"Send the girl, Minny, to me," said Mr. Delancey to Della, as she was about leaving the breakfast-table, to go to her own room, the morning after Wilkins' visit to her father.

Mr. Delancey, as was usual with him, had said not a word with regard to his interview with Wilkins, but he had thought of it deeply, and was now prepared to act.

Della flew to her room.

"Minny, dear Minny, papa wants you. He sent me for you, and I am certain something terrible is about to happen, his eyes look so strangely. I know Bernard must have come last night, as he said he would, and that is what has made papa seem so silent and angry. He wants to ask you about everything. Oh, Minny, tell him what you choose, but don't give up my precious letters—don't!"

Della sank sobbing upon a chair, and Minny, pale as a ghost, glided away, and entered the apartment where Mr. Delancey awaited her.

"So, girl, you have chosen to play the go-between for your mistress and a worthless fellow?"

Minny was silent.

"You who must know all, tell me what you know of this matter."

"Nothing, sir, dishonorable to my master or his daughter."

"No prevarication, minion. Whatever you know of, as having passed between Miss Della, and—and—this man, I wish you to state plainly here."

"I can tell you no more, sir, than you already know."

"By what means has this acquaintanceship been carried on? I know there has been no opportunity for much personal intercourse. Have you letters?"

"If I have, sir, they are the property of my young mistress, and as such, I will deliver them to no one without her consent."

"Fool! do you forget that you are my slave?"

"As such, my first duty is to the mistress you have bade me serve."

"Are the letters in your possession?"

"They are, sir; placed there for safe keeping."

"Bring me them instantly!" said Mr. Delancey, stamping his foot heavily upon the floor.

"No," said the girl, calmly folding her hands on her bosom; "whatever questions my master has to ask, I am ready to answer; but I can do no more."

"What do you mean?" cried the merchant, rising, and laying his hands upon her shoulders. "Go and do my bidding instantly. What did you confess you had them for, if you didn't expect me to get them? Any other of my negroes would have lied."

Minny's face flushed crimson.

"Your other negroes, sir, might act differently, under many circumstances, to what I would do—but," she continued, more calmly, "Miss Della taught me never to tell a falsehood, and these lips have never lied."

The merchant looked keenly at Minny for a moment, then said:—

"Do you know that if you disobey me I will use the lash? You are but a slave, if you have a paler skin. Do you hear? Either tell me where these papers can be found, or bring them to me yourself, or I will lash you till your back runs pools of blood."

"And I will bear it, sir, though you should make it run rivers. My mistress's confidence is more sacred to me than any drop of blood that circles round my heart, and I will shed it all sooner than betray her."

Mr. Delancey paused a moment, with a glance of something like admiration lighting up his cold eyes; perhaps he saw something of his own indomitable spirit in the girl's firm demeanor, and, perhaps, the thought that nature gave her a right to the possession of that spirit never entered his mind. With his anger every moment growing more intense, the merchant again laid his hand upon her arm.

"No more parleying, girl—bring me the letters."

"Never, sir."

"Dare you speak thus to me? I will have them."

"Not while it is in my power to prevent you, sir."

"Fool! Minny, slave, out of my way!"

Minny moved not a muscle.

"Do as I command you, or, by Heaven, I'll make you. Was ever such disobedience shown a master?"

Minny stood firm, but silent, her back against the door. Mr. Delancey laid his hand upon the bell-rope, and pulled it violently.

"Voltaire," said he, to the servant who answered it, "bring me the heavy whip, with the braided lash."

It was not often that Mr. Delancey punished a slave, but when he did he was very severe. In this case, pride, anger, and a feeling something like revenge, for what he deemed Minny's obstinacy, spurred him on. The refusal of the letters had made him determined to possess them, and nothing could now have turned him from his course. Reader, he was a father; and his daughter was his idol!

The servant brought the whip, laid it on the table, glanced pityingly at Minny, and went out with a shudder.

Mr. Delancey seized Minny by the arm, and pushed her on before him, until he reached an upper balcony, near the sleeping apartments of the domestics.

"Now, girl, down with you."

"No, sir; if you lash me, let me stand and bear it like a human being, not like a dog, with my face to the dust."

"Down with you, or I will knock you down! You shall take it, as would any other slave."

Minny threw back her curls, and knelt before her master.

"On your face, girl, down!"

He raised his foot, and pushed her forward on her face. She lay there, with her heavy curls falling round her like a mantle, entirely concealing the tearless, livid face.

Delancey raised his arm, and the heavy lash descended, whirring through the air, telling how fierce the hand that dealt the blow.

The tender flesh could almost be seen to quiver through the thin, light dress; but Minny moved not, uttered no moan, nor raised her head.

