A few last words and tears, a few simple adieus and blessings, and she
glided noiselessly away.


_II.--Eliza's Escape_


It is impossible to conceive of a human being more wholly desolate and
forlorn than Eliza as she left the only home she had ever known. Her
husband's sufferings and danger, and the danger of her child, all
blended in her mind, she trembled at every sound, and every quaking leaf
quickened her steps. She felt the weight of her boy as if it had been a
feather, he was old enough to have walked by her side, but now she
strained him to her bosom as she went rapidly forward; and every flutter
of fear seemed to increase the supernatural strength that bore her on,
while from her pale lips burst forth, in frequent ejaculations, "Lord
help me."

Still she went, leaving one familiar object after another, till
reddening daylight found her many a long mile, upon the open highway, on
the way to the village of T---- upon the Ohio river, when she
constrained herself to walk regularly and composedly, quickening the
speed of her child, by rolling an apple before him, when the boy would
run with all his might after it; this ruse often repeated carried them
over many a half-mile.

An hour before sunset she came in sight of the river, which lay between
her and liberty. Great cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily to
and fro in the turbid waters. Eliza turned into a small public house to
ask if there was no ferry boat.