For one moment, the girl's eyes fixed in the wild, helpless stare of terror on her father's face; but the next, that mysterious instinct of preservation, which is co-existent with the instinct of fear--which gifts the weakest animal with cunning to improve its flight, and takes the place of reason, reflection, and resolve, when all are banished from the mind--warned her against the fatal error of permitting the pursuer to track her to her home.
'Not there! not there!' she gasped faintly as Numerian endeavoured to lead her up the ascent.

'She will see us as we enter the doors!--through the streets! Oh, father, if you would save me! we may lose her in the streets!--the guards, the people are there! Back! back!' Numerian trembled as he marked the terror in her looks and gestures; but it was vain to question or oppose her.

Nothing short of force could restrain her,--no commands or entreaties could draw from her more than the same breathless exclamation: 'Onward, father; onward, if you would save me!' She was insensible to every sensation but fear, incapable of any other exertion than flight.
Turning and winding, hurrying forward ever at the same rapid pace, they passed unconsciously along the intricate streets that led to the river side; and still the avenger tracked the victim, constant as the shadow to the substance; steady, vigilant, unwearied, as a bloodhound on a hot scent.
And now, even the sound of the father's voice ceased to be audible in the daughter's ears; she no longer felt the pressure of his hand, no longer perceived his very presence at her side.

At length, frail and shrinking, she again paused, and looked back.

The street they had reached was very tranquil and desolate: two slaves were walking at its further extremity.