"How now, girl, does your spirit hold out? Will you give up the letters?"

"Never!"

Again the lash came down, and this time, across one fair, polished shoulder, gleaming out from among the curls, in her low-necked dress, was marked a braided cut, from which the blood oozed in small round drops, staining also the waist of the dress, where the lash had fallen.

"How now?"

There came no answer: Minny lay still and quiet. Again the enraged master raised the whip, and this time the strokes were a trifle lighter, but more frequent, with no power for questioning.

Della sat in her room waiting for Minny's return. Suddenly a strange sound struck upon her ear. She started, bent forward, and listened eagerly. It came again and again. She sprang to her feet, and darted like lightning down the stairs. She ran hither and thither, scarce knowing whence to trace the sound, when suddenly she met one of the servants.

"Voltaire, in Heaven's name, where are papa and Minny?"

"On the back gallery, Miss," returned the man.

With the speed of thought, Della sped through the long passages, up the stairs, and out upon the balcony. She gained the spot just as the strong arm was upraised to give another blow.

"Papa! papa! for the love of mercy, stop!"

At that sound Minny slightly raised her head, but dropped it again, and the blow came down.

Della sprang wildly forward.

"Papa! papa! what has turned you into such a demon!"

With an almost superhuman strength, she caught the whip, as it was again descending, in her own jeweled and delicate hands, wrested it from her father's grasp, and flung it over the railing into the court below.

Dropping upon her knees, she lifted the quadroon's head upon her lap. The eyes were closed, and the pallid face wore the appearance of death.

Minny had fainted.

Springing to a water-pipe, Della filled a basin, and drawing the girl tenderly upon her breast, rocked her gently, back and forth, as she bathed the blue-veined temples with the cooling fluid.

Still pale with anger, Mr. Delancey stood looking on.

"Poor child, poor Minny!" sobbed Della, as the tears rained down her cheeks; "all this you have suffered for me—poor thing, poor thing!"

Suddenly lifting her eyes, Della confronted her father.

"Not another night!" she exclaimed bitterly, "shall Minny stay beneath your roof. She is your own flesh and blood, papa; you know she is. You might as well have whipped me as to whip her. Oh! papa, that you should use your own child thus!"

Mr. Delancey started forward.

"Who has dared to tell you such a tale as this!—who has presumed to whisper such a falsehood in your ear?"

"It is no falsehood, papa; it is truth, all truth—would it were not! It requires no talking to see it. Has she not your look, your spirit, much of your pride? But none of your cruelty. No, no, poor Minny, you have indeed been a sister to me. Look, papa, at this poor bleeding back, see how this dress is dyed with blood; blood which you cursed her with, blood which you have drawn forth again with the lash! The lash—think of it; and she your own daughter!"

Untouched by his child's words, Delancey turned away, every vein swelling with the wrath which he could not conceal.

"I'll teach you both to carry on your private dealings with dastardly clerks. Back to your room, and leave this heap of bloody flesh and rags for the negroes to care for."

"Shame on you, papa. No! I shall not leave her for a moment. With regard to this poor child, your authority is as naught to me."

"That remains to be seen," returned Mr. Delancey, in his cold, deep tones; and, stepping to the stairhead, he called Voltaire to his presence.

At this moment Minny drew a long, shivering sigh, looked up, and met her mistress's tearful gaze with a smile.

"They are safe, Miss—all safe; he could not get them," she whispered, faintly.

"Hush, Minny, darling. Oh, you have suffered so terribly for my sake! This is dreadful, dreadful!"

"Anything for you, Miss Della, anything."

Della's only answer was a closer pressure of that young form to her heart.

"Now," said Mr. Delancey, approaching them, with Voltaire walking behind them: "now, Minny, up with you, and get yourself out of my sight; and, mark me! you may get your back ready for another scourging unless you give me those papers before to-morrow."

"Papa, you know Minny isn't able to walk. Let Voltaire carry her."

"Well, up with her, then. Take her to some of the negroes' rooms, and let her lie there till she repents of her obstinacy."

"Voltaire," said Della, stepping forward, "take her to my room, and put her upon my bed. Go!"

The negro obeyed, and Mr. Delancey offered no opposition. There was a look in his daughter's eye which he had never seen there before, an imperative manner which enforced command, and he allowed the man to pass him, bearing the bleeding and exhausted Minny in his arms.

"Now, Della," said he, turning to his child, "follow her. Until I can get this vile piece of romance out of your head, you shall remain a prisoner in your own room. Shame on you for your want of pride!"

"Thank Heaven, papa, that I have no more."

They parted—father and daughter there—both turning their heads, as they passed, to look back upon each other; then went from sight, silently and coldly.