“Never, villain!  I never will leave this house alive!”—­and she struggled to free herself from the ruffian’s grasp.

“Nay, nay, lady! do not be unreasonable.”

“Help! help!” shouted Emily, with the energy of desperation.

“No use, my pretty quadroon; I put your man, Hatchie, into the hands of two stout fellows; he cannot come, even at your bidding.”

The ruffian had hardly finished the sentence before a heavy blow on the back of the head laid him prostrate upon the floor.

“You are a false prophet,” said Hatchie, quietly, as he assisted his mistress to a sofa, while Jerry Swinger, who had followed him, examined the condition of the fallen man.

“Thank God!” continued Hatchie, “we have beaten them off.”

“Heaven is kinder to me than I deserve,” murmured Emily, bursting into tears, as the terrible scene through which she had just passed was fully realized.  “But where is Henry—­Captain Carroll—­is he safe?”

“All safe, ma’am; the catamounts have not been in his room,” replied Jerry Swinger.  “Cheer up, ma’am; it mought have been worse.”

“Let us carry this carrion from the house,” said Hatchie, seizing the prostrate Vernon in no gentle gripe.  “Let us fasten him to a tree, and I will not take my eye from him or the lawyer till both are hung.”

“Stay, stay, Hatchie!” exclaimed Dr. Vandelier, who at that moment entered. “He is my son!”

“Good heavens!” said Emily, rising from her recumbent posture on the sofa.

“It is indeed true,” replied the doctor, in a melancholy tone.  “I would that he had died in the innocency of his childhood.  I recognized him as he entered the house, and had nearly lost my consciousness, as the terrible reality stared me in the face, that my son, he whose childhood I had watched over, who once called me by the endearing name of father, is a common midnight assassin!

“Is he your persecutor?” continued the doctor, relieved by an abundant shower of tears which the terrible truth had called to his eyes.  “Is he the person who has caused you so much trouble?”

“No, no, sir!” responded Emily, eager to afford the slightest comfort to the bereaved heart of the father; “he only acted for Maxwell.”

“A hired villain! without even the paltry excuse of an interested motive to palliate the offence.  O God! that I should be brought so low!”—­and the doctor wrung his hands in anguish.

“Perhaps, sir,” said Emily, “he is not so bad as you think; let us hear before we condemn him.”

Her resentment, if her gentle nature had for a moment harbored such a feeling, had all given way to the abundant sympathy she felt for the doctor in his deep distress.  Forgiving as the spirit of mercy, she now applied restoratives to the man who had so lately attempted to wrong her; and Dr. Vaudelier, with a sad heart, assisted her in her merciful duty.

Hatchie, on his approach to the cottage, had been assailed by the men whom Vernon had sent to secure him.  A severe encounter had ensued, and although Hatchie’s great muscular power and skill had enabled him to keep his assailants at bay, he would eventually have had the worst of it; but Jerry Swinger came to his aid in season for him to save his mistress from injury.  Vernon’s party, like that of Maxwell, were all secured.