Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue: A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-westOptic, Oliver
General
Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue: A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-west
Optic, Oliver
African Americans -- Fiction; Enslaved persons -- United States -- Fiction
Emily vainly attempted to assure herself that her companion was
conducting her in good faith to the home of her early years. An
undefined feeling of insecurity was painfully besetting her, whichever
way she turned. She considered and reconsidered the evidences he had
brought to Cottage Island of the truth of his own statements, and of his
own trustworthiness. It was all in vain. Could those papers have been
forgeries? It was a terrible thought to her.
The carriage stopped, and the attorney invited her to alight.
Change--anything, was a relief to the painful sensations which had
almost overpowered her, and without reflection she did so. Her faculties
were so confused she did not notice that it was not the private entrance
of the St. Charles. She took everything for granted, and accepted the
offered arm of De Guy. She crossed the broad side-walk, and, raising her
eyes, was overwhelmed by seeing at the side of the door she was about
to enter the sign of "_Anthony Marwell, Attorney and Counsellor at
Law_."
"Please to walk up stairs," squeaked the attorney, drawing her after him
to the inside of the door, which he immediately closed and bolted.
"Not a step further, sir!" said she, with as much firmness as she could
command. "What means this? Am I again betrayed?"
"Nay, nay, madam, walk up quietly," said De Guy, in a soothing tone, as
he applied a little gentle force to the arm he held.
"Unhand me, sir!" screamed Emily, as loud as her agitated condition
would permit.
But De Guy heeded her not; and, without condescending to utter another
word, he took her up like a child, and bore her up the stairs to
Maxwell's office. Turning the key to prevent interruption, he opened the
lawyer's private apartment in the rear, and placed the fainting girl
upon the bed, and retired.
Unlocking the office door, he was confronted by an old negress, who had
charge of the sweeping and cleaning department of the building.
"Sar! what's all dis about?" screamed she, in no gentle tone; for the
colored lady had witnessed De Guy's achievement from the stair-case
above.
"Hush, Dido--"
"Sar! who are you dat come inter Massa Maxwell's room widout no leave?"
"Never mind who I am, Dido. There is a lady in the bedroom, by whom Mr.
Maxwell sets his life--do you hear?--sets his life. She has fainted, and
you must take care of her,"--and De Guy slipped a half-eagle into the
negress' hands.
"Dat alters de case," said the black lady, eying the money with much
satisfaction. "Massa Maxwell's a sly dog. I take good care ob de
lady--not de fus time, nuder."
"Don't let her get away; take good care of her, and you shall have half
a dozen just such pieces."
"Never fear, Massa, I's use to de business."
De Guy left the building, satisfied, it would seem, of the negress'
fidelity.
CHAPTER XXIV.
"_Lieut_. Forgive me, sir, what I'm compelled t' obey: An order for
your close confinement.
"_King H_. Whence comes it, good lieutenant?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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