and the anguish of the
thumbs, when this same cruel Lysander had him strung up?

"Bery sorry, 'deed, sar! But I can't unloosen de rope fur ye."

And, full of pity as he was, the old negro resolutely remained faithful
to his charge. Sprowl tried complaints, coaxing, promises, but in vain.

"Well, then," said he, "I have only one request to make. Let me see my
wife, and ask her forgiveness before I die."

"Dat am bery reason'ble; I'll speak to her, sar." And, without losing
sight of his prisoner, Toby went to Cudjo's pantry, now Virginia's
dressing-room, into which Salina had retreated, and notified her of the
dying request.

Salina was in one of her most discontented moods. What had she fled to
the mountain for? she angrily asked herself. After the first gush of
grateful emotion on meeting her father and sister, she had begun quickly
to see that she was not wanted there. Then she looked around
despairingly on the dismal accommodations of the cave. She had not that
sustaining affection, that nobleness of purpose, which enabled her
father and sister to endure so cheerfully all the hardships of their
present situation. The rude, coarse life up there, the inconveniences,
the miseries, which provoked only smiles of patience from them, filled
her with disgust and spleen.

But there was one sorer sight to those irritated eyes than all else they
saw--her captive husband. She could not forget that he _was_ her
husband; and, whether she loved or hated him, she could not bear to
witness his degradation. Yet she could not keep her eyes off of him; and
so she had shut herself up.

"He wishes to speak with me? To ask my forgiveness? Well! he shall have
a chance!"

She went and stood over the prisoner, looking down upon him coldly, but
with compressed lips.

"Well, what do you want of me?"

Sprowl made a motion for Toby to retire. Humbly the old negro obeyed,
feeling that he ought not to intrude upon the interview; yet keeping his
eye still on the prisoner, and his hand on the pistol.

"Sal,"--in a low voice, looking up at her, and showing his manacled
hands,--"are you pleased to see me in this condition?"

"I'd rather see you dead! If I were you, I'd kill myself!"

"There's a knife on the table behind you. Give it to me, free my hands,
and you won't have to repeat your advice."

She merely glanced over her shoulder at the knife, then bent her
scowling looks once more on him.

"A captain in the confederate army! outw