ivate
interests--nothing at heart but the good of us all?"

"That is the spell," replied Pascal. "This sacrifice of his nephew will
confirm it with my countrymen, as well as with yours, for ever. These
thirteen others--for he has sacrificed thirteen of the soldiers, for
dereliction of duty in the late rising--these thirteen are from the
garrison of Cap, chiefly, though it is said two or three are from Limbe.
All the soldiery from these two places, and from Port Dauphin, are upon
the Place. L'Ouverture stood in the midst and addressed them. He told
them that it was needless to explain to them what they had been learning
from his whole course of conduct, since he was chosen by the blacks to
lead and govern them. It was needless to insist on the protection due
to every inhabitant of the colony, and especially the whites; and on the
primary duty of a liberated race--that of keeping the peace. They knew
their duty as well as he did; and those who had violated it should
suffer the long-declared and inevitable punishment of death. All knew
that everything was prepared on the rampart, near at hand. L'Ouverture
walked slowly along each line of the soldiery; and I declare to you,
Madame, that though all knew that he was selecting victims for instant
death, there was passionate love in every face."

"I believe it," said Therese. "And he?"

"He was calm; but a face of deeper sorrow never did I see. He is ten
years older since last night. He spoke aloud the names of the most
guilty, according to their own previous account of themselves to him,
and the committee, of investigation."

"And no one of the thirteen resisted?"

"Not one. One by one they joined their hands, bowed their heads humbly
before him, and repaired where he pointed--to be shot. There was a
spell upon me. I could not come away, though feeling at every moment as
if I could endure no more. I did not, however, stay to see General
Moyse brought out--"

As he was speaking, there was heard the heavy roll of drums at a
distance, followed by a volley of musketry.

"That is it," cried Monsieur Pascal; and he was gone. Therese sank back
upon a sofa, and again drew her shawl over her head. She desired, in
the sickness of her heart, never to see the daylight more.

She knew not how long it was before the door was again gently opened.
She did not move; but she presently heard Father Laxabon's soft voice,
saying--

"Pardon, Madame, but I am compelled to