ask where is Mademoiselle
L'Ouverture?"

"She is asleep," said Therese, rousing herself--"asleep, if indeed she
be not dead. If this last sound did not rouse her, I think the trumpet
of doom will scarcely reach her soul."

This last sound had roused Genifrede. She did not recognise it; she was
not aware what had wakened her; but she had started up, supposed it
night, but felt so oppressed that she sprang from the bed, with a
confused wonder at finding herself dressed, and threw open the door to
the salon. There she now stood, bewildered with the sudden light, and
looking doubtful whether to advance or go back.

"My daughter--" said Father Laxabon. She came forward with a docile and
wistful look. "My daughter," he continued, "I bring you some comfort."

"Comfort?" she repeated, doubtingly.

"Not now, Father," interposed Therese. "Spare her."

"Spare me?" repeated Genifrede in the same tone.

"I bring her comfort," said the father, turning reprovingly to Madame
Dessalines. "His conflict is over, my daughter," he continued,
advancing to Genifrede. "His last moments were composed; and as for his
state of mind in confession--"

He was stopped by a shriek so appalling, that he recoiled as if shot,
and supported himself against the wall. Genifrede rushed back to the
chamber, and drove something heavy against the door. Therese was there
in an instant, listening, and then imploring, in a voice which, it might
be thought, no one could resist--

"Let me in, love! It is Therese. No one else shall come. If you love
me, let me in."

There was no answer.

"You have killed her, I believe," she said to the priest, who was
walking up and down in great disturbance--not with himself, but with the
faithless creature of passion he had to deal with.

"The windows!" exclaimed Therese, vexed not to have thought of this
before. She stepped out upon the balcony. One of the chamber-windows
was open, and she entered. No one was there. Genifrede must have fled
down the steps from the balcony into the gardens; and there Therese
hastened after her. In one of the fenced walks leading to the fountain,
she saw the fluttering of her clothes.

"The reservoir!" thought Therese, in despair.

She was not mistaken. Genifrede stood on the brink of the deep and
brimming reservoir--her hands were clasped above her head for the
plunge, when a strong hand seized her arm, and drew her irresistibly
back. In ungovernable rage she