"Not that I am aware of," replied De Guy, in a silky tone, which, proceeding from such a form, would have astonished the listener. "You met no one?" interrogated the anxious Jaspar. "Not a soul! Everything was still." "Let us be sure of it. Step into this room for a moment. I will see that all the servants have retired," said Jaspar, pushing his confederate into an adjoining apartment. A light pull at the bell-rope brought to the library the body-servant of the late planter. This "boy," who was known by the name of _Hatchie_, was a mulatto. He was about forty years of age, and, having never been reduced to labor in the cane-fields, bore his age remarkably well. He was about six feet in height, very stout built, and was endowed with immense physical strength. His brow was a little wrinkled, and his head was a little bald upon the top,--and these were the only evidences of his years. His expression was that of great intelligence. In his countenance there was a kind of humility, to which his demeanor corresponded, that might have resulted from his condition, or have been inherent in his nature. He was a man who, even in a land of slavery, would be instinctively respected. He had been a great favorite with his late master, in whose family he had spent the greater part of his life. By being constantly in attendance upon him and his guests, he had acquired a much greater amount of information than is often found in those of his condition. He could read and write, and by his intelligence and singular fidelity had proved a valuable addition to his master's household. Possessing his confidence, and regarded more as a friend than a slave by Emily, he was a privileged person in the house,--a confidence which in no instance did he abuse, and which in no degree abated his affection or his fidelity. Hatchie was not a phrenologist, but he had long ago acquired a perfect knowledge of Jaspar's character,--a knowledge which his master or Emily had never obtained. Hatchie considered Emily, now that her father was dead, as his own especial charge, and he watched over her, in the disparity of their stations, very much as a faithful dog watches over a child intrusted to its keeping. Towards her he entertained a sentiment of the profoundest respect as his mistress, and of parental affection as one who had grown up under his eye. "Hatchie," said Jaspar, as the mulatto entered the library, "are the hands all in?" "Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, whose penetrating mind detected the tremulous quiver of Jaspar's lip; "all in two hours ago, according to