🚀 go-pugleaf

one moment at her mistress' door, and raised her
hands in mute appeal to Heaven, and then turned and glided
into her own room.  It was a quiet, neat apartment, on the same
floor with her mistress.  There was a pleasant sunny window, where
she had often sat singing at her sewing; there a little case of
books, and various little fancy articles, ranged by them, the gifts
of Christmas holidays; there was her simple wardrobe in the closet
and in the drawers:--here was, in short, her home; and, on the
whole, a happy one it had been to her.  But there, on the bed, lay
her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently around his
unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands
thrown out over the bedclothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam
over his whole face.

"Poor boy! poor fellow!" said Eliza; "they have sold you!
but your mother will save you yet!"

No tear dropped over that pillow; in such straits as these,
the heart has no tears to give,--it drops only blood, bleeding
itself away in silence.  She took a piece of paper and a pencil,
and wrote, hastily,

"O, Missis! dear Missis! don't think me ungrateful,--don't think
hard of me, any way,--I heard all you and master said tonight. 
I am going to try to save my boy--you will not blame me!