I would have given something to have seen what Sam intended to do after that look,--for he was a big, black, powerful, hog-nosed nigger, capable of some little mischief--but the ladies being present, such intentions were, of course, impossible. Sam obeyed me instantly and went quickly toward the stables with his broad shoulders well squared and his head up, and Harrison continued on his way with my charming sister upon his arm. "I suppose," I said, looking askance at Miss Carter, "this is the superior feeling of the governing class which we have just witnessed?" "What would that black boy have done?" she said, in alarm. "I saw the look in his eyes that certainly meant more than disobedience." "Oh, Sam is a true and trained Christian," I answered, somewhat nettled at the scene. "I taught him the doctrine of forbearance myself and I have seen him practice it to some advantage." "And what was that?" asked Rose, sweetly, looking up at me with her lovely violet eyes that still showed traces of her alarm. "Well, the last overseer I had was a man of superior feeling who belonged to the governing class--and he started to govern accordingly. He smote Sam savagely upon the side of his bullet head, one day, and knocked him down. Sam jumped up and rose to his full height, offering the other side of his head without so much as a word. The fellow, John Smith, struck him again, like a fool, and stretched Sam senseless for half an hour." "And then?" "Oh, then Sam came to, and as soon as he could stand, he drew his corn knife and it was all we could do to keep him from killing that overseer. As it was, he got so badly cut that he would never come back again to the Hall." I saw Miss Carter pale slightly. "Are many of your people so brutal and blood-thirsty?" she asked. "Sam is neither one nor the other, but as good a boy as ever followed a gentleman"-- "For revenge, do you mean? If that is so, I think the sooner I tell Berk--Mr. Harrison, the better." "Oh, Lord, no," I cried, "I mean as a servant. Even Major Bullbeggor allows him the privilege of serving him, and you know how particular he is. But why so anxious about Berk Harrison's welfare?" "I am his cousin," answered Miss Carter, stiffly. The tone of her voice was enough. But Heavens! A man must take his strokes, mental or physical, without too much wincing. As for me, I like the man who can meet them with a smile on his lips and talk in a steady, natural voice while his heart stops beating and the iron grip of sorrow holds his throat like a vice. The tone of Rose Carter's voice, that day, told me something in regard to cousinly feeling. But no matter. Our greatest sorrows are not nearly so heavy some years afterwards and-- As I said, I felt a sensation, similar I now believe, to that which a few others have felt before. But a man in love is never a philosopher--and he is generally hasty and selfish.