My heart died in me.

I hated him.

I used to dream I had killed him, and I would laugh out in my sleep, but I couldn't murder him on her account.

My mistress, she cried day and night, and called him cruel, and she would say, 'Lucy, I'd have died before I would have done it.' I couldn't murder him, ma'am, 'twas my mistress held me back.' "'No, Lucy,' said I, ''twas not your mistress, it was the Lord; and thank Him that you are not a murderer.

Did you ever think of the consequences of such an act ?' "'Lor, ma'am, do you think I cared for that?
I wasn't afraid of hanging.' "'I did not mean that, Lucy.