Struggle as she might against the feeling, it was borne in upon her that she was wretchedly lonely.

She had seated herself by an open window.

Now, resting her elbows on the ledge and with her chin between her palms, she gazed off into the still night.

A mile distant, on what was called "Shanty Hill," were the quarters of the slaves.

The only lights she saw were there, the only sounds she heard reached her across the intervening fields.