No one could look upon that fragile form and thin face, with its fair, transparent pallor, and large, mournful eyes, and not know her heart was breaking. What kept her life power going? Something that was not the love of her child, or of her poor, old mother! Something that occasionally varied that look of hopeless, incurable sorrow, with a wild and startled expression of extreme terror, suggestive of insanity. Some people thought it was insanity, but they were mistaken; her reason was sound, though her heart was broken. Fannie kept a little thread and needle shop; she owed the little shop to the benevolence of Mrs. Waring; for, to the honor of that poor lady be it spoken, even in the midst of her own awful sorrow, she had remembered and succored her humble sister in adversity. Fannie's little shop thrived moderately, and afforded herself and child a decent living, and the means of alleviating some of the miseries and adding to the few comforts of her poor mother. Early every Saturday evening Fannie would close her little shop and take her child and walk out to Phædra's cabin, to remain until Monday morning. And these seasons, spent in reading the Scriptures, in prayer, and in mutual consolations, were the least unhappy in these poor women's lives. Phædra's decrepitude confined her closely at home. But the brothers and sisters of her church did not leave her alone in her sorrow. They came frequently, they ministered to all her necessities, material and spiritual, as far as she had need, and they had power. They held a weekly prayer-meeting at her house. And these Thursday evening meetings were sources of great comfort to the desolate woman. Fannie was frequently present at them. And the old negro preacher, Elisha, was invariable in his punctual attendance. There was also another, a constant, though an unknown and unsuspected worshipper among them. Valentine's name had long died off from every tongue, as his memory seemed to have expired from every heart. Even in comforting Phædra her friends never designated the nature of her grief; and, in praying for the Lord's mercy upon their "aged sister in her sore affliction," they never named that affliction's cause. And though the unhappy man was remembered in their petitions, it was in silence and in secrecy. One Thursday evening, while the March winds were piping through the pine barrens, Phædra was holding a prayer-meeting in her cabin. There were about twenty negroes, both men and women, present. Among them was the old preacher, Elisha, who led the devotions. Fannie was also present, with her child. And the look of wild anxiety that occasionally varied the heart-broken expression of her face seemed now fixed; her usually patient, suffering countenance was absolutely haggard with terror, and strong shudders shook her frame. Phædra watched her with great uneasiness.