we marched, and I alone of those who pitched their
tents under the trees that line the river yonder survived to tell the
tale. Willis had already sailed for the Mauritius, completely foiled in
his mission."

"And your poor friend, Senhor," asked Isabel; "did you never hear of him
again?"

"Yes, through the agency of Monsieur Lambert, a resident in the island.
There are," continued the missionary, "three modes of death much
practised at Madagascar. The one, by poison extracted from a tree, is
called `tangui.' This tree is so deadly that the birds avoid it, and
the snakes will not go near. The poison consists of a small portion of
the nut in powder. It kills in about an hour, and the agony endured is
fearful. In ordinary cases it is used as an ordeal, and sometimes, when
it induces vomiting, the person taking it gets better.

"The second mode is by throwing the condemned into a river where the
caiman abound. If he is not devoured after the third immersion, he is
allowed to go free.

"The third is by fastening the condemned to a rock bathed by the sea.
If the waves, splashing up against the rocks, do not sprinkle any water
on his body, the condemned is liberated; if a drop of water touches him,
a dozen lances at once finish him."

"The last seems to me the most merciful death, though all are horrible,"
said Isabel.

"After we were violently separated from him, Maurice was kept guarded
for twenty-four hours, without food of any kind, not even a drop of
water being allowed him. His sufferings under that hot sun must have
been terrible, but even then his faith was unshaken, and he made
constant endeavours to convert his guards. His days and nights were
passed in prayer. On the evening of the second day, he was taken to the
ombachie's hut. Here he met with the `sampi tanguine,' or poisoner, and
here life and liberty were offered him by the priest if he would
publicly avow his errors and acknowledge their power. He was but a
young man, and had lately married. He had left a wife, who was at that
moment probably a mother, hoping to rejoin him. The temptation was
strong, as the black poisoner stood before him with the deadly powder
ready."

"And did he yield?" eagerly asked Hughes.

"Not for a moment. Half an hour afterwards he was writhing on the floor
of the hut in agonising convulsions, the ombachie and the `sampi
tanguine' standing over him. He died pardoning his persecutors, and his
body was thrown