"You may leave us alone for a while, Josephine," she said. As soon as the quadroon had gone out and shut the door, the invalid motioned to Winslow to draw near. He was upwards of seventy, tall and erect, with venerable gray locks, and an expression of face at once brisk and gentle, benevolent and keen.

"What's the state of the property you still hold for me, Mr. Winslow?

"It is half invested in real estate in Northern cities, and half in special deposits of gold in Northern banks."

"Indeed! Then you must have sent it North long before these troubles began."

"Yes, more than four years ago,

Convention."

soon after the Nashville

"What's the amount in your hands?"

"Half a million; probably it will be seven hundred thousand, if gold should rise, as I think it will."

"And how much, Mr. Winslow, of the property my father left me has gone to Mr. Ratcliff?"

"More than three millions."

"Very well. I wish to revoke all previous requests I may have made as to the disposition of the property in your hands. Now take your pen and write as I shall dictate.”

"Let me first explain, Mrs. Ratcliff, that any conveyance of personalty you might make would be null without your husband's consent. But in this case forms are of no account, and even witnesses are unnecessary. Everything is left to my individual honor and discretion."

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Winslow. It is not so much a will as a series of requests I've to make."

"I see you understand it, madam. The memoranda you give me I will embody in the form of a will of my own. Proceed!"

"Put down," said the invalid, "a hundred thousand for the Orphan Asylum."

"Excellent; but as the Secessionists are using that sacred fund for war purposes, I shall take the liberty of withholding the bequest for the present. Go on."

"A hundred thousand to the Lying-in Hospital."

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'Nothing could be more proper. Proceed."

"A hundred thousand to the fund for the Sisters of Charity." "Ah! those dear sisters! Bless you for remembering them, madam."

"A hundred thousand to be distributed in sums of five thousand severally to the persons whose names I have here written down."

She handed him a sheet of paper containing the names, and he transcribed them carefully.

"And now," resumed the invalid, "the remainder of the fund in your possession I wish paid over, when you can safely do it, one half to the slave Josephine, the other half to the white slave, Ellen Murray, of whom Josephine will tell you, and whom you must rescue from slavery. Both must be free before the money can be of any service to them."

"Of course. Their owner could at once appropriate any sum you might leave to them, even though it were a million of dollars."

"You have now heard all I have to say, Mr. Winslow."

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Then, madam, you will please write under these memoranda with your own hand something to this effect, and sign your name, with date, place, et cetera: 'This I declare to be my own spontaneous, unbiassed request to Mr. Winslow, to dispose of the property in his possession, in the manner hereinabove stated. The autograph will have no legal force, but it may serve to satisfy your husband."

The lady wrote, and handed back the paper.

"Good!" said Winslow. "Before taking another meal, I will draw up and sign a will by which your requests can be made effectual."

"Your hand, Mr. Winslow! My father trusted you as he did no other man, and I thank you for your loyalty to what you knew to be his wishes."

"The task he put upon me has been a very simple one, madam. Good by. We shall soon meet again, I hope." "Yes. I shall be quite well of my heart-complaint then. Good by."

Hardly had Winslow left the house than Ratcliff drove up and entered. He was in a jubilant mood. News had just been

received of the Confederate victory at Bull Run. He knocked at his wife's door. "Come in!" He entered. Josephine and Clara were present, trying to soothe the invalid. One was bathing her forehead with eau de Cologne; the other was kneeling, and rubbing her feet. She had been telling them what she had done. She had kissed first one and then the other, lavishing on them profuse tokens of affection. Her eyes gleamed with an unnatural brightness, and her cheeks were flushed with the glow of a great excitement.

As Ratcliff came in she rose, and, standing between Josephine and Clara, put an arm round the shoulder of each, and looked her husband steadily in the face. Her expression was that of one who cannot find words adequate to the utterance of some absorbing emotion. The look was compounded at once of defiance and of pity. Her lips moved, but no articulation followed. Then suddenly, with a gasped "Ah!" she convulsively bowed her body like a tree smitten by the tornado. The pain, if sharp, was but for a moment.

The motion was her last. She sank into the faithful arms that encircled her. The one attenuated chord that bound her to the mortal life had been snapped.

Ratcliff started forward, and satisfied himself that his wife was really dead. Then he looked up at Clara.

She caught the expression of his countenance, and instinctively comprehended it, even as the little bird understands the hawk, or the lamb the wolf. Josephine saw it too. What a triumph now to think that she was no longer his slave! But Clara, what of her? Mrs. Ratcliff's sudden death seemed to shatter the last barrier between her and danger. Ratcliff did not affect to conceal his satisfaction.

Here was

a double victory! The Federals and his wife both disposed of in one day! Youth and beauty within his grasp! Truly, fortune seemed to be heaping her good things upon him. That half a million too, in Winslow's hands, would come very opportunely; for slaves could be bought cheap, dog-cheap, now that croakers were predicting ruin to the institution.

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Josephine," said he, "I must go at once to see Winslow, the late - how readily he seized on that word! "the late Mrs. Ratcliff's man of business. I may not be home to dinner.

You'd better not take out the carriage. The horses would be frightened; for the streets are all in commotion with salvos for our great victory. Good by till I return."

Once more he turned on Clara that look from which she had twice before shrunk dismayed and exasperated.

After he had gone, "Help me to escape at once!" she exclaimed.

"No," replied Josephine. "This is our safest place for the present. The avenues of escape from the city are all closed; and we should find it difficult to go where we would not be tracked. The danger is not immediate. Do not look so wild, Darling. I swear to you that I will protect you to the last. Whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge."

14

CHAPTER XXXIII.

SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF.

"We can die;

And, dying nobly, though we leave behind us
These clods of flesh, that are too massy burdens,

Our living souls fly crowned with living conquests."

Beaumont and Fletcher.

ANCE sat in his room at the St. Charles. He seemed

plunged in meditation. His fingers were playing with a little gold cross he wore round his neck; a trinket made very precious by the dying kiss and pious faith of Estelle. It recalled to him daily those memorable moments of their last earthly parting. And she now seemed so near to him, so truly alive to him, in all his perplexities, that he would hardly have been surprised to see her suddenly standing in immortal youth by his side. How could he, while thus possessed with her enchanting image, evoke from his heart any warmer sentiment than that of friendship for any other woman?

He thought of the so-called Perdita. He feared he would have to leave the city without getting any further light than Miss Tremaine had vouchsafed on the mystery that surrounded that interesting young person. One thing, on reconsideration, puzzled him and excited his distrust in Laura's story. Perdita had pretended that the name Brown was improvised for the occasion, assumed while she was conversing with him. Could she have been deceiving?

There were still other reflections that brought anxiety. He had not yet heard from Peek. Could that faithful friend have failed in all his inquiries for Hyde?

The immediate matter for consideration, however, was the danger that began to darken over Vance's own path. It had been ascertained by leading Secessionists, interested in providing for the financial wants of the Rebellion, that Vance had drawn more than a hundred thousand dollars of special depos