herent words escaped him, and the name of his wife; but, unmindful of her presence and her efforts to make herself known, he turned himself about, lost and overwhelmed, then sunk into a profound languor, bearing the likeness of repose, which his deeply afflicted friends were cautious of disturbing.
Mrs. De Brooke felt persuaded that it was through the admirable and prudent measures of Robert that she owed the resuscitation of her husband. She lavished upon him her warm encomiums; "May the inward consciousness of having performed your duty to the utmost, reward you" said she, "for I fear it will never be in our power to do so according to your deserts."
"Talk not of dat, missus", returned he, "me be rewarded enough in seeing my massa not dead: me tought de iron hand of death was on him."
Though Mrs. De Brooke was desirous of being informed of the particulars leading to a catastrophe so alarming, yet, having recollected that in her fears for her husband she had forgotten her son, she suspended her curiosity. Fearfully approaching, the child, though wrapt in a still lethargic slumber, appeared to her to exhibit scarcely more of life than his father had done. Turning
