It had
      been my intention to pass the night at the hut, as I had
      frequently done before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I
      deemed it proper to take leave. He did not press me to remain,
      but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even more than his
      usual cordiality. It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had
      seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston,
      from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look
      so dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had
      befallen my friend. “Well, Jup,” said I, “what is the matter now?—how is your
      master?”

      “Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought
      be.”

      “Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain
      of?”

      “Dar! dat’s it!—him neber ’plain of notin’—but him berry sick for
      all dat.”

      “_Very_ sick, Jupiter!—why didn’t you say so at once? Is he
      confined to bed?”

      “No, dat he aint!—he aint ’fin’d nowhar—dat’s just whar de shoe
      pinch—my mind is got to be berry hebby ’bout poor Massa Will.”

      “Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking
      about. You say your master is sick. Hasn’t he told you what ails
      him?”

      “Why, massa, ’taint worf while for to git mad about de
      matter—Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him—but
      den what make him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down
      and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a
      syphon all de time—”

      “Keeps a what, Jupiter?”

      “Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate—de queerest figgurs I
      ebber did see. Ise gittin’ to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to
      keep mighty tight eye ’pon him ’noovers. Todder day he gib me
      slip ’fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I
      had a big stick ready cut for to gib him deuced good beating when
      he did come—but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn’t de heart arter
      all—he look so berry poorly.”

      “Eh?—what?—ah yes!—upon the whole I think you had better not be
      too severe with the poor fellow—don’t flog him, Jupiter—he can’t
      very well stand it—but can you form no idea of what has
      occasioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has
      anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?”

      “No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant _since_ den—‘twas
      _’fore_ den I’m feared—‘twas de berry day you was dare.”

      “How? what do you mean?”

      “Why, massa, I mean de bug—dare now.”

      “The what?”

      “De bug,—I’m berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere ’bout
      de head by dat goole-bug.”

      “And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?”

      “Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sick a
      deuced bug—he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go ’gin mighty
      quick, I tell you—den was de time he must ha’ got de bite. I did
      n’t like de look oh de bug mouff, myself, no how, so I would n’t
      take hold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob
      paper dat I found. I rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it
      in he mouff—dat was de way.”

      “And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the
      beetle, and that the bite made him sick?”

      “I do n’t tink noffin about it—I nose it. What make him dream
      ’bout de goole so much, if ’taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd ’bout dem goole-bugs fore dis.”

      “But how do you know he dreams about gold?”

      “How I know? why ’cause he talk about it in he sleep—dat’s how I
      nose.”

      “Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate
      circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you
      to-day?”

      “What de matter, massa?”

      “Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?”

      “No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;” and here Jupiter handed me
      a note which ran thus:

      “MY DEAR ——Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you
      have not been so foolish as to take offence at any little
      _brusquerie_ of mine; but no, that is improbable. Since I saw you
      I have had great cause for anxiety. I have something to tell you,
      yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should tell it at
      all. “I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup
      annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions. Would you believe it?—he had prepared a huge stick, the other
      day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and
      spending the day, _solus_, among the hills on the main land. I
      verily believe that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging. “I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. “If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with
      Jupiter. _Do_ come. I wish to see you to-_night_, upon business
      of importance. I assure you that it is of the _highest_
      importance. “Ever yours,
“WILLIAM LEGRAND”. There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great
      uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of
      Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet
      possessed his excitable brain? What “business of the highest
      importance” could he possibly have to transact? Jupiter’s account
      of him boded no good. I dreaded lest the continued pressure of
      misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my
      friend. Without a moment’s hesitation, therefore, I prepared to
      accompany the negro. Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all
      apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were
      to embark. “What is the meaning of all this, Jup?” I inquired. “Him syfe, massa, and spade.”

      “Very true; but what are they doing here?”

      “Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for
      him in de town, and de debbil’s own lot of money I had to gib for
      ’em.”

      “But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your ‘Massa
      Will’ going to do with scythes and spades?”

      “Dat’s more dan _I_ know, and debbil take me if I don’t b’lieve
      ’tis more dan he know, too. But it’s all cum ob do bug.”

      Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose
      whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by “de bug,” I now stepped
      into the boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we
      soon ran into the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie,
      and a walk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about
      three in the afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting
      us in eager expectation.