dog howling for his absent master, was the only
sound that broke the stillness of the place.

We passed the gate, riding in silence, and watching the road in front of
us. We were observing the greatest caution as we advanced. We might
meet those whom above all others we desired not to encounter--the
overseer, the agent, Gayarre himself. Even to have been seen by one of
Gayarre's negroes might have resulted in the defeat of our plans. So
fearful was I of this, that but for the darkness of the night, I should
have left the road sooner, and tried a path through the woods which I
knew of. It was too dark to traverse this path without difficulty and
loss of time. We therefore clung to the road, intending to leave it
when we should arrive opposite the plantation of Gayarre.

Between the two plantations a wagon-road for wood-hauling led to the
forest. It was this road I intended to take. We should not be likely
to meet any one upon it; and it was our design to conceal our horses
among the trees in the rear of the cane-fields. On such a night not
even the negro 'coon-hunter would have any business in the woods.

Creeping along with caution, we had arrived near the point where this
wood-road _debouched_, when voices reached our ears. Some persons were
coming down the road.

We reined, up and listened. There were men in conversation; and from
their voices each moment growing more distinct, we could tell that they
were approaching us.

They were coming down the main road from the direction of the village.
The hoof-stroke told us they were on horseback, and, consequently, that
they were white men.

A large cotton-wood tree stood on the waste ground on one side of the
road. The long flakes of Spanish moss hanging from its branches nearly
touched the ground. It offered the readiest place of concealment, and
we had just time to spur our horses behind its giant trunk, when the
horsemen came abreast of the tree.

Dark as it was, we could see them in passing. Their forms--two of them
there were--were faintly outlined against the yellow surface of the
water. Had they been silent, we might have remained in ignorance as to
who they were, but their voices betrayed them. They were Larkin and the
trader.

"Good!" whispered D'Hauteville, as we recognised them; "they have left
Gayarre's--they are on their way home to the plantation Besancon."

The very same thought had occurred to myself. No doubt they were
returning