oking my young companion full in the face, interrupted
him in what he was about to say. "D'Hauteville!" said I, "perhaps, I
may never be able to repay your generous friendship. It has already
exceeded all bounds--but _life_ you must not risk for me. That I cannot
permit."

"And how risk life, Monsieur?"

"If I fail--if alarm be given--if I am opposed, _voila_--!"

I opened the breast of my coat, exposing to his view my pistols.

"Yes!" I continued; "I am reckless enough. I shall use them if
necessary. I shall take life if it stand in the way. I am resolved;
but you must not risk an encounter. You must remain here--I shall go to
the house alone."

"No--no!" he answered promptly; "I go with you."

"I cannot permit it, Monsieur. It is better for you to remain here.
You can stay by the fence until I return to you--until _we_ return, I
should say, for I come not back without _her_."

"Do not act rashly, Monsieur!"

"No, but I am determined. I am desperate. We must not go farther."

"And why not? _I, too, have an interest in this affair_."

"You?" I asked, surprised at the words as well as the tone in which
they were spoken. "You an interest?"

"Of course," coolly replied my companion. "I love adventure. That
gives me an interest. You must permit me to accompany you--I must go
along with you!"

"As you will then, Monsieur D'Hauteville. Fear not. I shall act with
prudence. Come on!"

I sprang over the fence, followed by my companion; and, without another
word having passed between us, we struck across the field in the
direction of the house.

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX.

THE ELOPEMENT.

It was a field of sugar-cane. The canes were of that species known as
"ratoons"--suckers from old roots--and the thick bunches at their bases,
as well as the tall columns, enabled us to pass among them unobserved.
Even had it been day, we might have approached the house unseen.

We soon reached the garden-paling. Here we stopped to reconnoitre the
ground. A short survey was sufficient. We saw the very place where we
could approach and conceal ourselves.

The house had an antique weather-beaten look--not without some
pretensions to grandeur. It was a wooden building, two stories in
height, with gable roofs, and large windows--all of which had Venetian
shutters that opened to the outside. Both walls and window-shutters had
once been painted, but the paint was old and rusty; and the colour of
the Veneti