in the sympathy of a woman, and a wife, as dear. to me, slave though I was, slave though she was — as dear to me as the wife of his bosom is to the proudest freeman of you all.
My story finished, again Cassy clasped me in her arms, and claimed me as her husband; tears, but tears of joy, again fast flowing down her cheeks. There for a while she sat, silent, seeming as if lost in a sort of reverie, or, indeed, almost as if doubting whether all that she had just heard, — whether the very husband whom she saw before her, — whether our whole unexpected meeting was any thing more than a treacherous dream. But with a kiss or two I recalled her attention, and made her understand that Twas no less anxious to hear her story than she had been to hear mine,
