Agreeably to the arrangement of the previous night, Emily was on board of the “Montezuma,” prepared to commence her journey to Bellevue.  While De Guy conducted Emily to the ladies’ cabin, Hatchie was getting her few articles of baggage on board, and the boat was fairly under weigh without the faithful mulatto’s having had a sight of the new protector of Emily.  The attorney congratulated himself on this circumstance; his mind had thus been released from the pressure of a most painful anxiety.  His plan was now accomplished.

But the meeting could not be much longer deferred.  De Guy, however, now that they were free from the friends of Emily, no longer dreaded it.

The dinner hour arrived, and Hatchie was standing by the side of his mistress on the gallery, when De Guy approached and announced the fact.  His voice startled Hatchie.  It was the same squeaking tone he had heard at Bellevue on the night of his escape.  He turned to look upon the speaker, and was confounded to behold the very person who had plotted with Jaspar on that memorable night!  With a presence of mind which never deserted him, he held his peace, resolved not to frighten his mistress by exposing the fact.

Hatchie stood lost in thought on the gallery long after De Guy had conducted his mistress to the dinner-table.  The mulatto was in a quandary,—­a worse quandary than the congressional hero of Kentucky has described in any of his thousand relations of hair-breadth escapes.  His mistress was fairly committed to her new destiny, and how could he extricate her?

He resolved to do the only thing he possibly could do,—­to watch unceasingly, to be ever ready to defend his mistress in case of necessity.  The papers which De Guy had brought from Bellevue, and which he heard described by the doctor, did much to assure him that no evil was intended towards her; but the man who had been a villain once was, in his opinion, exceedingly apt to be so again.

Emily was ill at ease during the passage; not that she felt unsafe, or dreaded treachery, but something seemed to whisper that evil might be near her.  An undefined sensation of doubt seemed to beset her path, and urge upon her the unpleasant necessity of extreme caution.  She was conscious of being engaged in a good work.  She had forgiven her great enemy, and was now on her way to smooth his dying pillow.  There was something lofty and beautiful in the thought, and she derived much consolation from it.

De Guy rarely intruded himself upon her notice during the passage.  At meal-hours he was scrupulously polite and attentive, but he was as cold and formal as she could desire.  She never ventured upon the promenade deck, unless her faithful Hatchie was near.

The mulatto, with all his watchfulness, was unable to discover any indications of treachery on the part of De Guy, though an apparently confidential conversation with the captain of the steamer, on the night before their arrival at New Orleans, had rather an unfavorable appearance.