“No--you wouldn’t stab them or give them poison--but you would do far worse, take everything from them--their whole living. You would change everything for us. I,” cried Letitia, tears coming into her voice as she realized the emancipation of her once slave, “would not mind--for myself--I’m used to--putting up with things--for the sake of my family; but there is John--and little Duke--their inheritance taken from them that came from their ancestors--that they’ve always been brought up to--everything changed for them. And all because a friend--one we’ve been so kind to--my oldest friend, Mary, one brought into the family by me; oh, that is the worst of it! If it had not been for me you would never, never have known that there was such a person as Lord Frogmore. They’ve a right to say it’s all my doing. Oh, Mary Hill, it was a fine thing for me to marry John Parke, and then to bring my friends with me into the family and ruin them all!” Mary felt herself as obdurate and hard as the nether millstone. She folded her shoulders in her shawl and her mind in what she felt to be a determined ingratitude. Yes, she was ungrateful. They had been kind to her, but she would not give up her life for that. It was not fair to ask her. And how could she change when everything was settled? She turned her shoulder to her friend. “He said it should do them no harm,--I told him I would not consent to do them any harm.” “Oh, as for that!” Letitia cried. She leaned down close, near to Mary’s ear with her hand upon her shoulder. “Mary,” she said, “you’re my oldest friend. We used to play together, don’t you recollect? It was you who was kind to me in those days. Sometimes I’ve seemed to forget, but I don’t forget, Mary. It wouldn’t have mattered if we had cut each other out as girls--that’s natural; but now! You might win the day and welcome. Get the title and go out of the room before me and all that----” Letitia’s laboring bosom gave forth a sob at the dreadful possibility, but she went on. “But it is the others I am thinking of. It isn’t me, Mary! And we that were always such friends.” There came from Mary’s bosom an answering sob of excitement and misery, but she made no reply. “I can understand, dear,” said Letitia, putting her arm around the arched shoulders, “that now you have made up your mind to marry you don’t feel as if you could give it up. I don’t ask you to give it up--but oh, think how far better than an old man like that it would be to have one that was really fond of you, one of your own age, a person that was natural! Oh, Mary, hear me out. Father has settled to give him something, and we could make out between us what would be quite a fortune in Australia. And he worships the very ground you tread on--and you were always fond of him you know, you know---- Oh, Mary!”