—Plain Chamber.—Enter ELIZA, meeting GEORGE.

  Ah! George, is it you? Well, I am so glad you've come. [GEORGE regards her mournfully.] Why don't you smile, and ask after Harry?

  [Bitterly.] I wish he'd never been born! I wish I'd never been born myself!

  [Sinking her head upon his breast and weeping.] Oh George!

  There now, Eliza, it's too bad for me to make you feel so. Oh! how I wish you had never seen me—you might have been happy!

  George! George! how can you talk so? What dreadful thing has happened, or is going to happen? I'm sure we've been very happy till lately.

  So we have, dear. But oh! I wish I'd never seen you, nor you me.

  Oh, George! how can you?

  Yes, Eliza, it's all misery! misery! The very life is burning out of me! I'm a poor, miserable, forlorn drudge! I shall only drag you down with me, that's all! What's the use of our trying to do anything—trying to know anything—trying to be anything? I wish I was dead!

  Oh! now, dear George, that is really wicked. I know how you feel about losing your place in the factory, and you have a hard master; but pray be patient—

  Patient! Haven't I been patient? Did I say a word when he came and took me away—for no earthly reason—from the place where everybody was kind to me? I'd paid him truly every cent of my earnings, and they all say I worked well.

  Well, it is dreadful; but, after all, he is your master, you know.

  My master! And who made him my master? That's what I think of. What right has he to me? I'm as much a man as he

  Oh, George! George! you frighten me. Why, I never heard you talk so. I'm afraid you'll do something dreadful. I don't wonder at your feelings at all; but oh! do be careful—for my sake, for Harry's.

  I have been careful, and I have been patient, but it's growing worse and worse—flesh and blood can't bear it any longer. Every chance he can get to insult and torment me he takes. He says that though I don't say anything, he sees that I've got the devil in me, and he means to bring it out; and one of these days it will come out, in a way that he won't like, or I'm mistaken.

  Well, I always thought that I must obey my master and mistress, or I couldn't be a Christian.

  There is some sense in it in your case. They have brought you up like a child—fed you, clothed you and taught you, so that you have a good education—that is some reason why they should claim you. But I have been kicked and cuffed and sworn at, and what do I owe? I've paid for all my keeping a hundred times over. I won't bear it!—no, I won't! Master will find out that I'm one whipping won't tame. My day will come yet, if he don't look out!

  What are you going to do? Oh! George, don't do anything wicked; if you only trust in heaven and try to do right, it will deliver you.

  Eliza, my heart's full of bitterness. I can't trust in heaven. Why does it let things be so?

  Oh, George! we must all have faith. Mistress says that when all things go wrong to us, we must believe that heaven is doing the very best.

  That's easy for people to say who are sitting on their sofas and riding in their carriages; but let them be where I am—I guess it would come some harder. I wish I could be good; but my heart burns and can't be reconciled. You couldn't, in my place, you can't now, if I tell you all I've got to say; you don't know the whole yet.

  What do you mean?

  Well, lately my master has been saying that he was a fool to let me marry off the place—that he hates Mr. Shelby and all his tribe—and he says he won't let me come here any more, and that I shall take a wife and settle down on his place.

  But you were married to me by the minister, as much as if you had been a white man.

  Don't you know I can't hold you for my wife if he chooses to part us? That is why I wish I'd never seen you—it would have been better for us both—it would have been better for our poor child if he had never been born.

  Oh! but my master is so kind.

  Yes, but who knows?—he may die, and then Harry may be

  Heaven forbid!

  So, Eliza, my girl, bear up now, and good by, for I'm going.

  Going, George! Going where?

  To Canada; and when I'm there I'll buy you—that's all the hope that's left us. You have a kind master, that won't refuse to sell you. I'll buy you and the boy—heaven helping me, I will!

  Oh, dreadful! If you should be taken?

  I won't be taken, Eliza—I'll die first! I'll be free, or I'll die.

  You will not kill yourself?

  No need of that; they will kill me, fast enough. I will never go down the river alive.

  Oh, George! for my sake, do be careful. Don't lay hands on yourself, or anybody else. You are tempted too much, but don't. Go, if you must, but go carefully, prudently, and pray heaven to help you!

  Well, then Eliza, hear my plan. I'm going home quite resigned, you understand, as if all was over. I've got some preparations made, and there are those that will help me; and in the course of a few days I shall be among the missing. Well, now, good by.

  A moment—our boy.

  [Choked with emotion.] True, I had forgotten him; one last look, and then farewell!

  And heaven grant it be not forever! [Exeunt R.H.