“They did. They got into the boats and rowed straight back, watching the ghostly light all the time, and just afore they landed it was out.” “Did they carry a light in their boats?” “Certain.” “Then the great problem is solved. It was some fugitive slave, a refugee on the island, who, seeing the approach of the boats by the lights they carried, extinguished his light and concealed himself.” “As if he could. Lor’, child, where could he hide away on that island? All plain and bare, and bleak as it is; no bit o’ woods, no hollow; nothing but the outside walls o’ the old lodge, with its cellar full o’ water, and the lonesome, bare trees standin’ far apart like ghosts.” “True, very true; there is not a hiding place possible on the island. But I cling to the thought of the fugitive refugee, who, seeing the invaders, probably extinguished his light and took boat for the open sea.” “No, honey, that w’a’nt it. Bless you, they thought of that at once, and lit more pine knots, and separated, and run all around the coast of the little islet, and flashed their lights about, and couldn’t see sign of a boat on the waters.” “Then I am at the end of conjecture. Come, let us go down. It is cold up here. Take up the candle, Cæsar,” said Miss Seabright, turning to go from the room. “Yes, let’s go down; it is so cold up here. And supper’s ready in the little red parlor. That’s what I come to tell you, when these niggers all followed me. I told Milly, long as you hadn’t eat any dinner, and felt sort o’ low spirited, to get supper airly, and br’il a pair of pa’tridges. A cup o’ good, strong Young Hyson tea, with light biscuits and br’iled pa’tridges, is very good for lowness o’ spirits. I knows it, ’cause I’ve tried it myself.” They hurried through the bleak passages, and downstairs. Miss Seabright, preceded by the servant bearing the candle, and followed by the old lady, entered the parlor. The comfortable little parlor, with its thick carpet, heavy curtains, soft sofa, bright fire, and elegant tea-table, was certainly a specific for mere low spirits. The old lady bustled past Garnet, and set the urn upon the table, burning her fingers slightly, and rubbing them, while she exclaimed cheerily: “There now, sit down. As there’s no one here but you and me, you know, you can draw the end of the sofy to the table and loll on that, while I pour out your tea and butter you a biscuit. Cæsar, you cut up that pa’tridge for your young mist’ess—not that one, you stupid creetur! t’other one, it’s the plumpest. Now you see, honey, the maids have got through their day’s work, for a wonder, and I have got time to stay in the parlor and enjoy myself ’long o’ you. And so we’ll have a jolly good evening; you can loll on the sofa and enjoy yourself with your low spirits and cologne bottle—only don’t waste it—and I can sit here and patch my old gown, and talk about old times.”