thout, and the love of a brave and tender heart--tender to
me, however hard to those we hate. Jacques lives in honour, and in a
station of command, though he hates the whites with a passion which
would startle Moyse himself--hates them so that he does not even strive,
as I do, to remember that they are human--to be ready to give them the
cup of cold water when they thirst, and the word of sympathy when they
grieve. He would rather dash the cup from their parched lips, and laugh
at their woes. Yet Jacques lives in peace and honour at his palace at
Saint Marc, or is, in war, at the head of troops that would die for him:
while this poor young man, a mere novice in the passion, is too likely
to be cast out, as unworthy to live among us--among us who, God knows,
are in this regard more guilty than he! The time may come, when
Genifrede's first passion is over, when I may tell her this. Hark! that
trumpet! The court-martial has broken up. Oh, I wish I could silence
that trumpet! It will waken her. It is further off--and further. God
grant she may not have heard it!"

She stepped in, and to the chamber-door, and listened. There was no
stir, and she said to herself that her medicine had wrought well. From
the window, which opened on one of the courtyards, she heard the
shuffling of feet, and the passing by of many persons. She dared not
look out; but she felt certain that the trial was over, that the
officers were proceeding to their quarters, and the prisoner to his
solitude. Her heart beat so that she was glad to return to her seat,
and cover her eyes from the light. She was startled by the opening of
the door from the corridor. It was L'Ouverture; and she rose, as every
one habitually did, at his approach.

"Genifrede?" he said, anxiously, as he approached.

Therese pointed to the chamber, saying softly--

"She is there. I do not know what you will think of the means I have
taken to procure her sleep. But she was so shaken--she so dreaded this
night!"

"You have given her medicine. Is she asleep?"

"I gave her henbane, and she is asleep."

"Is there a chance of her sleeping till noon?"

"If she be not disturbed. I have carefully darkened the room. What,
has been done?" she inquired, looking in his face. Struck with its
expression, she exclaimed, "How you have suffered!"

"Yes. Life is bitter to those whom God has chosen. If Moyse did but
know it, I almost envy him his rest."

"Is it over, t