There was an old servant in the family, with whom Myra from her childhood had been a sort of idol. Indeed, in all that large household there was not a dependant who did not reverence and love the young creature. This man, early in the afternoon, might have been seen riding toward Wilmington at a brisk trot, and with some little anxiety in his manner. When he reached the town the old man entered a dwelling where he was received by two bright and joyous-looking young ladies, who greeted him eagerly, and inquired for news of his young mistress, while the old negro was searching in his pockets for a hastily folded billet, which he, at length, produced with no little mysterious importance. One of the young ladies tore open the billet, and began to read.
“Sit up for me to-night, dear girls,” thus the billet commenced, “sit up till morning, unless I come before; you will certainly see me during the night; then I will explain this hasty message. It may storm; no matter, I shall surely be with you.
Myra.”
The young ladies looked at each other, wholly at a loss to guess the reason of this singular message, but Myra had promised to explain all, and so they allowed the old man to depart unquestioned.
Long before the faithful messenger returned, Myra was standing in the humble dwelling of an out-door dependent in whom she could trust.
“And you are determined, Miss Myra,” was the man’s question as he stood, hat in hand, by the door.
“Yes; obey my directions exactly as they are given, that is all I require of you.”
“We would do any thing—any thing on earth for you,” said the wife of this man, coming forward; “you know we would, Miss Myra, even though it may be our ruin should your father know that we aided you against his will!”
“But he never can know; nothing shall tempt me to inform him, and the secret will rest with us alone,” was the prompt reply.
“We will be punctual, never fear,” said the man; “but it looks like a storm.”