y well, then; if you have any prayers to say, say them now; your
time is short."

"Fool! villain! murderer! I have no prayers to say. I am not a
drivelling idiot, or fanatic; I can die like a man."

"You had better reconsider your determination."

"No, craven! woolly-headed coward! I will not flinch. Do you think to
_drive_ a gentleman into submission?"

"Be calm, Mr. Maxwell; do not waste your last moments in idle
invectives. The time were better spent in penitence and prayer."

"Pshaw! go on, if you dare, with your murderous work!"

Hatchie now unloosed the cords which secured the attorney to the tree,
and he stood bound hand and foot beneath the branch over which the line
was passed. Seizing the end of the rope, the mulatto pulled it gently at
first, but gradually increasing the pressure upon the prisoner's throat,
as if to give him a satisfactory foretaste of the hanging sensation.
This slow torture was too much for the attorney's fortitude; and, as his
respiration grew painful, he called to his executioner to stop. Hatchie
promptly loosened the rope.

After giving the victim time to recover from the choking sensation, the
mulatto repeated his question.

The fear of an ignominious death, of dying under such revolting
circumstances, had a cooling effect upon the bravado spirit of the
lawyer. His pride had received a most salutary shock, and he felt
disposed to treat for his life, even with the despised slave of Miss
Dumont. Had his tormentor been any other than one of that detested race,
he could easily have regarded him as a man and conceded something for
the boon of life. Reduced to the last extremity by the relentless energy
of his victor, he had no choice but to yield the point or die.

"Will you answer my questions?" repeated Hatchie, sternly.

"What would you have me answer?" replied Maxwell, doggedly.

"Did you forge the will by which my mistress is deprived of her rights?"

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

Maxwell hesitated, and Hatchie again pulled the rope till his face was
crimson.

"Who forged the will?" repeated Hatchie, slackening the rope.

"I did not," replied Maxwell, as soon as he could regain breath enough
to speak.

"Who did?"

"I know not."

[Illustration: Hatchie forcing secrets from Maxwell. Page 178]

Hatchie pulled the rope again.

"Your master--"

"I have no master. Miss Emily is my mistress."

"I have been told his name was De Guy."

"Who is De Guy?"

"A lawy