The morning advanced, however, and nothing was to be seen of Romescos:  he vanished as suddenly from among them as Harry had from the pen.  Some little surprise is expressed by the knowing ones; they whisper among themselves, while mine host reaches over the counter, cants his head solicitously, and says:—­“What’s that, gentlemen?”

In this dilemma they cannot inform mine host; they must continue the useless chase without Romescos’ valuable services.  And here we must leave mine host preparing further necessaries for capturing the lost property, that he may restore it to its owner so soon as he shall become convalescent, and turn to Harry.

Like a well-stowed bale of merchandise, to be delivered at a stated place within a specified time, he was rolled in bagging, and not permitted to see the direction in which he was being driven.  When the pursuing party started from the crossing, Romescos took the lead in order to draw it in an opposite direction, and keep the dogs from the trail.  This would allow the stolen clergyman to get beyond their reach.  When daylight broke upon the capturers they were nearly twenty miles beyond the reach of the pursuers, approaching an inn by the road side.  The waggon suddenly stopped, and Harry found himself being unrolled from his winding sheet by the hands of two strangers.  Lifting him to his feet, they took him from the waggon, loosed the chains from his legs, led him into the house, and placed him in a dark back room.  Here, his head being uncovered, he looks upon his captors with an air of confusion and distrust.  “Ye know me too, I reckon, old feller, don’t ye?” enquires one of the men, with a sardonic grin, as he lifts his hat with his left hand, and scratches his head with his right.

“Yes, mas’r; there’s no mistakin on ye!” returns Harry, shaking his head, as they release the chains from his hands.  He at length recognises the familiar faces of Dan Bengal and Nath.  Nimrod.  Both have figured about Marston’s plantation, in the purchase and sale of negroes.

“Ye had a jolly good ride, old feller, had’nt ye?” says Bengal, exultingly, looking Harry in the face, shrugging his shoulders, and putting out his hand to make his friendship.

Harry has no reply to make; but rubs his face as if he is not quite satisfied with his new apartment, and wants to know a little more of the motive of the expedition.  “Mas’r!  I don’t seem to know myself, nor nothin’.  Please tell me where I am going to, and who is to be my master?  It will relieve my double troubles,” he says, casting an enquiring look at Nimrod.

“Shook up yer parson-thinkin’ some, I reckon, did’nt it, old chap?” returns Nimrod, laughing heartily, but making no further reply.  He thinks it was very much like riding in a railroad backwards.

“Did my sick mas’r sell me to you?” again he enquires.