"What do you think is going to happen here if I take your advice?
She'll marry one of these young bloods!" Ware's lips twitched.
"And then, Tom, you'll get your orders to move out, while her
husband takes over the management of her affairs. What have you
put by anyhow?--enough to stock another place?"
"Nothing, not a damn cent!" said Ware. Murrell laughed
incredulously. "It's so! I've turned it all over--more lands,
more niggers, bigger crops each year. Another man might have
saved his little spec, but I couldn't; I reckon I never believed
it would go to her, and I've managed Belle Plain as if I were
running it for myself." He seemed to writhe as if undergoing
some acute bodily pain.
"And you are in a fair way to turn it all over to her husband
when she marries, and step out of here a beggar, unless--"
"It isn't right, John! I haven't had pay for my ability! Why,
the place would have gone down to nothing with any management but
mine!"
"If she were to die, you'd inherit?"
Ware laughed harshly.
"She looks like dying, doesn't she?"
"Listen to me, Tom. I'll take her away, and Belle Plain is
yours--land, stock and niggers!" said Murrell quietly.
Ware shifted and twisted in his seat.
"It can't be done. I can advise and urge: but I can't command.
She's got her friends, those people back yonder in North
Carolina, and if I made things uncomfortable for her here she'd
go to them and I couldn't stop her. You don't seem to get it
through your head that she's got no earthly use for you!"
Murrell favored him with a contemptuous glance.
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