"Daisy" along the gallery. I faced him with a great effort. He
wanted to know what I was doing, and how I liked it, and where
my room was.

"Not found it yet?" said Preston. "Is this it? Whose room is
this, hey? — you somebody?"

"Maggie, massa," said the girl, dropping a curtsey.

"Maggie, where is your mistress's room?"

"This is Mis' 'Liza's room, sir."

"Nonsense! Mis' 'Liza is only here on a visit — _this_ is your
mistress. Where is her room, hey?"

"Oh, stop, Preston!" I begged him. "I am not mistress."

"Yes, you are. I'll roast anybody who says you ain't. Come
along, and you shall choose which room you will have; and if
it isn't ready they will get it ready. Come!"

I made him understand my choice might depend on where other
people's rooms were; and sent him off. Then I sent the girl
away — she was a pleasant-faced mulatto, very eager to help me
— and left to myself I hurriedly turned the key in the lock. I
_must_ have some minutes to myself, if I was to bear the burden
of that afternoon; and I knelt down with as heavy a heart,
almost, as I ever knew. In all my life I had never felt so
castaway and desolate. When my father and mother first went