Towards her he entertained a sentiment of the profoundest
respect as his mistress, and of parental affection as one who had grown
up under his eye.
"Hatchie," said Jaspar, as the mulatto entered the library, "are the
hands all in?"
"Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, whose penetrating mind detected the
tremulous quiver of Jaspar's lip; "all in two hours ago, according to
regulations."
"All right, then. You can go to bed now."
"Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, with his customary obeisance, as he turned
to depart.
"Stay a moment. Go to Miss Emily, and get the keys of the secretary,"
said Jaspar, with assumed carelessness.
Hatchie obeyed; and, suspecting something before, he was confirmed in
the opinion now, and determined to watch. His suspicions of
something--he knew not what--had been excited by seeing Maxwell in
earnest consultation with Jaspar on the day of the funeral. He had, of
course, no idea of the plots of the latter; but, in common with all the
"boys," he hated Jaspar, and was willing to know more of his
transactions.
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