I was by this time so exceedingly bewildered and afraid, that I would have given years of my life to be once more the slave of Mr. Caulder. I still stood, with my hands clasped, the image of despair, looking about me on the lumber of the room or raising my eyes to heaven; when there appeared outside the window bars, the face of a very black negro, who signed to me imperiously to draw near. I did so, and he instantly, and with every mark of fervour, addressed me a long speech in some unknown and barbarous tongue. ‘I declare,’ I cried, clasping my brow, ‘I do not understand one syllable.’ ‘Not?’ he said in Spanish. ‘Great, great, are the powers of Hoodoo! Her very mind is changed! But, O chief priestess, why have you suffered yourself to be shut into this cage? why did you not call your slaves at once to your defence? Do you not see that all has been prepared to murder you? at a spark, this flimsy house will go in flames; and alas! who shall then be the chief priestess? and what shall be the profit of the miracle?’ ‘Heavens!’ cried I, ‘can I not see Sir George? I must, I must, come by speech of him. Oh, bring me to Sir George!’ And, my terror fairly mastering my courage, I fell upon my knees and began to pray to all the saints. ‘Lordy!’ cried the negro, ‘here they come!’ And his black head was instantly withdrawn from the window. ‘I never heard such nonsense in my life,’ exclaimed a voice. ‘Why, so we all say, Sir George,’ replied the voice of Mr. Kentish. ‘But put yourself in our place. The niggers were near two to one. And upon my word, if you’ll excuse me, sir, considering the notion they have taken in their heads, I regard it as precious fortunate for all of us that the mistake occurred.’ ‘This is no question of fortune, sir,’ returned Sir George. ‘It is a question of my orders, and you may take my word for it, Kentish, either Harland, or yourself, or Parker—or, by George, all three of you!—shall swing for this affair. These are my sentiments. Give me the key and be off.’ Immediately after, the key turned in the lock; and there appeared upon the threshold a gentleman, between forty and fifty, with a very open countenance, and of a stout and personable figure. ‘My dear young lady,’ said he, ‘who the devil may you be?’ I told him all my story in one rush of words. He heard me, from the first, with an amazement you can scarcely picture, but when I came to the death of the Señora Mendizabal in the tornado, he fairly leaped into the air. ‘My dear child,’ he cried, clasping me in his arms, ‘excuse a man who might be your father! This is the best news I ever had since I was born; for that hag of a mulatto was no less a person than my wife.’ He sat down upon a tar-barrel, as if unmanned by joy. ‘Dear me,’ said he, ‘I declare this tempts me to believe in Providence. And what,’ he added, ‘can I do for you?’ ‘Sir George,’ said I, ‘I am already rich: all that I ask is your protection.’