ds of her captors.
Of course, he demanded an explanation, though he saw clearly enough how
matters stood.

"`She's my slave,' said the owner, haughtily. He would not, perhaps,
have condescended even with that much explanation if he had not seen
that the landlord sympathised with the doctor.

"This was enough, however, for Hayward, who is a man of few words and
swift action. He was unarmed, but carried a heavy-handled whip, with
this he instantly felled the slave-owner and one of his men to the
ground before they had time to wink, but the third man drew a pistol,
and, pointing it straight at the doctor's head, would have blown out his
brains if the landlord had not turned the weapon aside and tripped the
man up. Before he could recover Hayward had swung the girl on his
horse, leaped into the saddle, and dashed off at full speed. He did not
draw rein till he carried her over the frontier into Canada, and had
placed her beyond the reach of her enemies."

"Brayvo! the doctor," exclaimed Slag, heartily.

"Then he found," continued Tomlin, "that he had been wounded in the
chest by the ball that was meant for his head, but made light of the
wound until it was found to be serious. The ball was still in him, and
had to be extracted, after which he recovered slowly. The romantic part
of it is, however, that he fell in love with Eva--that was the girl's
name--and she with him, and they were married--"

"Ah, poor thing," said Mitford; "then she died, and he married again?"

"Not at all," returned Tomlin, "she did not die, and he did not marry
again."

"How--what then about that splendid wife that he's got in the
after-cabin _now_?" asked Mitford.

"That's her. That's Eva, the quadroon. She's not only as white as Mrs
Massey or Mrs Mitford there, but she's been educated and brought up as
a lady and among ladies, besides having the spirit of a _real_ lady,
which many a born one hasn't got at all."

There were many fore-cabin passengers who "crossed the line" that night
in order to hear the gallant American lecture, but chiefly to see the
beautiful lady who had been so romantically rescued from slavery.

"Not a drop of black blood in her body!" was Mrs Mitford's verdict
after the lecture was over.

"An' what if there was?" demanded Slag, in a tone of indignation. "D'ee
think that white blood is worth more than black blood in the eyes o' the
Almighty as made 'em both?"

The lecture itself was highly appreciated,