r duty to call Dan; but she seemed to be riveted to her
seat. The sounds came nearer and nearer, and soon she could hear the
voices of the slave-hunters. She could distinguish the curses that fell
from their lips as they advanced, and she was faint and sick with
apprehension.

The Isabel was moored at some distance from the bayou, which led to the
lake; but through the dense foliage which shrouded the boat, she could
discover the slave-hunters. They were now not forty rods distant, and
the slightest sound might betray their hiding-place. With quivering lips
and trembling limbs, she peered through the bushes to ascertain whether
the boat turned up the channel which led to the camp. It was a moment of
terrible suspense; a moment fraught with the issues of freedom or
slavery--life or death.

Why did she not call her companions, who were sleeping peacefully in the
cabin, while she was torn and distracted by these agonizing fears? She
dared not do so, lest one of them should speak and betray them all. Cyd
was impetuous, and a word from him might render futile the labors and
the perils of months.

Hardly daring to breathe lest it should undo them, she watched the
progress of the boat. The slave-hunters paused at the mouth of the
channel, consulted for a few moments, and then the bow of the boat was
turned towards the camp. With a gasp of horror, Lily crouched down upon
the floor of the standing room, and crept towards the cabin door. A
torrent of despair seemed to be turned loose upon her soul. She grasped
the side of the cabin door, when suddenly all her strength forsook her,
and she sank senseless upon the floor. The terrible agony of that
tremendous moment was more than she could endure, and she fainted.

The frail and delicate watcher had failed in the important duty she had
assumed at the very instant when her warning notes were most needed, and
the fugitives were then apparently at the mercy of the slave-hunters.
Dan slept, Cyd slept; both wearied out with watching and hard work, all
unconscious that their gentle, willing sentinel had failed them, and
that the fiends they dreaded were within pistol shot of their retreat.
They slept, and were silent. Lily, senseless upon the floor of the
standing room, pale and motionless as a marble statue chiselled in the
form of angelic beauty, was silent as the grave. Not a breath of air
stirred the forest leaves, not a ripple agitated the waters. It was
perfect stillness in the