This door had been closed so quietly, that the sound would have been unheard by an ordinary sleeper; but the overstrained state of the young man's nerves was such that a whisper would have awakened him. The room was darkened by the closed Venetian shutters, which excluded the burning sun, and left the apartment in shadow. Paul sprang to his feet and looked about him. The chamber was empty. He tore aside the window curtains, but there was no one lurking behind their voluminous draperies. His next impulse was to look to the safety of the portmanteau. It was gone! He had placed it on a chair near the couch, on which he lay, but the chair was empty. He searched the apartment, but in vain; the portmanteau had disappeared. He rushed from the room, and to the hall below; the first person he met was Pepita. He inquired of her, if she had met any one carrying a portmanteau. "A little leather box, massa?" "Yes, yes." "Tristan jes carry one out of de house den, massa; Pepita see him," answered the mulattress. "Which way did he go?" exclaimed Paul, breathless with agitation. "Out o' door, Massa Paul; to de wood-house, Pepita tink." Paul waited to hear no more, but rushed to the back premises, amongst which the wood-house was situated. The wood-house was a rudely constructed building, in which timber was kept for the stoves. As Paul approached the door, he perceived wreaths of pale blue smoke issuing from the crevices in the wood work. This smoke indicated the burning of timber in the hut. Paul tried to open the door, but it was bolted on the inside. He flung himself with all his force against it, but it resisted his efforts. He felt that the slave Tristan had taken the portmanteau into the hut for some evil design. "Tristan!" he cried, "Tristan! open the door, or I will shoot you through a crevice in the wood." The negro only answered with a mocking laugh. Meanwhile the smoke, increasing every minute in volume, almost suffocated the young man with its stifling fumes. Suddenly Paul remembered that on the other side of the wood-house there was a small window which admitted light into the building. He ran to the window. The shutters were nailed together, but the wood was rotten and the hinges worn and rusty. Paul wrenched them asunder with the rapidity of lightning, dashed his hand through the dingy glass of the window, flung it open and sprang into the hut. A log fire was blazing in the center of the building, and Tristan, the negro, knelt over the flames with the portmanteau in his hand. Paul sprang upon him and tore the leather case from his grasp, but the negro was the stronger of the two. He regained possession of the portmanteau and made toward the door of the hut. Again Paul flung himself upon him, and this time the struggle between the two men was terrible in its intensity. The face of Paul was white with concentrated rage, while the dilated eyes of the negro glared like those of a fiend.