As the hall was an exposed place, he thought of returning to the cellar to discuss this supply of viands; but, as he passed the door of the apartment opposite the dining-room, he glanced through the key-hole. It was not lighted; and, with the same care he had before used, he opened the door. It was a starlight evening, and sufficient light came through the windows to enable him to see that the room was the planter’s library. But he had hardly entered the apartment before he heard footsteps in the hall. Darting towards a door which he descried in the dim light, he opened it, and shut himself in, just as a person entered from the hall. It was as dark as Erebus in his new quarters; but Jack, after placing his pistols in a position for instant service, felt around him, and ascertained that he had taken refuge in a large closet, which contained stacks of old papers, pamphlets, and books. Hanging on one side were sundry articles of clothing; but our hero hoped they would not be wanted till he had departed. He had not dared to latch the door behind him, lest the noise should attract the attention of the person who had entered. Pushing it open a little, he found that the library had been lighted; and the servant who had performed this service was seated in an easy-chair, occupied with his own reflections. He was a sleek, well-fed negro, dressed like a gentleman; and apparently had no interest whatever in the “jubilee” for which the field-hands in the huts were impatiently praying. The fellow was evidently waiting for the planter to finish his supper and take possession of the library. He sat there as composed and contented as though he had been the owner of the library. He was certainly unconscious that he was, just at that moment, very much in Jack’s way; for the latter wanted a chance to open the window, and jump out. Jack was provoked at the indifference of the gentlemanly servant, and even considered the propriety of giving him one of the bullets in his revolver: but he rejected this suggestion, as it would have been nothing less than murder; for the fellow was as harmless as he was fat and lazy. Then he thought he would “appear” to the negro, and, in the confusion which ensued, escape by the front door; but, as this would subject him to a pursuit, he decided to remain quiet, even at the risk of having to stay in the closet till the planter had retired for the night. He concluded, after mature deliberation, that this would not be a very terrible calamity; for the old horse of his dreams could hardly reach him in that comfortable position. One thing, however, he regarded in the light of a calamity; and that was his empty, gnawing, rebellious stomach, which was protesting in its own eloquent language against the deprivations to which it had been cruelly subjected since seven-bells in the morning watch. Whatever happened, he was determined to attend to the claims of this discomfited organ.