"Ah!" retorted my father, "leave us to do
the dirty work, all the flogging and that sort,
hey? And then finger the cotton yourselves
with clean hands?"

I felt that this badinage was directed against
my old sentiments, and I protested that I had
learnt, at least, how to treat niggers.

"Ah, ha!" laughed Abel. "Cowhide for
ever!"

There was something vindictive in his voice
and in the gleam of his eye, which jarred me
through and through.

In the progress of our acquaintance I could
see, as regarded myself, notwithstanding the
outward respect he showed me, that he entertained
no real sympathy, but rather a feeling of
repugnance. I could detect, moreover, a certain
falseness of manner in his intercourse with my father,
couched under an apparently frank and
outspoken demeanour; still, there was nothing
sufficiently tangible for me to take notice of, and
he had succeeded in strongly prepossessing my
father in his favour.

Abel and I were naturally thrown a great deal
together, and though I couid not help disliking
him, there was one sad cause which gave him a
certain power of fascination over me. There
were certain times when the good teaching I
had received from Mrs. Summers would, defying
all my efforts to strangle the thoughts, start
up in judgment against me—times, perhaps,
when my temper had been more particularly
ruffled, and I had sent a slave to the overseer for
chastisement. Then, when a distant cry of anguish
broke upon my ear, the doubt would come. I
would sugar it over as best I might: the girl had
shamefully neglected my orders; had been
disobedient, lazy, and wilfully perverse; it was not
difficult to square the doubt with reasons; but
still the doubt remained. What if it were really
true, that this was a human being created as
myself in the image of God, and that this act of
mine was adding still further to her debasement,
destroying that work of His, and levelling her
to the condition of the brute?

Abel was always ready enough to answer my
doubt, and afford me fresh faith in my new
creed. With blasphemous perversion he would
point to the Bible itself in confirmation of all
he asserted as to the inferiority of the African
race; he would say that they bore the wrath of
God stamped in the very form of the forehead;
that they were destined to be hewers of wood and
drawers of water, to the end of time; that their
mental capacity was so low that they could only
be ruled by fear. His illustrations and arguments
appeared reasonable, and I was only too ready
to admit all he advanced.

I recollect with what diabolical ingenuity he
used to compare the drop of black blood, to
insanity lurking in the frame. He would admit
that persons of mixed race might be good
enough, up to a certain extent, and for a certain
period; but, like insanity, the black fibre would
be certain, sooner or later, to work to the
surface, and then the whole moral nature would be
thrown out of balance. He would quote
instances of men ruined body and soul by Quadroon
women, with their fair faces and devilish hearts
—yes, men even, whom he had known, who had
lost fortune and respectable position, and life
itself.

I fear his words found a readier response in
an under-current of pride which caused me to
rejoice in my own exaltation above the debased
race. Looking back, however, to my feelings at
that period, I think it was owing rather to Abel's
frequent reiteration of his opinions, than to any
logical considerations of my own, that I came
to acquiesce in the principle which he so strongly
asserted. Abel Duncan had effectually poisoned
my soul.

My father was not on terms of intimacy with
any of the families in the neighbourhood, and,
with the exception of one or two old bachelor
friends whose estates were close to ours, we
received scarcely any visitors. My father told
me that the coolness which had arisen with his
neighbours was occasioned by some questions
of property, which made it impossible for him
to make any advances towards reconciliation;
and, though he regretted that he could not then
afford me that social intercourse which was so
fitting for my age, yet the matter was of less
consequence, as he intended within a year or
two to realise his property and proceed to
Europe, where I should enjoy all the pleasures and
amusements of society.

It chanced that an English doctor, a widower
with an only daughter, came to settle in our
neighbourhood. There was some difficulty in
finding a house suitable for Dr. Evans, and my
father, who was very hospitable, insisted on
their taking up their residence with us until
they could be comfortably settled. Mary Evans
was about my own age, and we soon became
great friends. Her affection for me was
increased by my nursing her through a severe
fever which she caught while staying at our
house. She often declared that neither her
father nor herself could ever repay me for my
attention and devotion.

One day, when she was convalescent, we
were sitting together under the verandah. It
chanced that we fell to talking on the question
of slavery, which up to that time had never
been alluded to between us. I imagined what
her sentiments would be, as she had so recently
left England, and I begged her to speak without
reserve to me; but I cautioned her that it
would be prudent, in a general way, to suppress
anti-slavery opinions.

In the warmth of our ensuing argument, I
had not perceived that Abel was standing by us,
listening.

I shuddered as I caught his hateful smile,
and felt a dread at his knowing how entirely I
was a convert to his opinions.

"Abel," said I, "you will explain this matter
to Miss Evans better than I can."

"No, no," he answered, with a sneer; "you
understand it perfectly."

"It's too terrible for belief!" exclaimed Mary
Evans. "Why, Clara tells me that one drop of