Suddenly she saw Esha approaching. Moment of peril! Should the old black woman recognize and accost her, she was lost. On came the old slave, her eyes wide open and her thoughts intent on detecting detectives. Suddenly, to her consternation, she saw Clara stop before a “magasin” and take up some muslin on the shelf outside the window; and almost in the same glance, she saw the gentleman of the cane, watching both her and Clara out of the corners of his eyes. A sideway glance, quick as lightning from Clara, and delivered without moving her head, was enough to enlighten Esha. She passed on without a perceptible pause, and soon appeared to stumble, as if by accident, almost into the arms of the detective. He caught her by the shoulder, and said, “Don’t turn, but tell me if you noticed that woman there,—there by Delmar’s, with a green veil over her face?” “Yes, massa, I seed a woman in a green veil.” “Well, are you sure she mayn’t be the one?” “Bress yer, massa, I owt to know de chile I’ze seed grow up from a bebby. Reckon I could tell her widout seem’ her face.” “Go back and take a look at her. There! she steps into the shop.” Glad of the opportunity of giving Clara a word of caution, Esha passed into Delmar’s. Beckoning Clara into an alcove, she said: “De veil, darlin’! De veil! Dat ole rat would nebber hab suspek noting if’t hahdn’t been fur de veil. His part ob de play am ter watch eb’ry woman in a veil.” “I see my mistake, Esha. I’ve been buying a dagger. Look there!” “De Lord save us!” said Esha, with a shudder, half of horror and half of sympathy. “Don’t be in de street oftener dan yer kin help, darlin’? Remember de fotygrafs. Dar! I mus go.” Esha joined the detective. “Did you get a good sight of her?” he asked. “Went right up an’ spoke ter her,” said Esha. “She’s jes as much dat gal as she’s Madame Beauregard.” The detective, his vision of a $500 _douceur_ melting into thin air, pensively walked off to try fortune on a new beat. Clara, now that the danger was over, began to tremble. Hitherto she had not quailed. Leaving the shop, she took the nearest way to the hotel. For the last twenty-four hours agitation and excitement had prevented her taking food. Wretchedly faint, she stopped and took hold of an iron lamppost for support. An officer in the Confederate uniform, seeing she was ill, said, “Mademoiselle, you need help. Allow me to escort you home.” Dreading lest she should fall, through feebleness, into worse hands, Clara thanked him and took his proffered arm. “To the St. Charles, sir, if you please.” “I myself stop at the St. Charles. Allow me to introduce myself: Robert Onslow, Captain in Company D, Wigman Regiment. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of assisting?” “Miss Brown. I’m stopping a few days with my friend, Miss Tremaine.” “Indeed! I was to call on her this evening. We may renew our acquaintance.” “Perhaps.”