"That remains to be seen," returned Mr. Delancey, in his cold, deep tones; and, stepping to the stairhead, he called Voltaire to his presence. At this moment Minny drew a long, shivering sigh, looked up, and met her mistress's tearful gaze with a smile. "They are safe, Miss--all safe; he could not get them," she whispered, faintly. "Hush, Minny, darling. Oh, you have suffered so terribly for my sake! This is dreadful, dreadful!" "Anything for you, Miss Della, anything." Della's only answer was a closer pressure of that young form to her heart. "Now," said Mr. Delancey, approaching them, with Voltaire walking behind them: "now, Minny, up with you, and get yourself out of my sight; and, mark me! you may get your back ready for another scourging unless you give me those papers before to-morrow." "Papa, you _know_ Minny isn't able to walk. Let Voltaire carry her." "Well, up with her, then. Take her to some of the negroes' rooms, and let her lie there till she repents of her obstinacy." "Voltaire," said Della, stepping forward, "take her to _my_ room, and put her upon my bed. Go!" The negro obeyed, and Mr. Delancey offered no opposition. There was a look in his daughter's eye which he had never seen there before, an imperative manner which enforced command, and he allowed the man to pass him, bearing the bleeding and exhausted Minny in his arms. "Now, Della," said he, turning to his child, "follow her. Until I can get this vile piece of romance out of your head, you shall remain a prisoner in your own room. Shame on you for your want of pride!" "Thank Heaven, papa, that I have no more." They parted--father and daughter there--both turning their heads, as they passed, to look back upon each other; then went from sight, silently and coldly. CHAPTER XXXII. "All the world's a stage." "Oh, Massa Gulian," said Jeff, one day, following Guly, who had entirely recovered from his illness, to his room, "what shall I ever do, Massa Gulian, I'se so berry mis'ble?" "And what has occurred, my poor fellow, to make you so unhappy?" "Why, it's 'bout dis robb'ry, young massa. Don' you see dat old Master s'picions me? Tudder day, he said he bleeb'd I know'd suthin' 'bout it, 'cause he found dat knife of mine dar in de winder; and the Lord knows I'se innocent as a lamb, ob eben tinking such a ting." "Mr. Wilkins, I think, convinced him of your innocence, Jeff. He told him every fact, concerning you, that he could think of, to prove you guiltless." "Yes, but--but I heerd Master mutter to hisself dat he couldn't clar me in his own mind till somebody else was cotched, and proved guilty; and nobody has been cotched, and I'se berry wretched, 'deed, sah, I is." Jeff looked all he expressed, and Guly pitied him in his heart. "Be of good cheer, and trust in God; all will yet be well. It were impossible for any one to think you guilty, Jeff, of this."