“Captain Haralson, Se¤or Le Grande,” said the guide, in broken accents, as he entered the ship’s cabin, where the captain awaited his return.  “I told cap’n you I would bring him,” he continued, with a savage grin upon his features.

“Who is it would see me?” demanded Emile.  “Where is my sick friend?”

“You are a prisoner, sir,” replied the captain fiercely, “a fugitive from justice, and your State calls for your return.”

“By what authority do you utter those words, you scoundrel?” replied Emile, in bewildered indignation.

“By the authority of those you have injured, and who have sent me to bring you back.”

“Who, and where are my accusers?” asked Emile angrily.  “Let them dare confront me!”

“Then follow me,” said the captain, as he passed along to a small apartment, a kind of saloon, at the end of the vessel.  He gave three sharp, quick raps at the door, then turned the bolt and entered.  Emile followed.  Seated before them upon a ship-lounge, with a book lying idly in her lap, was-Rebecca Mordecai!

“Aha! and you have come at last, captain,” she said.  Arising from her seat and turning her eyes upon Emile, she continued, “Mr. Le Grande, we meet again, securely as you deemed yourself beyond the reach of justice.  You see oceans and shell-guns are no barriers in the way of the accomplishment of my ends.  You fled from your country, thinking your foul crime would never come to light; but ‘murder will out,’ and now, you are my prisoner.  Justice will yet be avenged.”

“What do you mean, woman? your tongue contains the poison of asps.  If I did not know your face, I would swear you were some escaped inmate of a madhouse.  Tell me your meaning, lunatic,” replied Emile, in wrathful astonishment.

“Call me lunatic, if you dare, you miserable felon.  Deny my words, if you please, but your own written confession is in my hands.”

“Confession of what?” shouted Emile, stamping his foot in indignation.  “Never, never, am I your prisoner!  I’ll leave this cursed place,—­”

“Not so fast, my friend,” said Joe Haralson menacingly, as Emile made an attempt to leave the room.  “Not so fast!  I am promised much gold, if I bring you alive to your native State; and that gold, my friend, I shall have.”

“Release me! release me!” shouted Emile, “I am an innocent man.  This woman—­”

“Hush, my friend, or I’ll stow you away where your cries will not reach any human ear.  Be quiet, my lad.”

Emile saw that resistance was useless; and he said calmly, turning again to Rebecca “Of what crime am I guilty, that you thus hunt me as you would a wild beast?”

“Would you know?” she replied, with a scornful, cruel laugh.  “Would you know even half the crimes that are scored against you in your native State?”

“You can tell me of none,” he replied sullenly, regretting that he had again spoken to this merciless woman, into whose snare he had so unwarily fallen.