r company, eh? Poor folks is got to puttin' on airs right big,
now-a-days. Don't 'mount to much, anyhow; ain't much better than
niggers, only can't sell 'em." "Poor folks must keep up appearances,
eh," interposes Mr. Snivel. They are waiting an opportunity for seizing
and overpowering the unprotected girl. We put our chivalry to strange
uses at times.

But the steamer has reached her wharf; the roaring of her escaping steam
disturbs the city, and reechoes far away down the bay. Again familiar
scenes open to the impatient man's view; old friends pass and repass him
unrecognized; but only one thought impels him, and that is fixed on
Maria. He springs ashore, dashes through the crowd of spectators, and
hurries on, scarcely knowing which way he is going.

At length he pauses on the corner of King and Market streets, and
glances up to read the name by the glare of gas-light. An old negro
wends his way homeward. "Daddy," says he, "how long have you lived in
Charleston?"

"Never was out on em, Mas'r," replies the negro, looking inquisitively
into the anxious man's face. "Why, lor's me, if dis are bin't Mas'r Tom,
what used t' be dis old nigger's young Mas'r."

"Is it you, Uncle Cato?" Their recognition was warm, hearty, and true.
"God bless you, my boy; I've need of your services now," says Tom, still
holding the hard hand of the old negro firmly grasped in his own, and
discovering the object of his mission.

"Jus' tote a'ter old Cato, Mas'r Tom. Maria's down da, at Undine's
cabin, yander. Ain't no better gal libin dan Miss Maria," replies Cato,
enlarging on Maria's virtues. There is no time to be lost. They hurry
forward, Tom following the old negro, and turning into a narrow lane to
the right, leading to Undine's cabin. But here they are doomed to
disappointment. They reach Undine's cabin, but Maria is not there.
Undine comes to the door, and points away down the lane, in the
direction of a bright light. "You will find her dare" says Undine; "and
if she ain't dare, I don' know where she be." They thank her, repay her
with a piece of silver, and hurry away in the direction of the light,
which seems to burn dimmer and dimmer as they approach. It suddenly
disappears, and, having reached the house, a rickety wooden tenement, a
cry of "Save me, save me! Heaven save me!" rings out on the still air,
and falls on the ear of the already excited man, like a solemn warning.

"Up dar! Mas'r Tom, up dar!" shouts Cato, pointing to a