_Mrs. Pey._ [_Takes them._] Yes, sir; they were the free papers of the girl Zoe; but they were in my husband's secretary. How came they in your possession? _M'Closky._ I--I found them. _George._ And you purloined them? _M'Closky._ Hold on, you'll see. Go on, Colonel. _Point._ The list of your slaves is incomplete--it wants one. _Scud._ The boy Paul--we know it. _Point._ No, sir; you have omitted the Octoroon girl, Zoe. [_Together._] _Mrs. Pey._ Zoe! _Zoe._ Me! _Point._ At the time the judge executed those free papers to his infant slave, a judgment stood recorded against him; while that was on record he had no right to make away with his property. That judgment still exists; under it and others this estate is sold to-day. Those free papers ain't worth the sand that's on 'em. _Mrs. Pey._ Zoe a slave! It is impossible! _Point._ It is certain, madam; the judge was negligent, and doubtless forgot this small formality. _Scud._ But the creditors will not claim the gal? _M'Closky._ Excuse me; one of the principal mortgagees has made the demand. [_Exit_ M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R. U. E. _Scud._ Hold on yere, George Peyton; you sit down there. You're trembling so, you'll fall down directly. This blow has staggered me some. _Mrs. Pey._ O, Zoe, my child! don't think too hardly of your poor father. _Zoe._ I shall do so if you weep. See, I'm calm. _Scud._ Calm as a tombstone, and with about as much life. I see it in your face. _George._ It cannot be! It shall not be! _Scud._ Hold your tongue--it must. Be calm--darn the things; the proceeds of this sale won't cover the debts of the estate. Consarn those Liverpool English fellers, why couldn't they send something by the last mail? Even a letter, promising something--such is the feeling round amongst the planters. Darn me, if I couldn't raise thirty thousand on the envelope alone, and ten thousand more on the post-mark. _George._ Zoe, they shall not take you from us while I live. _Scud._ Don't be a fool; they'd kill you, and then take her, just as soon as--stop; Old Sunnyside, he'll buy her! that'll save her. _Zoe._ No, it won't; we have confessed to Dora that we love each other. How can she then ask her father to free me? _Scud._ What in thunder made you do that? _Zoe._ Because it was the truth; and I had rather be a slave with a free soul, than remain free with a slavish, deceitful heart. My father gives me freedom--at least he thought so. May Heaven bless him for the thought, bless him for the happiness he spread around my life. You say the proceeds of the sale will not cover his debts. Let me be sold then, that I may free his name. I give him back the liberty he bestowed upon me; for I can never repay him the love he bore his poor Octoroon child, on whose breast his last sigh was drawn, into whose eyes he looked with the last gaze of affection. _Mrs. Pey._ O, my husband! I thank Heaven you have not lived to see this day.