The apartment in which Emily was confined was lighted by windows of stained glass, opening into the main office, so that there was no immediate connection with the open air.  This fact rendered the room so secure that Dido rested perfectly easy from the fear of interruption, save from the front of the building.

The colored guardian, having imbibed rather inordinately one day, was disposed to court the favor of the sleepy god, and stretched herself at full length upon one of the easy lounges of the office.  Her eyelids opened and closed languidly, as though she was about to sink away into dreamy unconsciousness, when she was startled by a loud knocking at the door.

“Who’s dar?” shouted Dido, springing to her feet; for a visit to the office, at this season of the year, was of rare occurrence.

“Open the door, Max,” responded a voice from the outside.

“Mr. Maxwell not here, sar,” said the colored lady, partly opening the door.

“Not here!” returned the visitor, pushing into the office in spite of the negress, who was disposed to prevent his entrance.  “Isn’t Max in town?”

“No sar; he went away to de Norf about a monf ago.”

“Look here, you black imp,” said the stranger, in a severe tone, “do you mean to say that Max is not in town?”

“I do, for sartin, sar.”

“And he has left you to practise law for him in his absence?” returned the visitor, with a grin.

“No sar, I takes care ob de buildin.”

“Fudge!  Maxwell always shuts up his room when he leaves town;” and the stranger walked round the room towards the private apartment, much to the consternation of Dido.

“No, Massa, he tell me, monf ago, to keep de room in order.”

“No doubt he did,” returned the stranger, placing his hand on the handle of the door, and attempting to open it, which, by Dido’s precaution, was ineffectual.

“Is there no one in this room?” asked the gentleman.

“No sar, de room is locked, and Massa Maxwell hab carry off de key.”

The stranger walked several times round the room, and thoroughly scrutinized everything; after which, to the entire satisfaction of the colored lady, he took his departure.  Passing out of the building, he crossed the street and entered a coffee-room, at the front window of which he seated himself, as if with the intention of watching Maxwell’s office.

This person was the reader’s old acquaintance, Vernon,—­or, more properly, Jerome Vaudelier, whose intervening history we are now called upon to relate.  It will be remembered that, at the request of his father, and at the earnest desire of Henry Carroll, as well as by the promptings of his own wish to do justice to the heiress, he had gone to Vicksburg, for the purpose of keeping an eye on the movements of Maxwell.  On his arrival at the hotel, he found the attorney, and dined With him; but after dinner he suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.  All