t
the other end to iron rings round his ankles. What sailors would call
_the slack_ of these heavy fetters was gathered up in one of the
wearer's hands, and thus carried while he moved about at work.

The poor fellow was first set to work on a piece of road-mending just
outside the city gate, with several others--martyrs and criminals--in
similar condemnation. And here Mark and his companions met him
unexpectedly before they were aware that the fearful punishment had
begun.

At the time poor Mamba was toiling with pick and shovel. His heart was
almost broken. Death he could have faced without flinching, but to be a
life-long slave in galling chains, with the possibility even of seeing
his mother and Ramatoa, without being permitted to go near or speak to
them, was almost more than he could bear. A deep groan burst from his
overcharged breast as he cried, "Oh Lord Jesus, enable me to bear it!"

It was just then that Ebony observed him and uttered a falsetto cry of
astonishment.

The Secretary, who was conducting Mark and Hockins on a visit to one of
the suburban places of resort, stopped and looked round.

"Dars Mamba, massa!" cried Ebony.

Mark ran to him at once, but was stopped by the guard. A few words from
the Secretary, however, sufficed, and Mark was allowed to speak to the
slave, which he did through the Secretary.

Despair was in Mamba's every tone and look, for the crushing calamity
was too recent and too tremendous to be borne with equanimity at first.
Yet through it all there ran, as it were, a tiny silver thread of hope.

"For is it not true," he said, "that `with God all things are
possible?'"

"My friend," said Mark in reply, and with a burst of enthusiasm, "I will
save you _somehow_! Keep a good heart."

Mamba smiled faintly, yet gratefully, as he shook his head, gathered up
the superfluous links of his chain, and resumed his toil.

"How will you save him?" asked the Secretary, with a peculiar
half-amused look, as they walked away.

"I know not," answered Mark. "But we have a proverb, `Where there's a
will there's a way,' and I have a determined will to save my poor friend
from this slavery. I will not cease to try--as we say in England, `I
will leave no stone unturned,'--till I have accomplished this thing.
Moreover I will not cease to pray for this end. Mamba's trust in God
puts me to shame. Up to this time I have only recognised by name that
Saviour whom this man worships. Go