Meantime the unfortunate Giles had recovered from the swoon into which he had fallen, and began to look wildly about him, as though in a dream. To the fact that the contending parties had been closely engaged, and that from this cause not a gun had been fired, the old negro probably owed his life. With the superstition of his race, the poor creature attributed this fortunate succour to a miraculous interposition of Providence in his behalf; and when he saw the last of his oppressors flying before the determined onslaught of the white men, he fervently cried, “Thank the Lord, for he done sent his angels to stop de lion's mouf, and to save de poor old nigger from dere hands.” “Hallo, comrades,” said Berkenhead, when he espied the poor old negro bound to the tree, “who have we here? This must be old Ochee[37] himself, whom the Lord has delivered into our hands. Hark ye,” he added, proceeding to unbind him, “where do you come from?—or are you in reality the evil one, whom these infidel red-skins worship?” “Oh, no, Massa, I a'ant no evil sperrit. A sperrit hab not flesh and bones as you see me hab.” “Nay,” returned the coarse-hearted soldier, “that reasoning won't serve your purpose, for there is precious little flesh and blood about you, old man. The most you can lay claim to is skin and bones.” Hansford, who had been standing a little distance off, was attracted by this conversation, and turning in the direction of the old negro, was much surprised to recognize, under such horrible circumstances, the quondam steward, butler and factotum of Windsor Hall. Nor was Giles' surprise less in meeting with Miss Virginia's “buck” in so secluded a spot. It was with difficulty that Hansford could prevent him from throwing his arms around his neck; but giving the old man a hearty shake of the hand, he asked him the story of his captivity, which Giles, with much importance, proceeded to relate. But he had scarcely begun his narrative, when the attention of the insurgents was attracted by the approach of two horsemen, who advanced towards them at a rapid rate, as though they had some important intelligence to communicate. FOOTNOTES: [37] The evil spirit, sometimes called Opitchi Manitou, and worshipped by the Indians. CHAPTER XXV. “Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast.” _Richard III._