river?" asked
the stranger, recovering his self-possession.

"Oh, at a rum old place they call Hurricane Hall, with a rum old
military officer they call Old Hurricane," said Capitola, for the first
time stealing a sidelong glance at her fearful companion.

It was not Black Donald; that was the first conclusion to which she
rashly jumped. He appeared to be a gentlemanly ruffian about forty years
of age, well dressed in a black riding-suit; black beaver hat drawn down
close over his eyes: black hair and whiskers; heavy black eyebrows that
met across his nose; drooping eyelashes, and eyes that looked out under
the corners of the lids; altogether a sly, sinister, cruel face--a cross
between a fox and a tiger. It warned Capitola to expect no mercy there.
After the girl's last words he seemed to have fallen into thought for a
moment, and then again he spoke:

"Well, my pretty Cap, how long have you been living at. Hurricane Hall?"

"Ever since my guardian, Major Warfield, brought me from the City of New
York, where I received my education (in the streets)," she mentally
added.

"Humph! Why did you ride so fast, my pretty Cap?" he asked, eying her
from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh, sir, because I was afraid, as I told you before; afraid of runaway
negroes and wild beasts, and so on; but now, with a good gentleman like
you, I don't feel afraid at all; and I'm very glad to be able to walk
poor Gyp, because he is tired, poor fellow."

"Yes, poor fellow," said the traveler, in a mocking tone, "he is tired;
suppose you dismount and let him rest. Come, I'll get off, too, and we
will sit down here by the roadside and have a friendly conversation."

Capitola stole a glance at his face. Yes, notwithstanding his light
tone, he was grimly in earnest; there was no mercy to be expected from
that sly, sinister, cruel face.

"Come, my pretty Cap, what say you?"

"I don't care if I do," she said, riding to the edge of the path,
drawing rein and looking down as if to examine the ground.

"Come, little beauty, must I help you off?" asked the stranger.

"N-n-no," answered Capitola, with deliberate hesitation; "no, this is
not a good place to sit down and talk; it's all full of brambles."

"Very well; shall we go on a little further?"

"Oh, yes; but I don't want to ride fast, because it will tire my horse."

"You shall go just as you please, my angel," said the traveler.

"I wonder whether this wretch thinks me very simple or ve