to prevent them from discovering it.  The Signor has had a talk with Tulee, and told her to keep very quiet, and not tell any mortal that she ever saw me at your father’s house.  A passage for you and Madame is engaged on board a vessel bound to Nassau, which will sail at midnight.  Soon, after I leave this house, Madame’s cousin, Mr. Duroy, will come with two boys.  You and Madame will assume their dresses, and they will put on some clothes the Signor has already sent, in such boxes as Madame is accustomed to receive, full of materials for her flowers.  All, excepting ourselves, will suppose you have gone North, according to the original plan, in order that they may swear to that effect if they are brought to trial.  When I go by the front of the house whistling Ca ira, you will pass through the garden to the street in the rear, where you will find my servant with a carriage, which will convey you three miles, to the house of one of my friends.  I will come there in season to accompany you on board the ship.”

“O, how thoughtful and how kind you are!” exclaimed Rosa.  “But can’t we contrive some way to take poor Tulee with us?”

“It would be imprudent,” he replied.  “The creditors must be allowed to sell her.  She knows it, but she has my assurance that I will take good care of her.  No harm shall come to Tulee, I promise you.  I cannot go with you to Nassau; because, if I do, the creditors may suspect my participation in the plot.  I shall stay in New Orleans a week or ten days, then return to Savannah, and take an early opportunity to sail for Nassau, by the way of New York.  Meanwhile, I will try to manage matters so that Madame can safely return to her house.  Then we will decide where to make a happy home for ourselves.”

The color forsook Rosa’s cheeks, and her whole frame quivered, as she said, “I thank you, Gerald, for all this thoughtful care; but I cannot go to Nassau,—­indeed I cannot!”

“Cannot go!” exclaimed he.  “Where will you go, then?”

“Before you came, Madame had made ready to take us to Boston, you know.  We will go there with her.”

“Rosa, do you distrust me?” said he reproachfully.  “Do you doubt my love?”

“I do not distrust you,” she replied; “but”—­she looked down, and blushed deeply as she added—­“but I promised my father that I would never leave home with any gentleman unless I was married to him.”

“But, Rosa dear, your father did not foresee such a state of things as this.  Everything is arranged, and there is no time to lose.  If you knew all that I know, you would see the necessity of leaving this city before to-morrow.”

“I cannot go with you,” she repeated in tones of the deepest distress,—­“I cannot go with you, for I promised my dear father the night before he died.”

He looked at her for an instant, and then, drawing her close to him, he said:  “It shall be just as you wish, darling.  I will bring a clergyman to the house of my friend, and we will be married before you sail.”