While this was going on, the captain had locked the fugitives in the hold of his vessel, and hastened to the carriage, which had been waiting for him at a short distance from the wharf.

“Good evening, Mr. Bell,” said he, raising his hat as he approached the carriage door.

“Good evening, Captain Kane,” replied the gentleman inside.  “You’ve kept me waiting so long, I was nearly out of patience.”

“I sent you word they’d escaped, sir,” rejoined the captain.  “They gave us a run; but we’ve got ’em fast enough in the hold.  One of ’em seems to be a white man.  Perhaps he’s an Abolitionist, that’s been helping the nigger off.  It’s good enough for him to be sent back to the South.  If they get hold of him there, he’ll never have a chance to meddle with gentlemen’s property again.”

“They’re both slaves,” replied Mr. Bell.  “The telegram I received informed me that one would pass himself for a white man.  But, captain, you must take ’em directly to Castle Island.  One of the officers there will lock ’em up, if you tell them I sent you.  And you can’t be off too quick; for as likely as not the Abolitionists will get wind of it, and be raising a row before morning.  There’s no safety for property now-a-days.”

Having given these orders, the wealthy merchant bade the captain good evening, and his carriage rolled away.

The unhappy fugitives were immediately taken from the hold of the vessel, pinioned fast, and hustled on board a boat, which urged its swift way through the waters to Castle Island, where they were safely locked up till further orders.

“O George, they’ll send us back,” said the younger one.  “I wish we war dead.”

George answered, with a deep groan:  “O how I have watched the North Star! thinking always it pointed to a land of freedom.  O my God, is there no place of refuge for the slave?”

“You are so white, you could have got off, if you hadn’t brought me with you,” sobbed the other.

“And what good would freedom do me without you, Henny?” responded the young man, drawing his companion closer to his breast.  “Cheer up, honey!  I’ll try again; and perhaps we’ll make out better next time.”

He tried to talk hopefully; but when yellow Henny, in her boy’s dress, cried herself to sleep on his shoulder, his tears dropped slowly on her head, while he sat there gazing at the glittering stars, with a feeling of utter discouragement and desolation.

That same evening, the merchant who was sending them back to bondage, without the slightest inquiry into their case, was smoking his amber-lipped meerschaum, in an embroidered dressing-gown, on a luxurious lounge; his daughter, Mrs. Fitzgerald, in azure satin and pearls, was meandering through the mazes of the dance; and his exquisitely dressed grandson, Gerald, was paying nearly equal homage to Mrs. King’s lambent eyes and the sparkle of her diamonds.