heir blood.

He did not find a single ship in the harbor; there were only a few
fisher-boats tossing on the waves, from whose owners he learned that the
insurgent slaves, after ravaging the coast, had retired in large numbers
to the interior of the island.

Barthelemy went on shore and rushed like a madman toward the cottage.

He soon neared the hill which concealed the little valley, and continued
his way slowly, with a throbbing heart, as if fearing to behold with his
eyes what he already witnessed in his soul. The hill afforded a view of
the cottage. Here he had parted for the last time with his betrothed
bride; here she had sobbed, "Take me with you"; here she had predicted,
"Some day you will return and ask, 'Where is Julietta? Why doesn't she
come to meet me?'"

His very heart shrank. One step more, and he would reach the hill-top--a
weeping-willow obstructed the view and, bending the boughs apart, he
gazed down into the valley.

It was empty. Bare yellow fields lay dry and withered in the place of
the green plantation, and the site of the cottage was marked by a black
spot.

Barthelemy stood motionless, with fixed eyes. No sigh escaped his lips,
but he suddenly fell as if lifeless, with his face pressed against the
grass. Perhaps he might have passed into the eternal slumber, had not
sad dreams come and forced him to witness the horrible bloody scenes
enacted when the Satanic band burst into the quiet, lonely cottage,
where the three girls and their grandmother knelt in prayer; he saw the
rabble rush in through door and windows, seizing their victims by the
hair, the thin, gray locks of the poor old grandmother, the luxuriant
raven ones, which he had so often kissed, of his worshipped Julietta. If
he had been lying in his grave, such a dream must have roused him.

"Ah!" shrieked the pirate struggling back to consciousness, like a
person throwing off a deadly burden from his heart, and gazing around
him, gasping for breath as he wiped the perspiration from his eyes and
brow. "It is well that it was _only_ a dream," he faltered. Then a
glance into the valley proved that it was no delusion, but reality.
Springing to his feet he rushed wildly down into the valley to the ruins
of the hut, called the names of his dear ones, stirred the ashes as if
he might find them there, examined the footprints in the mire to see if
he could discover among them any traces of those of the objects of his
love. But he found noth