They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. "Ha!" he exclaimed, with a sudden start, as his glance fell upon the portrait; "how came this into your possession, boy?" "Why don't you answer, sirrah?" cried Wild, in a savage tone, and striking him with the silver staff. 9. Still no sound.
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