Nor did he check his precipitous flight until suddenly, being led
perhaps by some strange influence of which he was not at all the
master, he discovered himself to be standing before the
garden-gate where not more than an hour before he had first
entered upon the series of monstrous adventures that had led to
such tremendous conclusions.

People were still passing and repassing, and one of these
groups--a party of young ladies and gentlemen--paused upon the
opposite side of the street to observe, with no small curiosity
and amusement, his dripping and bedraggled aspect. But only one
thought and one intention possessed our hero--to relieve himself
as quickly as possible of that trust which he had taken up so
thoughtlessly, and with such monstrous results to himself and to
his victims. He ran to the gate of the garden and began beating
and kicking upon it with a vehemence that he could neither master
nor control. He was aware that the entire neighborhood was
becoming aroused, for he beheld lights moving and loud voices of
inquiry; yet he gave not the least thought to the disturbance he
was creating, but continued without intermission his uproarious
pounding upon the gate.

At length, in answer to the sound of his vehement blows, the
little wicket was opened and a pair of eyes appeared thereat. The
next instant the gate was cast ajar very hastily, and the
pock-pitted negress appeared. She caught him by the sleeve of his
coat and drew him quickly into the garden. "Buckra, Buckra!" she
cried. "What you doing? You wake de whole town!" Then, observing
his dripping garments: "You been in de water. You catch de fever
and shake till you die."