CHAPTER V

Sambo

According to the laws of colonial hospitality, Claude stayed all day and overnight at the Trevor house. To tell the truth, he was scarcely fit for removal, for the reaction from his nervous strain sent him, early in the afternoon, to the chamber prepared for him, from which he emerged at ten o'clock next morning with many apologies for tardiness on his tongue. He saw no one, however, to whom to deliver them. The house was deserted. Finding his way, after a search through the empty hall and parlor, into the sunny breakfast-room, he discovered there a single place set at the table, and Adam lounging in the doorway. The slave straightened and saluted him upon his entrance.

"Sit down, sah--sit down. I'll bring yo' breakfast right away."

Upon this, he darted from the house and disappeared down the path towards the kitchen, to return in two or three minutes with a large tray upon which stood a variety of smoking dishes. This he set before the guest, who proceeded to discuss them with a light appetite. While he ate he pondered, uneasily, on how he was expected to take his departure. In this matter Adam came presently to his assistance.

"Pa'don, Mas' de Mailly, but Mas' Vincent wait this mo'n till nine t' see you, den he ride out to the fields an' tell me t' say t' he be back fo' dinne' at noon; ask yo' health den."

"So I'm to stay till this afternoon?" asked Claude, in some surprise.

"Yes, sah," responded the slave, and his prompt tone settled the matter.

Claude, who had quite finished his meal, rose and strolled idly to the door which looked out upon the garden. At the far end of this, among her roses, was Madam Trevor. De Mailly did not recognize her at the distance, but he turned suddenly to the slave who was clearing the table.

"Can you tell me, Adam, where Mistress Travis will be at this hour?"

"Miss Deb? Oh, she's mos' like at de still-room." He went over to the door. "See li'l house dere cross the ya'd? She's mos' like dere."

"Thank you." Claude nodded to the man and went out of the house, around the terrace, and so through the yard towards the small building whose surrounding lilac-bushes were all in seed. Here on the step, alone and disconsolate, sat Sambo, Deborah's favorite little darky.

Sambo was very forlorn this morning. A strong appreciation of the woe of this wretched life had come to his spirit under the guise of an empty stomach. All of three hours ago Thompson, the overseer, discovered him in the climacteric moment of a glorious charge on the chickens in the runs. An entire flock of fat, white pullets were in full flight before this single son of Ethiopia, whose triumphant war-cry had unfortunately reached the quarters. Thereupon Thompson, who had no soul for the sublime, seized the conqueror by the tail of his tow-linen toga and dragged him from the field to his parental cabin, where, in the presence of Chloe, his mother, a most telling rebuke was administered. The mother's heart hardened towards the small sinner, and he had been driven outside in the very face of bacon spluttering over the fire and beans baking fragrantly in the embers. After an unhappy wandering, he at last sought the homely protection of Deborah and the still-room. Deborah, too, had left him, with the promise, however, of getting him something to eat when she returned. So here, in melancholy resignation, sat Sambo, as Claude approached.

"Can you tell me where Mistress Deborah is?" repeated de Mailly.

"She'm gone to Huckleberry Swamp," vouchsafed the stoic.

"Um--" Claude reflected. Huckleberry Swamp sounded definite, but he was unfamiliar with the country. "Where is that?" he inquired, meekly.

Sambo swept a black thumb over one shoulder, back of his head. "Dat way."

Again Claude hesitated, finally venturing the request: "Could you, perhaps, show me a little of the way?"

"You'm goin' fin' Miss Deb?"

Claude bowed.

"I'll come."

The small figure rose suddenly, descended from his dais, and put one small black fist trustfully into de Mailly's. Claude looked down into the childish face, with its round pate covered with black, woolly, hair, and a gentle light came into his eyes. He was fond of children.

The swamp appeared to be some distance away. The child's steps were short, and Claude would not hurry him. At last, however, they came upon a narrow, grassy lane, bordered on either side by a tangle of vines and bushes, at the end of which was the so-called swamp--a marsh nearly dry at this season, save for a pool in its very centre. Upon the edge of this they paused. Before them was a waste wherefrom sprang a few saplings, some young willows, a tangle of flaming tiger-lilies, and a host of those plants which grow in damp places. Claude saw no sign of a human being, but Sambo presently sprang forward.

"Deh she is!" he cried, running into the brush. Claude followed rapidly, coming at last in sight of her whom he sought.

Deborah knelt upon the damp ground, bending over a plant which she was minutely examining. Claude had seen it and its flower often enough, he thought. The stem was perhaps three feet high, with long, narrow, spotted leaves, and clusters of small purplish flowers. These were what Deborah was studying, and on her flushed face was an expression which Claude had not beheld before. Startled by Sambo's appearance, she looked up.

