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Updated: June 1, 2025
A woman called Charlotte, who was working in the field, seeing my dilemma and the inglorious retreat I was about to make, shouted to me at the top of her voice, 'You no turn back, missis! if you want to go through, send, missis, send! you hab slave enough, nigger enough, let 'em come, let 'em fetch planks, and make de bridge; what you say dey must do, send, missis, send, missis! It seemed to me, from the lady's imperative tone in my behalf, that if she had been in my place, she would presently have had a corduroy road through the swamp of prostrate 'niggers, as she called her family in Ham, and ridden over the same dry-hoofed; and to be sure, if I pleased, so might I, for, as she very truly said, 'what you say, missis, they must do. Instead of summoning her sooty tribe, however, I backed my horse out of the swamp, and betook myself to another pretty woodpath, which only wants widening to be quite charming.
We passed under dark wooded cliffs out into sunny openings, the last of which held under its skirting pines the secret of the prettiest woodpath to us in all the world, the path to the ancestral farmhouse. We found children enough to play with there, as numerous a family as our own. We were sometimes, I fancy, the added drop too much of already overflowing juvenility.
He would eat nothing; he started up at every slightest noise hoping for the familiar whistle; he haunted the well-worn woodpath where they had had so many happy days together. Finally he discovered his master's grave and was found frantically tearing at the hard earth and heavy stones. Nor would he leave the spot. Food was brought him daily, but it went untouched.
Finally, however, the luggage was carried downstairs, the bill paid, and the circumstantial good-byes were said: they set off, at full speed, down the woodpath to the station, to catch the midday train. Louise was white with exhaustion: her breath came sobbingly. In a firstclass carriage, he made her lie down on the seat.
As the excitement passed away a reaction of feverish weakness set in. The strangest whirlwind of thoughts fled through him in the darkness, suggested very often by the figures on the seventeenth century tapestry which lined the walls. Were those the trees in the woodpath? Surely that was Catherine's figure trailing and that dome strange!
"I will go by the woodpath, and give her one, too. She shall live with me: I will spread the cedar branches and stir the fire. She shall be safe. Hush! Go, go softly, for their wicked eyes are everywhere, the were-wolves!" She put her fingers on my lips for an instant, and then, turning, stole softly away towards the St. Charles River. Doltaire's mockery brought me back to myself.
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