Hatchie reached the scene of Maxwell’s humiliation.  Coolly seating himself on a log near the discomfited lawyer, and regarding him with a look of contempt, he proceeded to examine the fastenings of the carpet-bag.  Maxwell spoke not; his pride was still “above par,” and he returned Hatchie’s contemptuous glances with a scowl of scorn and hatred.  The attorney was in sore tribulation at the unexpected turn affairs had taken, and the future did not present a very encouraging aspect.  Of the mulatto’a present intentions he could gain no idea.  The long rope he had brought with him looked ominous, and a shudder passed through his frame as he considered the uses to which it might be applied.  As he regarded the cool proceedings of his jailer, the worst anticipations crowded upon him.  The mulatto looked like a demon of the inquisition to his guilty soul.  But, tortured as he was by the most terrible forebodings, he still preserved his dignified scowl, and watched the operations of Hatchie with apparent coolness.

Hatchie examined the lock upon the carpet-bag, and found that it entirely secured the contents from observation.

“I will trouble you for the key of this bag,” said he, politely, as he rose and approached the attorney.

“What mean you, fellow?  Would you rob me?” exclaimed Maxwell.

“Not at all, sir; do not alarm yourself.  The key, if you please.  In which pocket is it?”

Hatchie approached, with the intention of searching his prisoner.

“Stand off, villain!” cried Maxwell, as he gave the mulatto a hearty kick in the neighborhood of the knee.

“Very well, sir,” said Hatchie, not at all disconcerted by the blow.

Taking the rope he had brought, he dexterously passed it round the legs of the attorney, and made it fast to the tree.

“Now, sir, if you will tell which pocket contains the key, you will save yourself the indignity of being searched.”

“Miserable villain! if you wish to commit violence upon me, you must do it without my consent.”

“Sorry to disoblige you, sir,” said Hatchie, with an affectation of civility; “but I must have the key.”

“I have not the key; it is lost.  If I had, you should struggle for it.”

“You will pardon me for doubting your word.  I must satisfy myself.”

“Help! help!” shouted the attorney, as his tormentor proceeded to put his threat in execution.

This was a contingency for which Hatchie was not prepared.  To the little operation he was about to perform he desired no witnesses at present, and a slight rustling in the bushes near him not a little disconcerted him.  Stuffing a handkerchief into the attorney’s mouth, he waited for the intruder upon his pastime; but no one came, and he proceeded to search the pockets of the lawyer.  To his great disappointment, the key could not be found.

Hatchie was persuaded that this carpet-bag must contain some evidence which would be of service to his mistress, in case Uncle Nathan and the will should not come to light.  There were two acts to the drama he intended to perform on the present occasion; the first, alone with the attorney,—­and the last, in the presence of witnesses.  Deferring, therefore, the opening of the bag to the second act, he proceeded with the first.