The Nubian slave stood watching her, and his dark eyes flashed with admiration as he furtively gazed at the beauty it was his duty to watch and guard. Ellen tried to read; but she tossed from her indignantly the only books the colonel allowed her to receive—namely, some of the licentious works of the time, which, in our day, would not be tolerated in the lowest of society: but which in the period we speak of, passed off for works of wit and amusement. “Infamous man,” sighed Ellen, “to incarcerate me thus from my poor old father, and endeavour to poison my heart and mind with such beastly reading. Oh, that I were free or dead.” She beckoned to the slave. He noiselessly approached her, and knelt at her feet. “You are the only friend I have found,” she whispered. The slave bent low, and kissed her feet. “Is the house quiet? Have all retired to rest?” The slave bowed. “The colonel has left for the country, I have heard.” Again the slave bowed. “I would escape from this gaudy dungeon,” she said. “It is impossible; the doors are all doubly locked and barred; many fierce dogs are loose in and around the grounds, and would tear you in pieces,” he whispered. “Then I fear all hope is lost.” “Not lost,” said the slave. “Hold your breath; make not the slightest noise; I have a secret to impart; all hope is not yet lost; this night is the night of your deliverance.” “What!” gasped Ellen in a sudden, and half-suppressed tremor of joy. “The king is in the mansion at this moment.” “Impossible, slave.” “’Tis true, fair lady; but, hush, I hear footsteps! hush!” Ellen did not hear the slightest sound, and seemed to think the slave was mistaken. But he was not. He crept to the chamber door on his hands and feet, and listened. He held up his finger in token of silence. Ellen Harmer sat rooted to her seat. She listened, but not a sound was audible. “It is the king,” said the Nubian, in the faintest of whispers. “He came to the house in a good disguise, but I recognised him.” “If it be the king, then,” said Ellen, “I will throw myself at his feet, and ask protection from the fiendish designs of your master, Colonel Blood.” “It will be useless,” said the slave; “he comes here to take you away to the palace, or some secret place, for the rumours of your amazing beauty have entranced him. You are destined to be his mistress or death awaits you.” “Then welcome death,” said Ellen, “ere I submit, and degrade myself to so low a level! Heaven assist me in my sore trial this night!” While she spoke and wept, the Nubian slave crept back again to the door. “I hear his footstep again,” he whispered, and laid his ear close down to the floor. At that moment the bed hangings rustled. With a gasp of horror, Ellen perceived an elegant stranger had effected an entrance into her chamber. It was the King! The slave had not perceived this, and was still listening, with head averted.