"Of the strange man whom we met at the house half way between New York and Philadelphia. His name and his personality are wrapt in impenetrable mystery." "Had it not been for him--" "Ay, had it not been for him, we should have been lost. You would have become the prey of the--the _master_, Esther, who owns you, and I,--I--well, no matter, I would have been dead." "After the scene in THE _house_, Randolph, he came on with us, and by his directions we took rooms at the City Hotel. From the moment of our arrival, only a few hours ago, we did not see him, until--" "Until an hour ago. Then he came into our room at the hotel. 'Here is a key,' said he, 'and your home is No. ----, Broadway. Go there at once, and await patiently the coming of the twenty-fifth of December.--You will find servants to wait upon you, you will find money to supply your wants,--it is in the drawer of the desk which you will discover in your bedroom--and most of all, you will there be safe from the attempts of your persecutor.' These were his words. We came at once, and find ourselves--the servants excepted--the sole tenants of this splendid mansion." "But don't you remember his last words, as we left the hotel? 'At the hour of six,' said he, this singular unknown, 'you will be waited on by a much treasured friend.'--Who can it be that is to come and see us at that hour?" "Friend," Randolph echoed bitterly, "what '_friend_' have we, save this personage, whose very name is unknown to us? Our father is dead. When I say that I say at once that we are utterly alone in the world." "And yet there is a career before you, Randolph," faltered Esther. "A splendid career, ha, ha, Esther, yes a splendid career for the White Slave! You forget, good girl, that we have negro blood in our veins. How much wealth do you think it would require to blot out the memory of the past? Suppose we are successful on the twenty-fifth of December,--suppose the mysterious trustee of the Van Huyden estate recognizes us as the children of one of the Seven,--suppose that we receive a share of this immense wealth--well, Esther, what will it avail us? Wherever we turn, the whisper will ring in our ears, 'They have negro blood in their veins. Their mother was descended from the black race. True, they look whiter than the palest of the Caucasian race, but--but'--(do you hear it, Esther?) 'but they _have negro blood in their veins_.'" He started from his chair, and his sister saw, even by the dim light which came through the half-drawn window-curtains, that his chest heaved, and his face was distorted by a painful emotion. She also arose. "Randolph," she whispered, and laid her hand gently on his arm, "Randolph, my brother, I say it again, come wealth or poverty, you have a career before you. In Europe we may find a home,--"