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Uncle Tom's Cabin

Henrique
About this time, St. Clare's brother Alfred, with his eldest son, a boy of twelve, spent a
day or two with the family at the lake.
No sight could be more singular and beautiful than that of these twin brothers. Nature,
instead of instituting resemblances between them, had made them opposites on every
point; yet a mysterious tie seemed to unite them in a closer friendship than ordinary.
They used to saunter, arm in arm, up and down the alleys and walks of the garden.
Augustine, with his blue eyes and golden hair, his ethereally flexible form and vivacious
features; and Alfred, dark-eyed, with haughty Roman profile, firmly-knit limbs, and
decided bearing. They were always abusing each other's opinions and practices, and yet
never a whit the less absorbed in each other's society; in fact, the very contrariety seemed
to unite them, like the attraction between opposite poles of the magnet.
Henrique, the eldest son of Alfred, was a noble, dark-eyed, princely boy, full of vivacity
and spirit; and, from the first moment of introduction, seemed to be perfectly fascinated
by the spirituelle graces of his cousin Evangeline.
Eva had a little pet pony, of a snowy whiteness. It was easy as a cradle, and as gentle as
its little mistress; and this pony was now brought up to the back verandah by Tom, while
a little mulatto boy of about thirteen led along a small black Arabian, which had just been
imported, at a great expense, for Henrique.
Henrique had a boy's pride in his new possession; and, as he advanced and took the reins
out of the hands of his little groom, he looked carefully over him, and his brow darkened.
"What's this, Dodo, you little lazy dog! you haven't rubbed my horse down, this
morning."
"Yes, Mas'r," said Dodo, submissively; "he got that dust on his own self."
"You rascal, shut your mouth!" said Henrique, violently raising his riding-whip. "How
dare you speak?"
The boy was a handsome, bright-eyed mulatto, of just Henrique's size, and his curling
hair hung round a high, bold forehead. He had white blood in his veins, as could be seen
by the quick flush in his cheek, and the sparkle of his eye, as he eagerly tried to speak.
"Mas'r Henrique!--" he began.
Henrique struck him across the face with his riding-whip, and, seizing one of his arms,
forced him on to his knees, and beat him till he was out of breath.
 
 
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