e between the countenances of Jane
and Clotelle."

Miss Morton entered the room just as Mrs. Taylor ceased speaking.

"Have you heard that the Jamisons are down with the fever?" inquired
the young lady, after asking about the health of the Taylors.

"No, I had not; I was in hopes it would not get into our street;"
replied Mrs. Taylor.

All this while Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were keenly scrutinizing their
visitor and Clotelle and even the two young women seemed to be
conscious that they were in some way the objects of more than usual
attention.

Miss Morton had scarcely departed before Mrs. Taylor began questioning
Clotelle concerning her early childhood, and became more than ever
satisfied that the slave-girl was in some way connected with the
Mortons.

Every hour brought fresh news of the ravages of the fever, and the
Taylors commenced preparing to leave town. As Mr. Taylor could not go
at once, it was determined that his wife should leave without him,
accompanied by her new maid servant. Just as Mrs. Taylor and Clotelle
were stepping into the carriage, they were informed that Dr. Morton was
down with the epidemic.

It was a beautiful day, with a fine breeze for the time of year, that
Mrs. Taylor and her servant found themselves in the cabin of the
splendid new steamer "Walk-in-the-Water," bound from New Orleans to
Mobile. Every berth in the boat wad occupied by persons fleeing from
the fearful contagion that was carrying off its hundreds daily.

Late in the day, as Clotelle was standing at one of the windows of the
ladies' saloon, she was astonished to see near her, and with eyes fixed
intently upon her, the tall young stranger whom she had observed in the
slave-market a few days before. She turned hastily away, but the heated
cabin and the want of fresh air soon drove her again to the window. The
young gentleman again appeared, and coming to the end of the saloon,
spoke to the slave-girl in broken English. This confirmed her in her
previous opinion that he was a foreigner, and she rejoiced that she had
not fallen into his hands.

"I want to talk with you," said the stranger.

"What do you want with me?" she inquired.

"I am your friend," he answered. "I saw you in the slave-market last
week, and regretted that I did not speak to you then. I returned in the
evening, but you was gone."

Clotelle looked indignantly at the stranger, and was about leaving the
window again when the quivering of his lips and the