"Yes'm." He was staring at her as a man drowning might stare at a spar drifting his way on a chance wave; there was but the shadow of a hope in his face as he watched with parted lips the hand with the pen--and back of the shadow what substance! "And she is dead--how long?" "A yeah gone now." "And Mr. Larue asks how much for her child?" "Hundred 'n' fifty dollar--this what he _said_, but, God knows, lawyers got hold o' things now, maybe even more 'n that now, an' anyway--" His words sounded vague and confused in his own ears, for she was writing, and did not appear to hear. "Where is this Larue place?" she asked, glancing up. "I heard of a Jean Larue plantation across in Georgia--is this it?" "No'm," and he turned an eager look of hope towards Margeret at this pointed questioning, but her expression was unchanged; she only looked at the strange lady who questioned and showed sympathy. "No, mist'ess, this Mahs Jean Larue did stay on they Georgy plantation till five yeah back, then they move ovah to Callina again; that how I come to meet up with Rosa. Larue place down river towards Beaufort--a whole day's walken'." "What did you say this child was named?" she asked, without ceasing the movement of the pen over the white paper. "His name Ezekal, but we ain't nevah call him anything but Zekal--he's so little yet." "And when is this sale to be?" Pluto looked helplessly towards Margeret. "Tomorrow week, Madame Caron," she said, speaking for the first time, though her steady gaze had almost made Judithe nervous. It had a peculiar, appealing quality, which Judithe, with a little grimace, assured herself was so appealing it was compelling; it left her no choice but to do what she was doing and for which she could take no credit whatever to herself--the wistful eyes of the pale-faced bondwoman did it all. "In a week there is plenty of time to arrange it," she said, turning kindly to Pluto. "You can rest in peace about your Rosa's boy. I will attend to it at once, and the traders shall never have him." Margeret drew a sharp, inward breath of relief. "Yo' mean _you'll_ buy him in?" and Pluto's voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "Yo' mean I'll have a chance, maybe, to buy him back some day?" "Not 'some day,' my good fellow," and Judithe folded the paper she had been writing; "from the day he is bought from the Larue estate he will have his freedom. He will never be bought or sold again." The man stared at her, helplessly. No hope of his had ever reached so high as _that_! He tried to speak--failed--and his face was covered by his sleeve, as he went slowly out of the room. "Don't--don't you think Pluto ain't thankful, Madame Caron," said the soft tones of Margeret, and they were not quite steady tones, either. Judithe did not look up for fear she should see tears in the melancholy, dark eyes; "that black boy just so thankful he can't speak. He'll worship you for what you've done for him, and well he may."