As for me, I am nothing--nothing but a slave myself; is that not true ?" To look into her eyes, her face, and answer was a hard task, yet one I saw no way to evade.
"Yes; I am afraid it is true." "And--and then Delia, the housekeeper, is actually my mother ?" "That is the story, as it has reached me." She held tightly to the table for support, all the fresh color deserting her face, but the lips were firmly set and her head remained as proudly poised as ever above the round throat.

Whatever might be the stain of alien blood in her veins, she was still a Beaucaire.

Her eyes, filled with pain as they were, met mine unflinchingly.
"And--and knowing all this, convinced of its truth--that--that I am colored," she faltered, doubtfully.

"You came here to help me ?" "I did; that can make no difference now." "No difference! Why do you say that?
Are you from the North, an Abolitionist ?" "No; at least I have never been called one or so thought of myself.

I have never believed in slavery, yet I was born in a southern state.