Entering the room at the right of the entry, in which a bed had been temporarily placed for the use of Emily, he found the affrighted girl, who had been aroused from her transient slumber by the noise of the attack. Rising from the bed upon which she had merely thrown herself, she was confounded by the appearance of her former persecutor.
"Ah, my pretty bird, you are again in my power, and I shall take care that no weak indulgence again deprives me of your society," said Vernon, as he seized her arm, and attempted to hurry her from the room.
"Unhand me, villain!" exclaimed she, roused to desperation by the sudden and painful change which had overtaken her.
"Do not pout, my pretty dove! there is no chance to escape this time. Your valuable assistant, that bull-headed nigger, cannot help you; so I advise you to come quietly with me."
"Never, villain! I never will leave this house alive!"—and she struggled to free herself from the ruffian's grasp.
"Nay, nay, lady! do not be unreasonable."
"Help! help!" shouted Emily, with the energy of desperation.
"No use, my pretty quadroon; I put your man, Hatchie, into the hands of two stout fellows; he cannot come, even at your bidding."
The ruffian had hardly finished the sentence before a heavy blow on the back of the head laid him prostrate upon the floor.
"You are a false prophet," said Hatchie, quietly, as he assisted his mistress to a sofa, while Jerry Swinger, who had followed him, examined the condition of the fallen man.