od is
really about to free your race, He will appoint a worthy servant for the
office. My duty, however, lies here. I have here souls in charge,
without being troubled with doubts as to the intentions of God and of
men. As I told you, the General does not think so much as you do of
this event; nor even does Jean Francais. If you act rashly, you will
repent for ever having quitted the path of loyalty and duty. I warn you
to pause, and see what course events will take. I admonish you not
hastily to desert the path of loyally and duty."

"If it had pleased God," said Toussaint, humbly, "to release me from the
ignorance of slavery when He gave me freedom, I might now be able to lay
open my heart as I desire to do; I might declare the reasons which
persuade me so strongly as I feel persuaded. But I am ignorant, and
unskilful in reasoning with one like you, father."

"It is therefor that we are appointed to guide and help you, my son.
You now know my mind, and have received my admonition. Let us proceed
to confession; for the morning draws on towards the hour for mass."

"Father, I cannot yield to your admonition. Reprove me as you will, I
cannot. There is a voice within me stronger than yours."

"I fear so, my son; nor can I doubt what that voice is, nor whence it
comes. I will pray for you, that you may have strength to struggle with
the tempter."

"Not so, father; rather pray that I may have strength to obey this new
voice of duty, alone as I am, discountenanced as I shall be."

"Impossible, my son. I dare not so pray for one self-willed and
precipitate; nor, till you bring a humble and obedient mind, can I
receive your confession. There can be no absolution where there is
reservation. Consider, my dear son! I only desire you to pause."

"Delay is treachery," said Toussaint. "This day the decree and
proclamation will be made known through the forces; and if I remain,
this night's sun sets on my condemnation. I shall not dare to pray,
clothed in my rank, this night."

"Go now, my son. You see it is dawning. You have lost the present
opportunity; and you must now leave me to my duties. When you can
return hither to yours, you will be welcome."

Toussaint paid him his wonted reverence, and left the tent.

Arrived in his own, he threw himself on the couch like a heart-broken
man.

"No help! no guidance!" thought he. "I am desolate and alone. I never
thought to have been left without a guide f