t very night should I make the attempt to carry her off. I could not
bear the thought that she should pass even a single night under the roof
of her tyrant.

And the night promised to befriend us. The sun had scarcely gone down,
when the sky became sullen, turning to the hue of lead. As soon as the
short twilight passed, the whole canopy had grown so dark, that we could
scarce distinguish the outline of the forest from the sky itself. Not a
star could be seen. A thick pall of smoke-coloured clouds hid them from
the view. Even the yellow surface of the river was scarce perceptible
from its bank, and the white dust of the road alone guided us.

In the woods, or upon the darker ground of the plantation fields, to
find a path would have been impossible--so intense was the darkness that
enveloped us.

We might have augured trouble from this--we might have feared losing our
way. But I was not afraid of any such result. I felt assured that the
star of love itself would guide me.

The darkness would be in our favour. Under its friendly shadow we could
approach the house, and act with safety; whereas had it been a moonlight
night, we should have been in great danger of being discovered.

I read in the sudden change of sky no ill augury, but an omen of
success.

There were signs of an approaching storm. What to me would have been
kindly weather? Anything--a rain-storm--a tempest--a hurricane--
anything but a fine night was what I desired.

It was still early when we reached the plantation Besancon--not quite
midnight. We had lost no time on the road. Our object in hurrying
forward was to arrive at the place before the household of Gayarre
should go to rest. Our hopes were that we might find some means of
communicating with Aurore--through the slaves.

One of those I know. I had done him a slight favour during my residence
at Bringiers. I had gained his confidence--enough to render him
accessible to a bribe. He might be found, and might render us the
desired assistance.

All was silent upon the plantation Besancon. The dwelling-house
appeared deserted. There were no lights to be seen. One glimmered in
the rear, in a window of the overseer's house. The negro quarter was
dark and silent. The buzz usual at that hour was not heard. They whose
voices used to echo through its little street were now far away. The
cabins were empty. The song, the jest, and the cheerful laugh, were
hushed; and the 'coon-