I nodded my head, and the conversation went on, till Mr. and Mrs. Stringer retired from the porch to prepare for dinner, calling their little boy, who was there, to accompany them. Bessy Davenport had contrived to get a knot in the silk she was working, and she remained for a minute or two longer. The first minute was passed in silence; but she twice looked up in my face, and then said, suddenly-- "Cousin Richard, there is something you have not told us. I see it in your face." "I have told you really all about the pursuit and capture of these people," I replied, laughing. "You don't wish me, I hope, to relate all that occurred in regard to warrants, and bail, and custody of negroes; for really the worthy gentlemen's law-terms were beyond my comprehension." She shook her head somewhat sadly, saying-- "You are insincere, as all men are with all women." "No, indeed, Bessy," I answered, taking the vacant seat by her side. "I have told you all that is necessary for you to know." She started up, breaking the silk thread in two between her fingers, and exclaimed,-- "Well, perhaps you have. But I do hope, Cousin Richard, that you are not going to risk a valuable life against one that should only be ended by the hangman. There, I wont hear any more about it now, whether you are going to speak sincerely or insincerely. I look upon these things very differently from many of the girls in this neighbourhood. I look upon the men who fight duels as great fools or great villains, and think there are but two cases in which a man is bound to fight: one, when he has _received_ so great an injury, and the other when he has _inflicted_ so great an injury, that it is impossible for him and his opponent to live upon the same earth together." Thus saying, she ran away and left me; and, at dinner, there was no trace upon her countenance or in her manner of the more serious thoughts and feelings which I knew were in her mind. She was, indeed, if anything, gayer than usual; and amused us during the greater part of the evening with singing the merriest negro songs she could select. Suddenly, however, she changed entirely the tone of her music, and poured forth one of the most melancholy and touching strains I ever heard, beautifully suited to her exquisitely sweet voice, which, even in her gayest and happiest moments, had an expression in it that made one feel a thrill, not of melancholy, but of something very nearly approaching it. "Heigh ho!" she exclaimed, rising as soon as that song was over. "Now that I have made myself and all of you sad, I'll go to bed and sleep it off, as the drunkards do." "Stay a moment," I said. "Remember, you promised to show me where my new acquaintance, Nat Turner, lives."