In the meantime, Muriel and Harrington went up the street together, he vaguely thrilling with the electric energy of her manner. She was silent for a few moments.
“John,” she said, suddenly, “I respect an intuition like this of yours, and I think you are right. Roux is in danger. Now this man only arrived to-day.”
“How do you know, Muriel,” he interrupted.
“Thus,” she replied. “On the way home from Mr. Parker’s, Emily and I overtook little Julia Atkins, and she said that a gentleman from New Orleans had come to town, to-day, and was to dine with them. I did not ask her anything on the subject, for the conceit of the child’s manner was not agreeable, and I changed the subject. But that was the gentleman from New Orleans, I am confident. No doubt, Uncle Lemuel and he thought it would be amusing to visit an Anti-Slavery Convention.”
“Yes, and the next thing a warrant will be out for Roux, and we shall have another fugitive slave-case in Boston,” said Harrington. “But I shall stop that by taking Roux home to my house, and sitting with him with loaded pistols till the hunt is abandoned.”
“Bravo, John,” cried Muriel. “But that will never do. Mr. Atkins told that man your name, I know, and you are likely to have an early visit from him. It will not do to have Roux at your house. Roux must be hid where they will never think of searching for him.”
“True,” he replied. “But, by the way, Muriel, where are we going now?”
“Have you just thought to ask?” she answered, gaily. “Oh, John! But we are going to bring five people home to my house.”
“Muriel!” He started as he spoke. The tears sprung to his eyes, as looking into her noble face, he met its proud and laughing gaze.