“David, wait; I want you.” With uncertain step, and bowed head, a figure came forward. As Chapman turned he saw that it was Mr. Dunlap. One moment the old employee gazed at the approaching man. Then springing toward him, he cried as he caught sight of the ashen hue on his old master’s blanched and deep-lined face, and saw the blank look in his kind eyes: “You are ill, sir; sit down!” “Yes, David; I am not well; I am somewhat weak, but I wish to give you certain commands that must not, as you value my friendship, be disobeyed.” The old man paused and painfully sought to gain command of his voice, and failing, gasped forth: “Send a message to my brother saying, ‘It is a boy and all is well,’ and add—David Chapman, do you understand me?—and add these very words, ‘Do not come home; it is unnecessary.’ Sign the message ‘James’—and, listen, Chapman, listen; no word that I am not well or my granddaughter in danger must reach my brother John.” “Your instructions shall be obeyed, sir,” and Chapman’s voice was almost as indistinct as that of his loved master. “What of the business, sir, while Mr. Burton is absent?” the ever-faithful superintendent asked. “Use your own discretion in everything,” and with a dry, convulsive sob that shook his bended frame, he added in a whisper: “It makes no difference now.” David Chapman heard the sob, and caught those heartbroken words. In an instant that strangely constituted man was on his knees at the feet of him whom of all on earth he worshiped most. “Can I help you, sir, in your trouble? Say anything that man can do, and I shall do it, sir,” cried Chapman piteously. “No, David, no; but, David, I thank you. Go, my faithful old friend, and do what I have requested.” Chapman arose and pressed the wan hand that James Dunlap extended, then hurried from the house. Those who saw the superintendent that day wondered why they were unable to tell whether it was grief or rage that marked the man’s face so deeply. The message as dictated was sent that day to Haiti. XII. By special concession from the Haitian government, the blacks still maintaining a prejudice against white people owning real estate in Haiti, John Dunlap had purchased several acres of land lying in the outskirts of Port au Prince, and had built a commodious house thereon, constructed in accordance with the requirements of the warm climate of the island. To-night with impatient manner he is walking up and down the veranda which surrounds the house, accompanied by Captain Jack Dunlap, to whom he says: “I do not like the monotonous sentence that, without change, has come to me daily for two weeks past. It is not like my brother James, and something, that I cannot explain, tells me that all is not well at home in Boston.” “Don’t you think that this presentiment is only the result of anxiety; that you are permitting imaginary evils to disturb you, sir?” put in Jack respectfully.