t!" said Emmeline. "Who ever would
have thought of it, but you?"

There was neither pleasure nor exultation in Cassy's eyes,--only a
despairing firmness.

"Come," she said, reaching her hand to Emmeline.

The two fugitives glided noiselessly from the house, and flitted,
through the gathering shadows of evening, along by the quarters. The
crescent moon, set like a silver signet in the western sky, delayed a
little the approach of night. As Cassy expected, when quite near the
verge of the swamps that encircled the plantation, they heard a voice
calling to them to stop. It was not Sambo, however, but Legree, who was
pursuing them with violent execrations. At the sound, the feebler spirit
of Emmeline gave way; and, laying hold of Cassy's arm, she said, "O,
Cassy, I'm going to faint!"

"If you do, I'll kill you!" said Cassy, drawing a small, glittering
stiletto, and flashing it before the eyes of the girl.

The diversion accomplished the purpose. Emmeline did not faint, and
succeeded in plunging, with Cassy, into a part of the labyrinth of
swamp, so deep and dark that it was perfectly hopeless for Legree to
think of following them, without assistance.

"Well," said he, chuckling brutally; "at any rate, they've got
themselves into a trap now--the baggage! They're safe enough. They shall
sweat for it!"

"Hulloa, there! Sambo! Quimbo! All hands!" called Legree, coming to the
quarters, when the men and women were just returning from work. "There's
two runaways in the swamps. I'll give five dollars to any nigger as
catches 'em. Turn out the dogs! Turn out Tiger, and Fury, and the rest!"

The sensation produced by this news was immediate. Many of the men
sprang forward, officiously, to offer their services, either from the
hope of the reward, or from that cringing subserviency which is one of
the most baleful effects of slavery. Some ran one way, and some another.
Some were for getting flambeaux of pine-knots. Some were uncoupling the
dogs, whose hoarse, savage bay added not a little to the animation of
the scene.

"Mas'r, shall we shoot 'em, if can't cotch 'em?" said Sambo, to whom his
master brought out a rifle.

"You may fire on Cass, if you like; it's time she was gone to the devil,
where she belongs; but the gal, not," said Legree. "And now, boys,
be spry and smart. Five dollars for him that gets 'em; and a glass of
spirits to every one of you, anyhow."

The whole band, with the glare of blazing torches, and who