And carefully descending the rickety stairs, she groped her way around to the rear of the dwelling. The two gentlemen followed her. But at the back as at the front, all was shut up, dark and still. No sign of human habitation was near the place. “Miss Brande,” exclaimed Lord Montressor, in voice of anguish, “what is the meaning of this?” “The Lord only knows!” responded Barbara, in great agitation. “But, follow me, gentlemen.” “Where are you going?” inquired Sir Parke Morelle. “Down to a cabin at the foot of the bank, where two old negroes live who may be able to give us some satisfaction.” And hurrying onward, she began the difficult descent of the steep, with a precipitancy more indicative of haste and anxiety than of a regard for her own life and limbs. The gentlemen followed with all speed consistent with Sir Parke’s infirmities. At the foot of the bank she ran against the boys, just landed from the boat. “Why, where in the world are you running to, sister?” exclaimed Willful, when stopped by the wild and hurrying figure. “To Uncle Nep’s cabin! The house above is abandoned! Follow me. But where is the boat?” “It is just putting off,” replied Willful. “Boat ahoy!” she called—“come back and wait for us at the foot of the ash tree.” Lord Montressor, who had by this time helped Sir Parke down the descent, now joined her. She also heard the light splash of the oars of the returning boat, and knew by the sound which followed that it was pushed up on the sands. “Come, now,” she said, and hurried along under the overhanging bank until she came to a place where the bluff suddenly sunk into a little bowl-like hollow, where, closely sheltered and deeply shaded even at noonday by the overarching trees, stood the little cabin, with its single dip candle gleaming through the tiny window out into the deep darkness. Willful ran forward and rapped at the door, which was immediately opened by the namesake of the Ocean Queen, who called out— “Who dar?” “It’s me, Aunt Amphitrite,” replied the grammar-despising lad. “Lors a messy pon top o’ my soul, if it aint de chile! Hi, boy, where you come from? Drop right outen the sky, didn’t yer? Come in, chile! Come in! Lors a messy, come in outen de night air! Where’s your sister?” “Here I am, Aunty, and here are strangers,” said Barbara, as she came up. “Lors, Miss Barbra, chile, I’se so ’joyed to see yer, ’deed I is; but what made you go for to fetch strangers here and ketch me in my ole, ebery-day duds? Ef you’d a only guve me time I’d a put on my black silk gown as dat dear, bressed, free-hearted chile, Miss Estel, guve me for a Sunday gown! An’ dere’s my ole man in dere a fuming de whole place wid his ’bacco, like a saint in de odor o’ sanctity, which I knows as white folks don’t like! Heave it away, you mis-beguided ole sinner you, an’ let de white folks in!” cried Amphitrite, breaking off from her discourse to take the pipe from her dark liege lord’s lips.