"Oh, good-morning!" she said, rising, and extending her hand.

"One finds you in curious places," he observed, bending over it.

"It is my work. Has Dr. Carroll come this morning?"

"He had not when I left the house."

"He will, though, I think. Are we to go back now?"

"Not until you are quite ready, mademoiselle."

"I'm ready. I must take this with me." From a little bag hanging at her side she drew a small pruning-knife and two pieces of cotton cloth. Having cut the stem of the plant before her, she wrapped about it one square of the cloth and took it up in her left hand.

"Permit me to carry it for you."

"Hold it, then, where the cloth is."

"Why? Surely it is not unsafe to touch?" He looked at her curiously.

"I don't know. Some things are. This is a spotted-hemlock. I fancied it a water plant, but 'tis another variety. I will test it to-day, if the doctor doesn't come. Oh! Here is something more to take home." Down in the soil at their feet grew two large fungi, which bore a slight resemblance to table mushrooms, but were far more beautiful than they. The umbrella-shaped cups were of a brilliant scarlet color, fading inwards, in gracefully curving lines, to a pale centre. A faint acrid odor emanated from them as Deborah knelt and cut them deftly at the ground's edge. Taking them up in her cloth, she held them a little away from her face.

"What's dose, Miss Deb?" inquired Sambo, eying them admiringly.

"A sort of mushroom, Sambo. Oh, a most excellent dinner dish they'd make!" she added, laughing.

And hungry Sambo heard her. Were these pretty things good to eat? He had seen not a few of them in the grass about the roads and fields. Here was a breakfast ready for him. He considered a little, the idea of cooking not entering his head. Neither Deborah nor de Mailly knew when he ceased to follow them, it merely occurring to them by the time they reached home that Sambo had not been with them for some time. Claude, who had found the way long in coming, deemed it only too short on the return. And Deborah, demurely realizing that she was perfectly happy, continued to talk to him in that tranquil manner which, from its apparent indifference and self-possession, seemed such an anomaly, considering her youth.

"May I ask the use of this?" asked de Mailly, curiously, holding out the spray of spotted-hemlock.

"I don't know its use. 'Tis what I am going to try to find out if the doctor does not come this morning. I am ignorant if it is as poisonous as water-hemlock. I will try to learn."

Claude bit his lip. "And if the doctor does come?"

"It will be most interesting. We are to try the effect of two alkaloids in one system, and I must note the different symptoms, the combined result, and the complications which ensue from the interaction."

"You give these--poisons--to some beast. Is it not so?"

Deborah hesitated for a little, finally replying, quietly, "A cat."

"And he will no doubt die?"

"No--perhaps not. That is our hope, monsieur. If we could discover one thing which might counterbalance the effect of another, can you not see that it might some time serve to save men's lives? It is unbecoming in me to speak of it, but did you not know that the liquid given you as medicine for your fever I distilled from the plant called monkshood? And did not that medicine help to restore you to health? And yet, sir, it was a virulent poison, ten drops of which would kill an animal."

De Mailly looked at the girl in surprise. She was certainly unlike any woman that he had ever met. "Forgive me," he said, earnestly. "I did not understand you. I do admire and respect this work of yours. My gratitude--how shall I express it? There is, indeed, little that one can say to the preserver of his life--"

"Please, don't!" she cried, impulsively, and then stopped. He was regarding her so earnestly, and his look said so much more than his tongue had ever done, that she found no words at her command. So they fell into silence as once more they approached the house.

Dr. Carroll, returning on the day before from his shooting, and, wearied by the dulness of Annapolis in mid-summer, kept his promise and came out to see Deborah. He found her, ignorant of his arrival, preparing her retort for the distillation of the water-hemlock, while Claude, willingly pressed into service, had gone to the kitchen to obtain a lighted coal for the tripod of charcoal. An addition to the equipment of the room had recently been made. Beside the cupboard in the corner stood a good-sized cage, its top and bottom made of pine boards held together by narrow wooden slats nailed upon all four sides. Within this prison of the condemned sat a half-grown tortoise-shell tabby, presented yesterday to the establishment by Sambo. As Deborah took up her hemlock and with careful hands began to strip away its leaves and blossoms, she glanced now and then at her prisoner with an expression half of pity and half of speculative interest. The animal looked very comfortable on its bed of grass, its toilet just completed, with slow eyes blinking at the light; never a suspicion in its head of a possible swift death at the hands of the slender girl at the table yonder. The stillness was interrupted by the entrance of the doctor.

"Good-morning to you, Mistress Debby! At work, eh? Oho! Water-hemlock!"

"No. This is _Maculatum_. See the leaves--spotted. Is this as poisonous as the other, do you think?"

