"O," said she, "if I had only believed what my heart has always said of that man, and trusted less to my eyes and ears, he would never have deceived me! If he, then, is an enemy, what hope is there? O, my father!"
"Do not despair!" answered Penn, as cheerfully as he could. "Something may be done. Stackridge and his friends may have escaped. I will go and see if I can hear any thing of them. Have faith in our heavenly Father, my poor girl! be patient! be strong! All, I am sure, will yet be well."
"But you too are in danger! You must not go!" she exclaimed, instinctively detaining him.
"I am in greater danger here, perhaps, than elsewhere."
"True, true! Go to your negro friends in the mountain—there is yet time! go!" and she hurriedly pushed him from her.
"When I find that nothing can be done for thy father, then I will return to Pomp and Cudjo—not before."
And he glided out of the back door just as Salina entered from the street.
He left the horse where he had tied him, and hastened on foot to Stackridge's house.
He approached with great caution. There was a light burning in the house, as on other summer evenings at that hour. The negroes—for Stackridge was a slaveholder—had retired to their quarters. There were no indications of any disturbance having taken place. Penn reconnoitred carefully, and, perceiving no one astir about the premises, advanced towards the door.
"Halt!" shouted a voice of authority.