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Updated: June 11, 2025
"What was it, Uncle Jaspar?" Jaspar's lip curled a little at the weakness which could feel for a slave, and he commenced the narrative he had concocted to account for the disappearance of Hatchie. "About eleven o'clock last night," said he, "as I was about to retire, I heard a slight noise, which appeared to proceed from the library.
What the lead and line are to the pilot, the smile, the cunning, dissembling smile, is to the base mind. By means of it he feels his way into the heart and soul of his supposed prototype. Maxwell knew enough of human character to read correctly the meaning of Jaspar's crafty smile.
"Emily, I have sent for you to receive a proposition, which will finally terminate the unfortunate circumstances that have shrouded our family in hostility and misery." "Indeed, uncle, I have no feeling of hostility towards you. God forbid!" replied Emily, upon whose agitated senses Jaspar's mild words had fallen like promises of peace. Jaspar was astonished.
It was located at some distance from the proprietary mansion, and from the quarters of the negroes. Jaspar's taste in matters of this kind was of the most refined character, and he had caused it to be constructed on a plan and in a manner that would seem to bid defiance to the skill of a Baron Trenck, or a Stephen Burroughs. The material was granite, brought at no trifling expense from the North.
"Your wife's name!" exclaimed Jaspar, striking his forehead furiously. "It does, sir, and for her mother's name also, whose memory it was intended to commemorate." Jaspar's emotions were so violent, that the overseer began to fear some fatal consequences might ensue. "Calm yourself, Mr. Dumont. Do not let your passions overcome you.
He had seen nothing from which he could draw such an inference, but he doubted not the information was correct. "Well, well, it matters not. He may as well have it as she," muttered he. "This will suits me not, and must be broken or altered." "It is hard upon you," said Maxwell, who had overheard Jaspar's mutterings.
The attorney resumed his writing, and pronounced in an audible tone each sentence as he committed it to the paper. "To my beloved brother Jaspar Dumont I give and bequeath the sum of fifty thousand dollars." These words, as intended, again fired Jaspar's passions. "Is there no remedy for this?" asked he, hastily. "No legal remedy," replied Maxwell, indifferently, as he continued his task.
I have no intention of making an evil use of this information," said he, in a soothing tone. This seemed to calm the violence of Jaspar's feelings, and with a strong effort he recovered his command of himself. "My niece Is yet alive, is she?" said Jaspar, looking anxiously at the overseer. "Perhaps not; but probably she is." "And it was not she that was buried?"
"Hatchie," said Jaspar, as the mulatto entered the library, "are the hands all in?" "Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, whose penetrating mind detected the tremulous quiver of Jaspar's lip; "all in two hours ago, according to regulations." "All right, then. You can go to bed now." "Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, with his customary obeisance, as he turned to depart. "Stay a moment.
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