The doctor chuckled. "Thou'rt a born botanist, Debby. This poisonous? 'Tis historic. Socrates died by it. 'Tis as well obtained by crushing in alcohol, though. Did you bring the root? Now that was carelessness. The root is most virulent--delightfully virulent. You should be sent back to get it, only that I am not here to distil this morning.--Ah, Monsieur Claude! Good-day! Are you turned neophyte?"

Claude, with a shovelful of embers, had halted in the doorway. At Carroll's question he smiled and came forward. "I should be glad if I might stay and look on. I am wofully ignorant in these matters."

Deborah took the shovel from his hands, emptying its contents carefully into the tripod. "Thank you. Be seated, if you care to watch us."

"By all means, sit yonder, de Mailly, and look on. Miss Travis is preparing some _Conium maculatum_ for distillation, though she will get a poor result from the mere leaves and flowers. And behold in me, monsieur, the conscienceless wretch about to destroy life in that hapless pussy, for the mere gratification of criminal instinct.--What's this, Deborah?"

The doctor's change of tone was so sudden and so marked that the girl turned quickly about to behold him standing over the fungi which she had placed at the far end of the table.

"That? Madam uses it sometimes for fly-poison. I purposed inquiring of you if the alkaloid could be extracted."

Carroll shook his head gravely. "It doesn't need extraction. The whole thing is replete with poison. 'Tis _amanita muscaria_, the deadliest of all fungi. Have you seen the symptoms?"

Deborah shook her head.

"Then you shall. I mind me I had a case of them many years ago--a family ate them at supper. All four died.* There was no help that I or any one else had to give. Such agony I have never seen. The effect is not apparent for from four to nine hours after eating, though internal dissemination of the poison must begin at once. After the case I mentioned, I experimented a good deal with them. Time does not seem to affect their power. After four months' keeping I knew one of them to cause death to a dog in ten hours. Would you care to try this to-day on your cat there, Deborah, in conjunction with one of the liquids?"

* This case is taken from a medical journal of 1877.

Deborah did not reply at once, and Claude hoped that she would decline the proposition. Her answer was a question: "Will you stay, doctor, till the fungus acts? I couldn't distinguish the different symptoms alone."

The doctor reflected. "'Tis eleven now. By four the thing should be under way. I'll get home by six. Yes, I'll stay."

"Then let us give it at once."

"Very well. What will you combine with it?"

Deborah went to the cupboard and surveyed her array of phials. Finally, selecting one filled with a clear, white liquid, with less sediment at the bottom than most of her mixtures contained, she brought it over to Dr. Carroll.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It is from nightshade. I made it a week ago."

"Atropine. Symptoms? Can you give them?"

Claude looked at her closely as she made reply:

"I gave forty drops to a cat. It seemed to be quiet for about three-quarters of an hour. Then it tried to mew, but that was hard for it. The muscles of its throat were strained. After a little it began to bite at things in the cage. Its eyes were large, and the pupils full, as if it were in the dark. It drank all I would give it, but could not swallow easily. Then there came spasms. Finally it fell asleep, and died three hours after the dose."

The doctor nodded with satisfaction, but Deborah, glancing at de Mailly from beneath her lids, saw him look at her in strong displeasure. Instantly she flushed and her head straightened defiantly back.

"Monsieur, I do not think that you will enjoy our experiments here this morning. Will you be so obliging as to join my cousins, Virginia and Lucy, in some pleasanter occupation?"

There was a note of piqued command in the tone which Claude, who knew women well, would have disobeyed in any other case. Now, however, he made no reply, but rose in grave silence, bowed to her, and left the room.

"On my life, that was not a gallant thing," observed Carroll, placidly, when their sensitive guest had crossed the yard.

Deborah made no answer. She was more deeply hurt than she would have believed possible, and she did not choose that her voice should betray her. Crossing again to the cupboard, she took from its lowest shelf a deep-bowled horn spoon, with which she knelt before the cat's cage. In the mean time the doctor had been occupied in cutting the fungus into small cubes. These, together with the atropine, he took over to his pupil, who was now on the floor with the cat in her lap. She took the _amanita_ quietly from her companion's hands, placed one piece in the creature's mouth, and manipulated its throat till it swallowed convulsively.

"How much should it have?" she inquired, grimly.

"About six pieces to a spoonful of this," returned her mentor, holding up the atropine.

Unflinchingly Deborah finished her task, and then, hastily replacing the prisoner in its cage, she fastened the little door. Carroll, who had looked on without comment, helped her to rise from the floor, and silently noted the fact that her hands were very cold.

"Come now to the house and rest," he said, with quiet persuasion.

She looked a little surprised. "Surely not. I will stay here and watch. Besides, there is the hemlock;" she nodded towards the little heap of flowers and leaves by the retort. "I will distil that. The fire is ready."

