Arriving at the turn in the road, where he had remained to keep guard over the prisoner while Godfrey was gone after the rope, Clarence dismounted, tied the pony to a swinging branch, climbed the fence and made his way through the brier-patch toward the potato-hole. He listened repeatedly, but could not hear Don’s whistle, and he hoped that it was because his cousin was tired and had stopped to rest; but something told him that it was because he had been liberated. This proved to be the truth of the matter, as Clarence found when he reached the cellar. The door stood wide open, and looking in he saw the plough-line with which his cousin had been bound, lying in pieces at the foot of the stanchion. “It’s all over with me,” thought Clarence, hurrying away from the cellar with as much haste as he would have exhibited had he seen some frightful object there. “Very likely he is at home by this time telling all he knows. I wish I was at home too. I don’t see why I ever consented to come here.” Clarence suddenly stopped and listened intently. A few weeks ago he would not have noticed the sound that attracted his attention, but he noticed it now, faint as it was, and he was glad to hear it, too. It was the sound of a steam whistle, and it came from the river below him. He recognised it at once, for he had heard it often during his journey down the river. “That’s the Emma Deane,” thought he. “She has been to New Orleans, and is now on her way up the river. Can I reach the landing in time to catch her, I wonder? I will, if Don’s pony has the wind to stand the gallop.” Clarence ran through the brier-patch, scratching his hands and face and tearing his clothes at almost every step, but nothing could stop his progress. Reaching the fence where he had left the pony, he quickly untied him, and jumping on his back, went tearing up the road with all the speed the spirited little animal could be induced to put forth. He did not look up when he passed his uncle’s house, but kept his hat down over his eyes, urged on the pony, and finally disappeared around the bend, and entered a thick piece of woods that bounded that side of General Gordon’s plantation. As he dashed along wholly engrossed with his gloomy thoughts, and intent on reaching the landing before the steamer, there was a violent rustling among the bushes, the pony jumped quickly to one side, and his rider, being taken off his guard, was thrown flat in the middle of the dusty lane. Clarence scrambled to his feet and made a blind dash to recover the bridle which had been pulled from his grasp, but the pony was too quick for him. He wheeled on the instant, flourished his heels in the air and started for home.