He remembered so well what took him there.
The night before they had one of their heated discussions about selling
the negroes, selling the old place, and moving north. When his wife turned
to leave the room there was something in her figure and bearing that
stirred him strangely. Before he retired, feeling that he had a strong
additional claim upon her, as one would reasonably have, upon whom rested
the responsibility of providing for a family, he wrote to her, and of
course in his masterful way urged her to accede to his request. "Sleep on
it," he wrote, "and let me know before I leave in the morning" (he was
going north on business). "Send your reply to the sitting-room, only a
line, telling me I am free to make my business arrangements in New York,
and return for you."
As he recalled the way in which he expressed himself, a qualm of shame
crossed his heart. "A selfish brute!" he groaned in spirit: "never
occurring to _him_ to yield, always trying to bend _her_." Well, there was
nothing for him that morning, and he had gone off with a hot heart,
feeling that any thing was better than the life of disinclination he was
forced to lead, if he remained.
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