He had not completed one-half the distance back, when he discovered two men in the vicinity of the jail.  A cold shudder nearly paralyzed him.  Was his labor all in vain?  Had he with so much trial and suffering effected his escape, only to be incarcerated again?  The thought was maddening, and he resolved to die rather than be returned to the dungeon.

Drawing a revolver from his pocket, with which he had prudently prepared himself before his interview with Jaspar, he proceeded on his way.

On a nearer approach, the men appeared to be strangers to him.  They might, however, be in the employ of Jaspar.  They might be engaged in watching over his captivity.

He approached nearer.  He had never seen either of them before.  They did not look like men whom Jaspar would have been likely to select for such a purpose as he apprehended.  Still, he took the precaution to examine the caps upon his pistol, and have his bowie-knife in a convenient place for immediate use.

Dalhousie was the first to speak.

“Your business here?” demanded he, regardless of the courtesy to which he had been all his life accustomed.

“The fact on ’tis,” replied one of the strangers, a little startled by the rude manner of Dalhousie, “the fact on ‘tis, we are lookin’ arter the mansion of a Mr. Dumont.  Perhaps you will oblige us by tellin’ us which way to go.”

“He lives in yonder house,” replied Dalhousie, pointing it out.

The simplicity of the speaker dissipated his apprehensions, and his curiosity was excited.

“You know him, do you?” continued he.

“Well, no—­I can’t say I do.”

“But you have business with him?”

“Not particularly with him,—­the Lord forbid!” replied the stranger, devoutly.

“Devil a bit with him, at all,” added his companion.

“Since no one else resides under the same roof with him, may I ask the reason of your visit there, if I am not too bold?” said Dalhousie.

“Sure, it’s only to see the counthry, about here, we’ve come,” replied the Irish stranger.

“No, Partrick, you know that is not the truth.  Never tell a lie for anything, Partrick.  Our business an’t with him, but it consarns him.  We don’t care about mentioning it to everybody.”

“I do not mean to be impertinent,” said Dalhousie; “but perhaps I may be able to serve you.  The man you seek is a villain!”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Uncle Nathan,—­for we presume it is unnecessary to tell the reader that it was he,—­“I know that.”

“Indeed, then you have some knowledge of him?”

“Sartain! but do you know a minister in these parts by the name of Faxon?”

“I do; he lives close by.”

“Do you belong in this part of this country, Mister?” asked Uncle Nathan, who seemed to make the question a prelude to other inquiries.

“I do.  But I must leave you now.  I am the bearer of life to one whom I love dearer than myself.  I have been foully wronged by the man you visit.”