He bent his withered head and laid his face on my hands, but no tear
fell.

After a moment he straightened, snuffled, and smiled, opening his lips
with a dry click.

"H'it's dat-a-way, suh. Ole Cato dess 'bleged to fix up de young
marster. Pride o' fambly, suh. What might you be desirin' now, Mars'
Ormond? One li'l drap o' musk on yoh hanker? Lawd save us, but you sho'
is gallus dishyere day! Spec' Miss Dorry gwine blink de vi'lets in her
eyes. Yaas, suh. Miss Dorry am de only one, suh; de onliest Ormond in
dishyere fambly. Seem mos' lak she done throw back to our folk, suh.
Miss Dorry ain' no Varick; Miss Dorry all Ormond, suh, dess lak you an'
me! Yaas, suh, h'its dat-a-way; h'it sho' is, Mars' Ormond."

I drew a deep, quivering breath. Home seemed so far, and the old slave
would never live to see it. I felt as though this steel-cold North held
me, too, like a trap--never to unclose.

"Cato," I said, abruptly, "let us go home."

He understood; a gleam of purest joy flickered in his eyes, then died
out, quenched in swelling tears.

He wept awhile, standing there in the centre of the room, smearing the
tears away with the flapping sleeves of his tarnished livery, while,
like a committed panther, I paced the walls, to and fro, to and fro,
heart aching for escape.