“I foresee,” said Vance, “that Onslow will be of our party of escape this night.” And then, turning to Peek, he remarked: “Your coming, Peculiar, is timely. I want the help of a trustworthy driver. You are the man for us. Can you, without exciting suspicion, get the control of a carriage and two fast, fresh horses?” Peek reflected a moment, and then said: “Yes; I know a colored man, Antoine Lafour, who has the care of two of the best horses in the city. His master really thinks Antoine would fight any Abolitionist who might come to free him; but Antoine and I laugh at the old man’s credulity.” “There’s yet another service you can render,” said Vance; and he gave five raps on the door of his chamber. The lock was turned from the inside, and Winslow appeared. “You’re among friends,” said Vance. “This is my cousin, Mr. Kenrick; and this is Peculiar Institution, otherwise called Peek. Notwithstanding his inauspicious name, you may trust him as you would your own right hand.” “But I want an agent who can write and keep accounts.” “Then Peek is just the man for you. Of his ability you can satisfy yourself in five minutes. For his _honesty_ I will vouch.” “But will he remain in New Orleans the next six months?” “I hope so,” replied Vance. “This is my plan for you, Peek: that you should still occupy that little house of mine with the Bernards. I’ve spoken to them about it; and they will treat you well for my sake. I want some one here with whom I may freely communicate; and more, I want you to pursue your search for Colonel Delancy Hyde, and to secure him when found, which you can easily do with money. Will you remain?” “You know how it is with me, Mr. Vance,” said Peek. “I have two objects in life: One is to find my wife and child; the other is to help on the great cause. For both these objects I can have no better head-quarters than New Orleans.” “Good! He will remain, Mr. Winslow. Go now both of you into the next room. You’ll find writing materials on the table.” The old man and the negro withdrew. Kenrick paced the floor, thinking one moment of Clara, and the next of the dreadful communication he must make to Onslow. Vance sat down and leaned his head on his hands to consider if there was anything he had left undone. “I hear some one knocking at the door of my room,” said Kenrick. He went into the corridor, and a servant handed him a card. It was from Onslow, and pencilled on it was the following:—