her!
Charles! help!"

From without came an answering cry, followed by a rush of men through
the door, and in an instant the room was filled with struggling forms as
the two parties threw themselves upon each other. The newcomers were
half a dozen blacks, the two overseers and Sir Charles Carew. The
overseers had pistols and Sir Charles his sword. With it he met the rush
of the youth with the hectic cheek, who came towards him in long,
hound-like leaps, brandishing a piece of wood above his head, and drove
the blade deep into the chest of the fanatic. The wretched man staggered
and fell, then rose to his knees. Flinging his arms above his head, he
turned his worn face towards the flood of sunshine pouring in through
the door, and cried in a loud voice, "I see!" A stream of blood gushed
from his lips, his arms dropped, and without a groan he fell back, dead.

Landless, wrestling with the slave Regulus, at length succeeded in
hurling the powerful figure to the ground, where it lay stunned, and
turned to find himself confronted by Woodson's pistol and the point of
Sir Charles's rapier. A glance showed him the remaining conspirators,
overpowered, and in the act of being bound with the ropes that had lain,
coiled for use in packing, in the corners of the tobacco house. The
hectic youth lay, a ghastly spectacle, in a pool of blood across the
doorway. At his feet was the branded man, a bullet through his brain,
and near him the groaning figure of Havisham's mortally wounded
companion. The woman who had brought all this to pass stood unharmed,
white, with tragic, exultant eyes.

Sir Charles, serene and debonair, lowered his point. "Your hand is
played," he said with a fine smile. Landless's stern, despairing gaze
passed him and went on to the overseer. "I surrender to you," he said
briefly.

Woodson chuckled grimly and stuck his pistol in his belt. He was in high
good humor, visions of reward and thanks from the Assembly dancing
before his eyes. "I've had my eye on you for some time, young man," he
said almost genially. "I've suspected that you were up to something, but
Lord! to think that a woman's wit should have trapped you at last!
Haines, bring that rope over here."

Sir Charles went over to Patricia and offered her his arm. "Dearest and
bravest of women!" he said in a caressing whisper. "Come with me from
this place, which must be dreadful to you."

She did not answer him at once, but stood looking past him at the