"What's all this mean, young massa?" asked Cato, for this was the name of the negro. He had brought no other with him, but one was quite sufficient for his modest requirements.
"I don't know," said Robert. "The man that was with me suddenly seized me round the waist, and flung me into the pond."
"I saw him do it," said Cato. "What made him?"
"That's more than I can tell, unless he is crazy," said Robert.
"Is dis de fust time he try to drown you?" asked Cato.
Robert started as the force of this question dawned upon him. He recalled the scene at Niagara Falls, and the narrow escape he had from a horrible death at that time. He remembered that he had been forcibly pushed by James Cromwell on that occasion, and only saved himself by clutching hold of him, while the latter did not pull him back till his own danger seemed imminent. At the time he accepted Cromwell's explanation, but now, since this second attempt had been made, he could not shut his eyes from the fact that Cromwell had sought his destruction. What could have been his motive was to him a profound mystery.
"No," he answered, "he tried to push me over Niagara Falls once, but I thought it was an accident then. I don't think so now."
"He's a wicked man. Don't you go nigh him again."
"I won't," said Robert. "I shouldn't feel safe with him. But I don't know where to go to-night."
"Come to my cabin!" said Cato. "It's a poor place for the likes of you, young massa, but it's better dan sleepin' out in de woods."
"Thanks, Cato," said Robert, for he knew who it was that had saved him. "I will accept your invitation, gladly. Lead the way, and I will follow."
The negro's hut was near by. It was small enough, being only about ten feet square. On the floor was spread a blanket over some straw, and Cato signed to Robert to lie down. But first he advised him to take off his wet clothes. He gathered some sticks and made a fire for the purpose of drying these.
Robert lay down on the rude bed, and though excited by the peril through which he had passed, and by the thought that James Cromwell had been guilty of such an atrocious attempt, nature at last asserted her supremacy, and he sank to sleep. When he woke the sun had already risen. The first sight upon which his eyes rested was the black face of his companion bending over him. He did not immediately remember where he was, and cried, raising his head, "Where am I?"