“The task he put upon me has been a very simple one, madam. Good by. We shall soon meet again, I hope.” “Yes. I shall be quite well of my heart-complaint _then_. Good by.” Hardly had Winslow left the house than Ratcliff drove up and entered. He was in a jubilant mood. News had just been received of the Confederate victory at Bull Run. He knocked at his wife’s door. “Come in!” He entered. Josephine and Clara were present, trying to soothe the invalid. One was bathing her forehead with _eau de Cologne_; the other was kneeling, and rubbing her feet. She had been telling them what she had done. She had kissed first one and then the other, lavishing on them profuse tokens of affection. Her eyes gleamed with an unnatural brightness, and her cheeks were flushed with the glow of a great excitement. As Ratcliff came in she rose, and, standing between Josephine and Clara, put an arm round the shoulder of each, and looked her husband steadily in the face. Her expression was that of one who cannot find words adequate to the utterance of some absorbing emotion. The look was compounded at once of defiance and of pity. Her lips moved, but no articulation followed. Then suddenly, with a gasped “Ah!” she convulsively bowed her body like a tree smitten by the tornado. The pain, if sharp, was but for a moment. The motion was her last. She sank into the faithful arms that encircled her. The one attenuated chord that bound her to the mortal life had been snapped. Ratcliff started forward, and satisfied himself that his wife was really dead. Then he looked up at Clara. She caught the expression of his countenance, and instinctively comprehended it, even as the little bird understands the hawk, or the lamb the wolf. Josephine saw it too. What a triumph now to think that she was no longer _his_ slave! But Clara,—what of _her_? Mrs. Ratcliff’s sudden death seemed to shatter the last barrier between her and danger. Ratcliff did not affect to conceal his satisfaction. Here was a double victory! The Federals and his wife both disposed of in one day! Youth and beauty within his grasp! Truly, fortune seemed to be heaping her good things upon him. That half a million too, in Winslow’s hands, would come very opportunely; for slaves could be bought cheap, dog-cheap, now that croakers were predicting ruin to the institution. “Josephine,” said he, “I must go at once to see Winslow, the late”—how readily he seized on that word!—“the late Mrs. Ratcliff’s man of business. I may not be home to dinner. You’d better not take out the carriage. The horses would be frightened; for the streets are all in commotion with salvos for our great victory. Good by till I return.” Once more he turned on Clara that look from which she had twice before shrunk dismayed and exasperated. After he had gone, “Help me to escape at once!” she exclaimed.