Nothing but her terrible fear of being recaptured and imprisoned by her relentless foe could have given poor Flower the strength to get away from the house that, after being her home so long, had become a place "by horror haunted."

But with a brave heart, although her footsteps faltered often, she set off from the spot, traveling as fast as her reduced strength would permit, and taking the high-road that led away from the town and toward the deserted cabin of the dead nurse.

It was instinct rather than intention that led her to the place; for she had no thought of stopping there, but only of putting miles of space between herself and Jewel, of whom she had now become horribly afraid.

But, poor girl, starved as she had been, and in her delicate condition of health, she had not strength enough to carry her far. Besides, she had been tormented for several days by peculiar pains, which now became so acute as to materially interfere with her progress.

"I can not go any further. I must lie down here in the road and die," she moaned, lifting her tear-wet eyes to the moonlit sky, as if beseeching the pitying Lord to have mercy on His suffering child.

In a minute more the white-paled fence and dark grove of trees surrounding the cabin came into view.

The sight recalled old Maria to Flower's mind, and she sighed plaintively:

"Ah, mammy, dear, I wish you were alive yet; then I should have at least one friend in my misery."

She stopped and leaned on the old gate. All was dark and silent, and the long branches of the trees threw fantastic shadows on the ground that at any other time would have awed the sensitive girl; but she was oblivious now to everything but her pain, her weariness, and her cruel hunger and thirst.

"There is no one here. I will go into the house and lie down on the pretty white company-bed that mammy always kept so nice, and I will die there. Jewel will never think of looking for me here. She knew that I was afraid of ghosts," she murmured, as she unlatched the gate and dragged herself up the graveled walk to the door.

She pulled the latch and found that it was not locked. There was nothing to prevent her entering, so she groped her way in, and, shivering and moaning, crossed the floor to the tiny room which Maria had always kept sacred to hospitality. She fell heavily across the little white bed, and lay there thinking desolately that death could not be far away.

Ah, how grateful the clean, soft feather bed felt to Flower's weary, aching limbs! She thought that if only those keen, sickening pains would cease she could fall asleep and die thus, perhaps, in a pleasant stupor; but the agony only grew greater, and a sudden realization of truth forced a groan of fear from her lips.

Her travail was coming upon her, and the girl fainted outright, and lay for some moments wrapped in a blissful unconsciousness.

The night grew older, the moon rode high in the heavens, and the stillness of the midnight hour was broken by the shrill whistle of a steamer that touched at the wharf a mile below, remained only long enough to throw out a plank and permit the landing of two passengers and their baggage, then went on its way majestically.

A newly married widower was bringing home a bride, no less a personage than Sam, the good-looking mulatto ne'er-do-well. As he had married from mercenary motives the first time, his second match was for love alone, and Maria's successor was a colored lady of as bright a type as himself, young and sprightly, and good-looking.

She rejoiced in the patronymic of Pocahontas, which was shortened by general consent of herself and friends to "Poky."

Sam made arrangements for getting his bride's baggage brought up in the morning, and tucking Poky's hand under his arm, set forth to tramp the distance that lay between the steamboat wharf and the humble cabin.

The girl who had lain in the darkness all night, racked by cruel pains, and praying for death, gave a quick start and held her breath in fear.

She heard loud voices and footsteps in the outer room, and foreboded that Jewel had tracked her here.

"Oh, Heaven! and I had thought to die alone and in peace, undisturbed by her jealous, mocking eyes!" she sighed to herself, despairingly.

She flung herself desperately out of the bed down upon the floor, crawled under the white valance that hung all around the old-fashioned bed, and lay there holding her breath in terror, hoping that she would not be discovered. One hope alone was left her—to die before those angry eyes of her jealous half-sister shone upon her again.

In the meantime Sam had lighted a candle, and his wife had helped herself to a chair, while she gazed around with a critical eye at the appointments of the room.

It was well furnished indeed, for old Maria had been as thrifty as Sam was shiftless, and Poky said presently that "arter she had tidied up ter-morror it would be a very decent sort of a place."

"So I told yer, my lub," replied Sam, affectionately, and he gave the brown beauty an energetic kiss. Then he said, persuasively, "Poky, 'sposen yer light a fire and let us have a cup of coffee before we go to bed."

Poky assented good-naturedly, and very soon a fire was crackling in the little kitchen stove, and the odor of coffee and broiling ham pervaded the air. Then Poky took from the capacious basket she had brought on her arm a loaf of bread and a roll of butter, and proceeded to set the little table for her lord's repast.

It was just as she had finished her thrifty preparations, and invited Sam to "draw up his cheer," that he gave a startled little cry, and looked over his shoulder apprehensively:

"Sam!"

"Poky!"

"What's de matter, nigger, lookin' over yo' shoulder like you see sumfin'? Don't yer go 'magining now dat ole 'oman is ha'ntin' de house!"

He came closer to his wife and whispered, tremulously:

"Hush, honey; Maria did say as how if de dead could come back she would, and—and—I heard somefin' sartain—oh, Lord!"

He gave a jump, and so did Poky. Both had heard something this time—the low wails of a new-born infant proceeding from the next room.

They held their breath for a minute, then Poky, who was rather strong-minded, said, contemptuously:

"Cats!"

"Do—do—you think so, Poky?" her better half inquired, dropping his trembling frame into a chair, and more than half convinced that Maria was haunting him already.

"Sartain!" said Poky, with a sniff. "Lors, Sam, what a coward you be! It's only some cats as is got in thrue a open window."

She seized a poker and the candle and disappeared into the "company room," leaving Sam cowering in the dark, and trembling lest the shade of his departed Maria should pounce upon him at any minute and shake him for having presumed to give her a successor.

Then a succession of low wails echoed on the air again, and Sam shook himself together with returning courage.

"'Twas cats after all! I thought so!" he ejaculated, with a feeble chuckle. "And, Lordy, but Poky's a-makin' 'em git!"

Apparently it took her some time to disperse the feline intruders, for fifteen minutes elapsed, and she did not return. Then he attempted to follow her and got the door slammed in his face with the curt yet good-naturedly delivered sentence:

"You stay whar you is, nigger!"

He slunk back to his chair, and presently she came out with an important face, and lighting another candle, placed it on the table, and told him to eat his supper.

"But, Poky—"

"Yes, it's all right, Sam. 'Twasn't no cats, nor no ghosts, only a beautiful young gal, Sam, runned away from her friends to-night and hid herself here for her chile to be borned, which it was dat baby we heerd a-caterwauling."

"Who is she, Poky?" amazedly.

"She said you'd know—some sort o' name like Flower o' de fiel', or somethin'. But I mus' go back and tend to her and dat baby. Lucky for her we cum here dis night. Eat your supper without me, Sam, 'cause I'se needed bad in dere."

She disappeared again, and Sam sat there conscience-stricken, wondering if his sin that night months ago had brought this thing to pass.