love of mischief, and would sometimes punish him in kind for any compliment into which his partiality betrayed him; and this was the worst species of retaliation in which Matilda Carlos was ever known to indulge. The dance had ceased, the music was suspended, and the guests were preparing to move towards another room in order to partake of refreshment, when an unexpected intruder made her appearance in the doorway, whose dress and bearing were sadly out of keeping with the gay scene on which she had thus suddenly entered. The children huddled together with astonishment and alarm, as the unfortunate object of Captain Carlos's constant suspicions, the ill-used, subdued, and suffering Euphemia, with tears streaming from her eyes, looking wildly round as if in search of some familiar face, rushed through the midst of them to the group where Matilda was still standing, and clinging to the dress of her young mistress, as if she were afraid of being torn away from her only refuge, sobbed out her petition for forgiveness and protection. Her soiled and tattered garments would have deterred many a fine lady from risking contamination by the contact; but she met with no repulse at the hands of the kind hearted Matilda, who, drawing the poor girl more closely to her, in tones of tender compassion, exclaimed "Euphemia! Why are you here, and in this plight? What ails you, my poor child? What has happened to you ?" "O, Miss Matilda! I have been so wretched since you left home! Your father has beaten me almost every day, and I could not live any longer in the house without you. I am so tired and ill, for I have been a long time in finding my way here. I escaped through the back door. I had often heard of your uncle's house, and made inquiries from those I met until I reached Everton. A kind man pointed it out-the door was open-I heard music-and I knew you were so fond of it, that by following the sound, I was sure to find you. O, don't send me away! I shall be so happy if you will only let me remain with you Matilda reddened as she heard the accusation against her father, but any attempt to arrest the child in the brief recital of her sorrows would have been vain, for it was uttered with breathless agitation and rapidity. Now, however, she paused from exhaustion, and Matilda seized the opportunity of requesting, by an imploring look, her uncle's permission to retire with the unhappy child, who stood greatly in need of refreshment and repose. Euphemia was taken to an adjoining room; food was given to her, and she soon sobbed herself asleep on a sofa. The gratitude of the poor girl in having found her benefactress, was as much the cause of her tears as the remembrance of the cruelty of which she was the victim, and from which she had made such a desperate but successful effort to escape. Matilda returned without a moment's delay to the ball-room, anxious to remove, as far as possible, the obloquy which she felt had been thrown upon her father by the words of the fugitive. She blushed deeply as she passed on towards the circle of friends who had collected round Mr. Roscoe and her uncle. The latter was engaged in conversation with the philanthropist; but on the approach of the young lady, Mr. Roscoe fixed a kindly and expressive look on her, with the interrogatory "Pray, who is the poor girl in whose fate you seem so deeply interested, Miss Matilda? She appears unhappy and defenceless." "I know little about her history, Sir," returned the young lady. "She has been an inmate of our house for some years. She fell into my father's hands when she was a child; he rescued her in a foreign land from the brutality of her parents, who were about to sell her; and as he feels that she is under deep obligations to him, his anger, when she offends against his wishes, exceeds, perhaps, the bounds of discretion." 66 Alas, poor child!" said Mr. Roscoe, "the curse of slavery everywhere pursues its victims, and even after landing on these shores, whose very touch gives freedom, the cruelties formerly endured are too often believed to authorise the infliction of new hardships. But you," added he, observing that Matilda cast down her eyes in sadness as he spoke, "will, I am sure, be a comfort to this child of sorrow, and, with so kind a mistress, even slavery itself would scarcely be a burthen." The reflections to which this occurrence gave rise damped the spirits of the party, and the silence that now reigned formed a painful contrast to the boisterous hilarity that had preceded it. The worthy host and his lady, however, by the distribution of various little presents, prepared for the occasion, restored, in some measure, the cheerfulness of their juvenile guests, who soon afterwards dispersed to their respective homes, and the party broke up. CHAPTER III. The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels; YOUNG'S Night Thoughts. When Captain Carlos returned home, and found that Euphemia had eloped, his anger, as may be conceived, was wild and furious. It knew no bounds, and he hurled imprecations, fearful and vehement, on the heads of her female jailers. The servant was rigidly questioned on all the circumstances attending the girl's flight, but her answers were vague and unsatisfactory. Miss Carlos could give no information, for she had none, and her apparent indifference to her father's threats widened the breach between them. The girl, it was ascertained, had kept her own counsel, and departed with secrecy, and without any provision in clothing or money. From this the captain inferred that her movements must, in the nature of things, be contracted in their operation. It occurred to him that the fugitive might, by possibility, have reached Everton, and the instant the conjecture presented itself to his mind, he determined to test its truth. |