When Maxwell left Vicksburg, it was impossible that any such story could have been extant.  Of his reformation no one but the people of Cottage Island could have known anything.  It seemed a little mysterious that Maxwell should know of it; but the fact of De Guy’s visit to the house of his father came to his assistance, and the mystery was solved.  De Guy had communicated this information to Maxwell, and thus he was enabled to establish conclusively the connection between them.

Vernon’s plan for the future was adopted; and manifesting no surprise, he denied the fact of his reformation, however strong the circumstances might be against him.  He had often been implicated in fouler deceptions than this in a worse cause, and, in spite of his great resolves, he did not hesitate in this instance.

“Quite a sell, wasn’t it, this reformation?  The old gentleman has a fine place up there,—­money in the bank,—­hey, boy?  I saw through the whole of it, as soon as I heard the absurd story,” said Maxwell, who, to do him justice, did not believe the tale.  It was too much for his credulity, that a thing like Vernon could be animated by a good motive,—­could, by any possibility, abandon the error of his ways.

“Just so, Max.  The fact is, I found the old fellow had plenty of money, and no one but me to leave it to; so I thought it would be a devilish pity to have it all go to found a hospital, an orthodox college, or some such absurdity, and I could not resist the temptation to become a little saintly, just for a few days.”

“Bravo, Vernon!  You will yet be a rich man.  You did it well.  The old fellow swallowed it all, didn’t he?”

“As an alderman does turtle-soup.  But, Max, where did you slip to from Vicksburg?”

“To tell you the truth, I was a little afraid of your penitence, and thought it was not safe to be in the same coach with you; so I gave you the slip, by going down the river by land a few miles, and then taking the boat.”

“But you didn’t know I had reformed then,—­ha, ha, ha!”

“Yes.  I heard something about it before I left the island,—­I overheard that Jerry Swinger and the mulatto boy speaking of it.  But I own, Vernon, I was too hasty, to judge you unheard.”

“Max, who is this De Guy?”

“De Guy,” said Maxwell, with feigned astonishment; “don’t know him.”

“Bah, Max! don’t you know that you cannot wool me?  By the way, that was a clumsy trick of yours, sending this De Guy after the girl.  When he had gone, the captain would have chased him, if I had not come and assured them that the terrible Maxwell could not possibly be concerned in the affair.”

“Indeed! did you do me this essential service?” said Maxwell, forgetting that he had denied his connection with De Guy.

“I did.  If you had left the matter with me, I could have done it better.”

“Well, Vernon, I see you are all right yet; but the thing worked to a charm.  De Guy is the cleverest fellow out.  The girl is safe.”