“Ah! am I betrayed?” cried Clara, instinctively carrying her hand to her bosom, where lay the weapon she had bought. The quadroon noticed the gesture, and smiled. “Sit down,” she said, “and do not consider me an enemy until I have proved myself such. Listen to what I have to propose.” Clara took a seat where she could be within reach of the door, and then pointed to the sofa. “Yes, I will sit here,” said the quadroon, complying with the tacit invitation. “Now, listen, dear young lady, to a proposition I am authorized to make. Mr. Ratcliff will very soon be a widower. His wife cannot survive three months. He has seen you, and likes you. He is willing to lift you from slavery to freedom,—from poverty to wealth,—from obscurity to grandeur,—on one very easy condition; this, namely: that, as soon after his wife’s death as propriety will allow, you will yourself become Mrs. Ratcliff.” “Never!” exclaimed Clara, the blood flaming up like red auroras over neck, face, and brow. “But consider, my dear. You will, in the first place, be forthwith treated with all the respect and consideration due to Mr. Ratcliff’s future bride. As soon as he has you secure as his wife, he will emancipate you,—make you a free woman. Think of that! Mr. Ratcliff is supposed to be worth at least five millions. You will at once have such a purse as no other young woman in the city can boast. Now why not be reasonable? Why not say _yes_ to the proposition?” “Never! never!” cried Clara, carrying her hand again to her breast with a gesture she thought significant only to herself. Josephine rose and felt of the bosom of Clara’s dress till she distinguished the weapon of which Esha had spoken. Then a smile, so sincere as to forbid suspicion, broke over the quadroon’s face, and she exclaimed: “Let me kiss you! Let me hug you!” And having given vent to her satisfaction in an embrace, she unlocked the door, and there stood Esha. “What does it all mean, Esha?” asked Clara, bewildered. “It mean, darlin’, dat Massa Ratcliff hab tracked you to dis yere place, an’ we two women mean to pull de wool ober his eyes, so he can’t do yer no harm no how. You jes do what we want yer to, and we’ll bodder him so he sha’n’ know his head’s his own.” Josephine then communicated all the facts that had come to her knowledge in regard to Ratcliff’s pursuit of Clara, together with her own conversation with him that morning, and the plan she had contrived for his discomfiture. “As soon,” she said, “as such an opportunity offers that I can be sure you can be put beyond his reach, I will supply you with money, and help you to escape.” Truth beamed from her looks, and made itself musical in her tones, and Clara gratefully pressed her hand. “And shall I have Esha with me?” she asked. “Yes; and Mrs. Ratcliff, though an invalid, will also befriend you. ’T will be strange indeed if we four women can’t defeat one man.”