I saw poor Emily that morning the trader carried her off.

She came to the corner where I was lying asleep, and said, 'Poor George, your last friend is going.

What will become of you, poor boy ?' And I got up and threw my arms round her, and cried and sobbed, and she cried too; and those were the last kind words I got for ten long years; and my heart all withered up, and felt as dry as ashes, till I met you.

And your loving me,--why, it was almost like raising one from the dead! I've been a new man ever since! And now, Eliza, I'll give my last drop of blood, but they _shall not_ take you from me.

Whoever gets you must walk over my dead body." "O, Lord, have mercy!" said Eliza, sobbing.