Taylor was conversing in a low tone with her husband, and both
with their eyes following Clotelle as she passed through the room.
"She is far above the station of a slave," remarked the lady. "I
saw her, last night, when removing some books, open one and stand
over it a moment as if she was reading; and she is as white as I
am. I almost sorry you bought her."
At this juncture the front door-bell rang, and Clotelle hurried
through the room to answer it.
"Miss Morton," said the servant as she returned to the mistress'
room.
"Ask her to walk in," responded the mistress.
"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Taylor to her husband, "just look and see
if you do not notice a marked resemblance between the countenances
of Jane and Clotelle."
Miss Morton entered the room just as Mrs. Taylor ceased speaking.
"Have you heard that the Jamisons are down with the fever?"
inquired the young lady, after asking about the health of the
Taylors.
"No, I had not; I was in hopes it would not get into our street;"
replied Mrs. Taylor.
All this while Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were keenly scrutinizing their
visitor and Clotelle and even the two young women seemed to be
conscious that they were in some way the objects of more than
usual attention.
Miss Morton had scarcely departed before Mrs. Taylor began
questioning Clotelle concerning her early childhood, and became
more than ever satisfied that the slave-girl was in some way
connected with the Mortons.
Every hour brought fresh news of the ravages of the fever, and the
Taylors commenced preparing to leave town.
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