A close observer might have noticed that Silas Craig's face grew considerably paler at the sound of his voice; but before he could make any remark, the owner of it had dashed into the room, banging open the door with a noise of thunder. Well might the ladies start with an exclamation of amazement at the apparition that stood before them. The newcomer was a tall, lanky, raw-boned looking man, with long hair, which streamed in rough locks from under his fur cap. He wore a bear-skin jacket, very much the worse for bad usage, loose knicker-bocker trousers, leather gaiters, and great nailed boots; his red-striped shirt was torn and ragged, and a tattered cloak hung loosely over his shoulder. When we further add that he carried a musket under his arm, the reader will be able to understand the astonishment of Mrs. Montresor and her niece at beholding such an intruder in their elegant apartment. If a ghost risen from the grave had stood before him, Silas Craig could scarcely have appeared more terrified than he did at the sight of this man. "So I've found you at last, my worthy Craig, have I?" cried the stranger. "I've been over every inch of ground in New Orleans, I think, looking for you. At last somebody told me you were at Mr. Horton's. Very well, says I, here goes for Mr. Horton's, and here I am; but how is my dear Craig! You don't seem glad to see me." "His dear Craig! Vulgar ruffian!" muttered Silas in an undertone; and then, with an effort to overcome his embarrassment, he said, "Why, as for being glad to see you, my dear Bill, of course, I'm glad; but you see--you see the truth was, I thought you were in California." "Yes, where you sent me to dig for gold and keep out of your way. No, the climate didn't agree with me, and I didn't find any gold, though I soon spent all I took with me. So, knowing I had powerful friends in New Orleans, I thought the best thing I could do would be to come back and throw myself once more on their generosity." Silas Craig bit his thick under lip till the blood started beneath his teeth. "But I say, Craig," said the stranger, looking at the two astonished women, "Where's your manners? Ain't you going to introduce me to the ladies?" "Oh, to be sure," replied Silas, with increasing embarrassment. "My dear Mrs. Montresor, my dear Miss Horton, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Bill Bowen, formerly captain of a slaver." "Captain of a slaver!" exclaimed Adelaide. "Don't be frightened, miss," said Bill; "your brother was one of my best customers. I've done many a bit of business in the nigger trade with him." The young girl shuddered as she turned away from the speaker. "I know my dress ain't quite the thing for a lady's drawing-room," he said, looking down at his ragged shirt-sleeves and clay-stained clothes, "but we'll soon set all that to rights. My friend Craig will recommend me to his tailor and lend me the money to pay his bill, if it comes to that, won't you, Craig?"