s were drawn back in a snarl
over discolored fangs; he panted like a dog, his thick red tongue
hanging out. He looked hardly human. The man behind whom he rode was
Luiz Sebastian.

The party dismounted in the small square, in the midst of the quarters.
It being the noon rest, the entire servant population was on hand, and
leaving its cabins and smoking messes of bacon and succotash, it
hastened to a man to the square, where, beneath the dead tree and its
sinister appendage, stood the master, listening to Woodson's account of
the capture, and to Sir Charles's airy interpolations. Roach, dragged
from the horse by a dozen officious hands, staggered with exhaustion.
Luiz Sebastian caught him by the arm and so held him during the ensuing
interview.

When the unusual bustle, the neighing of the horses, and the excited
voices of the crowd brought the news of the capture to Landless,
sitting, sunk in anxious thought, within his cabin, he rose and began to
pace to and fro in the narrow room. Past his door hurried men, women,
and children on their way to the square. One or two beckoned him to
follow, but he shook his head. "If he betray me," he thought, "my fate
will come to me soon enough. I will not go to meet it."

In his restless pacing to and fro, he stopped before a shelf where,
beside some coarse eating utensils and the heap of tobacco pegs, the
cutting of which occupied his spare moments, lay a little worn book. It
had been Godwyn's. He opened it at random, and read a few verses. With a
heavy sigh he laid his arm along the shelf and rested his burning
forehead upon it. "'Let not your heart be troubled,'" he said beneath
his breath; and again, "'Let not your heart be troubled.'" He
recommenced his pacing up and down the room. "'Peace I leave with you,
My peace I give unto you.'" Going to the doorway, he leaned against it
and looked out into a world of sunshine, and up to where the topmost
branches of a pine slept against the blue. "There may be peace beyond,"
he said. "I have not found it here."

Down the lane came a murmur of voices; then the overseer's harsh tones;
then a light and mocking laugh. Seized by an uncontrollable impulse he
left the cabin and directed his steps towards the square. As he passed a
cabin some doors from his own, a gaunt figure arose from the doorstep
and joined itself to him.

"The murderer is here," said the sepulchral voice of Master Win-Grace
Porringer. "Verily the blood hath been taken