CHAPTER XIV
THE PRISON
WHILE poor little Clotelle was being kicked about by Mrs. Miller,
on account of her relationship to her son-in-law, Isabella was passing
lonely hours in the county jail, the place to which Jennings had
removed her for safe-keeping, after purchasing her from Mrs. Miller.
Incarcerated in one of the iron-barred rooms of that dismal place,
those dark, glowing eyes, lofty brow, and graceful form wilted down
like a plucked rose under a noonday sun, while deep in her heart's
ambrosial cells was the most anguishing distress.
Vulgar curiosity is always in search of its victims, and Jennings'
boast that he had such a ladylike and beautiful woman
in his possession brought numbers to the prison who begged
of the jailer the privilege of seeing the slave-trader's prize.
Many who saw her were melted to tears at the pitiful sight,
and were struck with admiration at her intelligence; and, when she
spoke of her child, they must have been convinced that a
mother's sorrow can be conceived by none but a mother's heart.
The warbling of birds in the green bowers of bliss, which she
occasionally heard, brought no tidings of gladness to her.
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