'_Walk_ there! My dear sir, we don't abuse strangers in these diggin's. The road is sandier than an Arab desert. You'd never get there afoot. Tom,' he added, calling to his man, 'give Buster some oats; rub him down, and have him here in half an hour. Travel, now, like greased lightning.' Then turning to me, he continued: 'You can have _my_ horse. He's a spirited fellow, and you'll need to keep an eye on him; but he'll get you there in two hours.' 'But how will _you_ get on?' 'I'll take my boy's, and leave the darky here.' 'Mr. Gaston, I cannot tell you the service you are doing me.' 'Don't speak of it, my dear sir. A stranger can have anything of mine but my wife;' and he laughed pleasantly. He went with me into the supper room, and there told me that the sale of Preston's plantation, furniture, live stock, farm tools, &c., had occupied the two previous days; and that the negroes were to be put on the block at nine o'clock the next morning. 'I've got my eye on one or two of them, that I mean to buy. The niggers will sell well, I reckon.' After supper, we strolled again into the bar room. Approaching the counter, my eye fell on the hotel register, which lay open upon it. I glanced involuntarily over the book. Among the arrivals of the previous day, I noticed two recorded in a hand that I at once recognized. The names were, 'JOHN HALLET, _New Orleans_; JACOB LARKIN, _ditto_.' 'Are these gentlemen here?' I asked the bartender. 'No; they left same day the' come.' 'Where did they go?' 'Doan't know.' In five minutes, with my carpet bag strapped to the pommel of the saddle, I was bounding up the road to Trenton. It was nearly ten o'clock when I sprang from the horse and rang the bell at the mansion. A light was burning in the library, but the rest of the house was dark. A negro opened the door. 'Where is master Joe, or Miss Selly?' 'In de library, massa. I'll tell dem you'm here.' 'No; I'll go myself. Look after my horse.' I strode through the parlors and the passage way to the old room. Selma was seated on a lounge by the side of Joe, her head on his shoulder. As I opened the door, I spoke the two words: 'My child!' She looked up, sprang to her feet, and rushed into my arms. 'And you are safe!' I cried, putting back her soft brown hair, and kissing her pale, beautiful forehead. 'Yes, I am safe. My brother is here--I am _safe_.' 'Joe--God bless you!--you're a noble fellow!' He was only twenty-three, but his face was already seamed and haggard, and his hair thickly streaked with white! We sat down, and from Selma's lips I learned the events of the preceding months. CHAPTER XXIV.