I had the spur of a great personal grievance to give body to my wrath. And yet Slavery, when it lays its foul hand on _the least of these little ones_ ought to be felt by me also, and by all men! But now—now—I shall not lack the sting of a personal incentive. _Your_ griefs, cousin, fall on my own heart, and shall not find the soil altogether barren. This Ratcliff,—I know him well. He has been more than once at our house. A perfect type of the sort of beast born of slavery,—moulded as in a matrix by slavery,—kept alive by slavery! Take away slavery, and he would perish of inanition. He would be, like the plesiosaur, a fossil monster, representative of an extinct genus.” “Cousin,” said Vance, “all you lack is to join the serpent with the dove. Be content to bide your time. Here in Louisiana lies your work. We must make the whole western bank of the Mississippi free soil. Texas can be taken care of in due time. But with a belt of freedom surrounding the Cotton States, the doom of slavery is fixed. Give me to see that day, and I shall be ready to say, ‘Now, Lord, dismiss thy servant!’” “I had intended to go North, and join the army of freedom,” said Kenrick; “but what you say gives me pause.”