"You must not put such questions to me, Cousin Richard," she answered. "All we women in Virginia are, more or less, abolitionists, except when we encounter some of the northern fanatics, and then we stand upon the defensive, telling them they have no right to meddle with us. Indeed, one half of the State is in favour of emancipation; and I should not wonder if an Act for that purpose were to pass next year; though, heaven knows what we should do with the poor creatures if we did free them, for nine out of ten are quite incapable of taking care of, or providing for, themselves. I suppose we should have to become the slaves in their place, and work for them, for, assuredly, no negro will work for himself or any one else if he can help it--no, cousin, not even the paragon Nat Turner. He has, indeed, as you say, a good number of the African traits, and seems to have, as it were, two characters, one full of power and capability, and the other feeble and not to be cultivated--at least so Mr. Travis says. He is, moreover, marvellously superstitious--a believer in all sorts of signs and portents. You should go and see him in his cabin, Richard; he would take it as a great compliment." "I will, some day," I answered. "But now, whither are you bending your steps?" "Wherever fancy leads, and the air is freshest," answered Bessy. "Then take my arm, and let us seek it," I rejoined. "No, no," she replied, laughing; "you do not know our ways. No young lady takes a man's arm without being engaged to him." "Then take mine," I said, in the same gay tone. She looked suddenly up in my face, and, seeing that I was smiling, she said, in the words of the song she had sung the night before, "_Tu mi burli_. But indeed it is against our customs." "Very prudish customs, indeed, dear Bessy," I answered. She instantly passed her arm through mine, saying, "There! you shall not call _me_ prudish, at least. I abhor a prude. Coquette I dare say you have called me in your heart a hundred times already; but you are wrong there, too, cousin mine. Having resolved, long ago, never to marry, I make use of my independence, and say what I like to any one; but that is all. I care not one straw for admiration, or anything of the kind." "Are you then the woman whose resolutions can never be changed?" I asked. "The woman!" she exclaimed, with a toss of the head. "Do you mean to imply that every woman is weak and irresolute?" "Not at all," I answered. "That does not follow, dear cousin. A woman would show herself more weak by keeping a resolution founded upon mistaken grounds, than by breaking it. You are not so weak as to keep your resolution if you have good cause for casting it away." "As what?" she asked. "What cause can I ever have?" "Love," I answered. "If you found a man who loved you sincerely, and whom you could love in return, you would break it to-morrow, and do well."