Give me the letters!" "To-morrow I will send them," said Clarence.

"I will read them all over once again," thought he.
"I cannot believe you," said Mr.Bates.
"I promise you upon my honour I will send them tomorrow!" "_A nigger's honour!_" rejoined Mr.Bates, with a contemptuous sneer.
"Yes, sir--a nigger's honour!" repeated Clarence, the colour mounting to his pale cheeks.

"A few drops of negro blood in a man's reins do not entirely deprive him of noble sentiments.

'Tis true my past concealment does not argue in my favour .-- I concealed that which was no fault of my own, but what the injustice of society has made a crime." "I am not here for discussion; and I suppose I must trust to your _honour_," interrupted Mr.Bates, with a sneer.

"But remember, if the letters are not forthcoming to-morrow I shall be here again, and then," concluded he in a threatening tone, "my visit will not be as harmless as this has been!" After they had gone, Clarence rose and walked feebly to his desk, which, with great effort and risk, he removed to the bed-side; then taking from it little Birdie's letters, he began their perusal.
Ay! read them again--and yet again; pore over their contents--dwell on those passages replete with tenderness, until every word is stamped upon thy breaking heart--linger by them as the weary traveller amid Sahara's sand pauses by some sparkling fountain in a shady oasis, tasting of its pure waters ere he launches forth again upon the arid waste beyond.