“Good evening, Mr. Harrington. Good evening, Mrs. Harrington,” he said, at length, in a voice like the squeak of a mouse. Then he paused. Muriel smiled faintly at the oddity of being called Mrs. Harrington, and though the wizened creature was not looking at her, he seemed to see the smile, for he smiled also in a slow, fantastic, frozen way. “Willum Roux’s been took off,” he at length squeaked in a deliberate tone. Harrington and Muriel started violently, and holding each other, looked at the speaker. “Took off!” gasped Harrington. “What do you mean?” The little man made another long pause, then squeaked like an incantation, “Ophelee!” A large fat mulatto woman with a red kerchief tied round her head, came from within, rubbing her eyes. Ophelia had evidently been asleep, but she nodded her head, bright and wide awake, when she saw the visitors. “What has become of Roux?” said Harrington, looking at her with his pale, startled face. “Oh, they’s all been took off to Cambridge,” she replied quickly, towering in good-natured bulk above her elvish husband, who stood like one magnetized. “Clarindy Roux’s married sister lives thar, Mr. Har’nton, an’ her old man come in with his wagon and took’m all out thar this afternoon. They’s to be fotched back to-morrow at dinner-time, so Tug says.” “Thank you,” said Harrington. “Good evening;” and “good evening,” said Muriel; both too much agitated with the sudden relief that swept over them, to say another word. “Laws bless you; good evening,” said Ophelia; and “good evening, Mr. Harrington—good evening, Mrs. Harrington,” squeaked the strange little creature, still standing in the same attitude, as Muriel and Harrington departed. “Well,” said Muriel, with a deep-drawn breath, and then a laugh, as they gained the street; “that was as good a fright as I ever got in my life.” “A fright, indeed,” he returned. “I felt as if I should swoon!” They walked on in silence for a few moments. “What a singular little kobold that is,” she said, as they went into the street. “Very,” replied Harrington. “He’s a tailor, and a great Free-Soiler, as you may imagine by the newspaper he had. Now, Muriel, it seems the Rouxs are fortunately away for the night. So they’re safe for the present.” “Yes,” she returned, gaily; “and my word is forfeit, for where are my five captives! _N’importe._ I’ll have them to-morrow.” “To-morrow, at noon, we’ll come here together,” said Harrington. “Agreed,” she replied. “Punctually, at one o’clock, we’ll be here; and, like two fairy princes, carry off the Ogre’s victim.” They fell from this into a strain of talk, half-gay, half-serious; and, satisfied that affairs were in a good state at present, returned rapidly to the house. CHAPTER XV. WAR AND PEACE.