"Miss Dumont, I once more ask you to go with me peaceably," said
Maxwell, not heeding the dame's remark.
"And once more I answer, _I will not_!"
"I should be sorry to use compulsion. Do you forget your condition?"
"I do not," replied Emily, with a tremor, but without the loss of her
self-possession. "I am of the best blood of Louisiana."
"But still a _slave!_"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the hostess.
"I am _not_ a slave! You know this is the plot of a villain like
yourself. The true will has been found."
"Indeed! Is it here?" said Maxwell, with a sneer, for while he had Emily
in his power he feared nothing.
"No; but it shall be brought forth in due season."
"Until which time you are a slave; and not only a slave, but _my_
slave," replied Maxwell, with perfect coolness, as he drew from his
pocket-book the forged bill of sale.
"Great God, desert me not in this hour of my afflictions!" groaned
Emily. This last revelation entirely unnerved her, and exposed in a more
terrible light her appalling position. She doubted not the paper she saw
in Maxwell's hands was a bill of sale of her person, and that it would
establish his claim; for his present purposes seemed too flagrant to be
pursued without good authority.
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