“Joel is a little of an enigma to me, captain Willoughby,” returned the chaplain; “sometimes seizing an idea like a cat pouncing upon a rat, and then coquetting with it, as the same cat will play with a mouse, when it has no appetite for food.”

“Och! he’s a precious poor’atin’!” growled Mike, from his corner of the room.

“If whites are among the savages, why should they not make themselves known?” demanded Robert Willoughby.  “Your character, sir, is no secret; and they must be acquainted with their own errand here.”

“I will send for Strides, and get his opinion a little more freely,” answered the captain, after a moment of deliberation.  “You will withdraw, Bob; though, by leaving your door a little ajar, the conversation will reach you; and prevent the necessity of a repetition.”

As Robert Willoughby was not unwilling to hear what the overseer might have to say in the present state of things, he did not hesitate about complying, withdrawing into his own room as requested, and leaving the door ajar, in a way to prevent suspicion of his presence, as far as possible.  But, Joel Strides, like all bad men, ever suspected the worst.  The innocent and pure of mind alone are without distrust; while one constituted morally, like the overseer, never permitted his thoughts to remain in the tranquillity that is a fruit of confidence.  Conscious of his own evil intentions, his very nature put on armour against the same species of machinations in others, as the hedge-hog rolls himself into a ball, and thrusts out his quills, at the sight of the dog.  Had not captain Willoughby been one of those who are slow to see evil, he might have detected something wrong in Joel’s feelings, by the very first glance he cast about him, on entering the library.

In point of fact, Strides’ thoughts had not been idle since the rencontre of the previous night.  Inquisitive, and under none of the usual restraints of delicacy, he had already probed all he dared approach on the subject; and, by this time, had become perfectly assured that there was some mystery about the unknown individual whom he had met in his master’s company.  To own the truth, Joel did not suspect that major Willoughby had again ventured so far into the lion’s den; but he fancied that some secret agent of the crown was at the Hut, and that the circumstance offered a fair opening for helping the captain down the ladder of public favour, and to push himself up a few of its rounds.  He was not sorry, therefore, to be summoned to this conference, hoping it might lead to some opening for farther discoveries.

“Sit down, Strides”—­said captain Willoughby, motioning towards a chair so distant from the open door of the bed-room, and so placed as to remove the danger of too close a proximity—­“Sit down—­I wish to consult you about the state of things towards the mills.  To me it seems as If there were more pale-faces than red-skins among our visitors.”