What could these persons
want there? thought she. Without any parleying or word of
explanation, the two entered the house, leaving the carriage in
charge of a servant.
Clotelle ran to her mother, and clung to her dress as if frightened
by the strangers.
"She's a fine-looking wench," said the speculator, as he seated
himself, unasked, in the rocking-chair; "yet I don't think she is
worth the money you ask for her."
"What do you want here?" inquired Isabella, with a quivering
voice.
"None of your insolence to me," bawled out the old woman, at the
top of her voice; "if you do, I will give you what you deserve so
much, my lady,--a good whipping."
In an agony of grief, pale, trembling, and ready to sink to the
floor, Isabella was only sustained by the hope that she would be
able to save her child. At last, regaining her self-possession,
she ordered them both to leave the house. Feeling herself
insulted, the old woman seized the tongs that stood by the
fire-place, and raised them to strike the quadroon down; but the
slave-trader immediately jumped between the women, exclaiming,--
"I won't buy her, Mrs. Miller, if you injure her."
Poor little Clotelle screamed as she saw the strange woman raise
the tongs at her mother. With the exception of old Aunt Nancy, a
free colored woman, whom Isabella sometimes employed to work for
her, the child had never before seen a strange face in her
mother's dwelling. Fearing that Isabella would offer some
resistance, Mrs.
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