"I never can tell you," she said, in relating her story, "how strange I felt about sich good news as this, and wondered if it could be true. I jus' trimbled like a popple leaf all the evenin'. Master and missus was over in the city to a lecture on Fernology, and didn't get back till twelve o'clock. I kep' the chillen awake later'n common, so they'd sleep sounder. Then I tied my clothes up in a tight bundle, an' had my shoes an' hat whar I'd lay han's on 'em, an' put out the light. I was snorin', when missus looked in an' said, 'All's asleep--all right;' an' I waited till the clock struck one, an' all still. I crep' sof'ly out on the street, and down to the root, an' waited for a whistle. The clock struck two. O, how long! Will that man come? Chillen may cry, an' missus fin' me gone. Had I better wait till it's three o'clock? May be he can't come. He said, if any thing happen he couldn't come to-night, I mus' go back, an' try another night. An' 'bout as I began to think I better go back come the whistle. I stepped in, an' we went over; but the clock struck three before we got half across, an' he was mighty fear'd he couldn't get back afore daybreak." News reached us during the day that a woman crossed the river early, and was so near it as to be dangerous for a hiding-place; and it fell to my lot to see her in a safe place as soon as the darkness of night would shield us from being detected by Champlin and his aids, who were already seen at street corners. I took a black Quaker bonnet and a drab shawl and a plain dress-skirt in a market-basket, with which to disguise our fugitive. I found her in a dark room, where I fixed her up for a walk; and she told me of her loss of the hundred dollars, but I told her all would be well without it. I instructed her to take my arm as we went, and take good care to limp all the way, for we should pass plenty of Kentuckians. Thickly veiled, we walked half a mile, turning short corners to elude watchers, if any, from our starting-point. As we went up Central Avenue to Longworth, we passed through a crowd, one of whom said: "I'm going to line my pockets to-night. Thar's five hundred dollars reward out." Said another, in a low tone, "When did she cross?" "Last night some time, they say." My Quaker sister, limping at my side, was trembling, I sensibly felt, as she hung upon my arm, as we listened to these remarks from her pursuers. I took her to a very intelligent colored family on Longworth Street, who were well known to us as true friends.