Before Abe left town, he had put a little bit of business in Mr Randolph’s hands—no other than the settlement of a mortgage that threatened to ruin Mrs Hartley and her children. ‘O Marse Dick!’ he said, ‘I have been keeping away till I was rich enough to buy that man up; and then I meant to meet him face to face and ask him what he thought of himself. I doubt if I could have kept my hands off him; and now he is gone. I hope the good Lord will forgive me!’ Were I writing a romance, I might tell how Abe made his old master’s fortune. But I have given you a poor idea of Major Randolph if I have led you to imagine he would allow himself to profit by his old servant’s prosperity in the smallest degree. If Abe told him of a good investment, he had no money. If a loan was modestly and hesitatingly offered, on the plea that Abe wished to place money at interest, and that there were so few whom he could trust, it was kindly but decidedly refused. And so Abe grows richer, and Major Randolph poorer than ever. The old-time slaves, with many misty ideas on the subject of religion, had one article of belief which they understood clearly, and for which they would have suffered martyrdom—namely, that in the next world it would be their turn to sit at table and eat the good things, while the proud white folks should ‘grease de griddle and turn de cakes.’ The doctrine is founded on the principle of compensation, but the compensation in some cases begins here. ONE WOMAN’S HISTORY. CHAPTER XVI. ‘I have something of serious import to say to you,’ were Mora’s first words as he went forward a few steps and then halted. ‘Hector Laroche, do you know that you are in imminent danger of your life?’ He gave a little start and looked at her fixedly for a moment or two. ‘No; I am not aware of anything of the kind,’ he answered with a sneer. ‘Madame, you are oracular!’ ‘Oh, hush! This is no time for levity. Will you not believe me when I tell you that your life is in danger? The assassins have tracked you—they have followed you here—they have sworn to take your life!’ ‘The assassins! What assassins?’ he shrieked as he bounded to his feet. ‘Can you not guess? Think, Laroche, think! Oh, how like you it was to turn traitor to the cause to which you had bound yourself by oath, and to betray your comrades! But your treachery has been discovered. The penalty you cannot be ignorant of.’ He had turned livid with terror while Mora was speaking. A glassy film had overspread his eyes, which looked dilated to twice their ordinary size. His gaze wandered from corner to corner of the room with a sort of stealthy fright, as if dreading that an assassin might spring upon him at any moment. A cold perspiration bathed him from head to foot; he trembled in every limb, and would have fallen had he not supported himself with his back and hands against the bureau.