"No, Debby. You're tired. Hark you, the poisons will certainly not show for half an hour, if they do then. It is probable that the _muscaria_ will retard the action of the atropine for a much longer time. Then you must have your full wits about you, for 'twill be the most interesting thing we've done. Come now, as your physician, I insist."

But though Charles Carroll's will was strong, that of Deborah Travis was stronger. He tried persuasion, command, and entreaty, finally becoming angry, and so losing the battle; for, having called her a stubborn hussy, there was nothing for it but to march off alone to the house. The girl saw him go with a sore heart, and then, doggedly determined, returned to her work, the pleasure of it gone for the first time in her life. When, after a while, Sambo strolled thoughtfully in from the fields, she greeted him with positive delight.

The little boy seated himself, Turk-fashion, beside the tripod, to watch the water just beginning to bubble in the body of the retort. It was an occupation which he dearly loved, and in the observation of which he was a privileged mortal, for Deborah allowed but few in her work-room. During the process of distillation she was regarded by Sambo as some one who had risen for the time to supernatural heights. She was quite a different person from the Miss Deb whom he knew ordinarily out-of-doors. On every occasion, however, he had been wont to talk unceasingly either to her or to himself when in her company. To-day she wondered at his silence. His interest in the action of the retort was as great as ever, but every effort to draw him into conversation failed. So, after a time, Deborah, her closest attention demanded by the approaching end of the distillation, when the purest alkaloid would come from her plant, ceased also to speak, and, indeed, almost forgot his presence. The liquid had been filtered, bottled, and set aside for its second vaporizing, when she suddenly recollected that in the morning she had promised to get something for the little negro to eat. It was sufficient cause for his silence.

"Oh, Sambo! Indeed I'm sorry! How hungry you must be! Come, I'll make Chloe give you some of our dinner to-day."

Sambo's big eyes opened wide and he slowly shook his head. "Had somf'n, Miss Debby. D' wan' no mo'."

With his words came the sound of the dinner-horn from the quarters. He turned. "Goin' home," he said, wearily, trudging out of the room; while the girl, wondering who had fed him, proceeded to restore order in her immaculate little domain. When she had finished the doctor reappeared.

"Madam Trevor despatched me," he explained. "Dinner is ready. You're tired, Debby. Come in."

"Yes, sir, at once, when this sleeve is down." She pulled at the short elbow-sleeve which she had pushed to the shoulder to be rid of its ruffles.

"How's the cat?" asked Carroll, walking over to its cage.

The creature lay upon the bed of grass blinking nonchalantly, after a luncheon of milk.

"Perfectly well, eh? Note, Deborah, that the action of the atropine is already retarded half an hour beyond its time. Most interesting, on my word!"

"When do you think it will begin?"

"That is difficult to say. By two or three o'clock at the outside. Then death will probably be rapid. Ready now? Madam is a little impatient, but she'll not show it before de Mailly. There--the horn sounds at last."

Dinner was gone through with tediously, and at three o'clock the entire family, with the guests, sat upon the portico, drowsy with heat and the effort of talking. The doctor, perceiving Deborah's growing impatience, was about to dare Madam Trevor's high displeasure by carrying her off to the still-room to watch their cat, when suddenly around the corner of the east wing dashed a negro, hysterical with fear.

"Blessed Ma'y be praised! Docto' Ca'l, come quick! Sambo's dyin'! Gib him somf'n fo' he go off, fo' Christ's sake!"

Before the last words were spoken the doctor had jumped from the porch, and the rest of the party rose anxiously.

"Sambo? Sambo dying, Joe? Surely not! I'll come at once."

"Which cabin, man? Show us the way," commanded Carroll, energetically.

Madam Trevor had run into the house to get an apron for her gown, and Deborah, seizing the opportunity, flew across the portico, leaped down on the east side, and caught up with the doctor.

"I shall come, too," she said. And Carroll's silence gave consent.

The cabin in which Sambo and his parents lived was on the northeastern corner of the quarters, and, as the doctor, with his conductor and Deborah, approached it, a group of negro women about its door hailed them with expressions of relief and praise. Not heeding the pious ejaculations, the three passed into the tiny hut, where, upon the mattress in a corner, covered with tattered blankets, lay Sambo. Beside him, her apron over her head, sat the mother, Chloe, rocking to and fro in absolute terror.

Carroll knelt at once beside the mattress and glanced sharply into the child's face. Sambo was lying deathly still, breathing heavily, his eyes wide open, his black skin dripping with sweat. The doctor felt the child's pulse, opened his mouth, and gave a sharp exclamation as he perceived the tongue to be heavily coated with a thick, grayish matter.

"Sit here, Deborah, and hold his hands. He'll not be quiet long."

Deborah took her place at the child's head and clasped the little burning hands in her own, while Carroll, in a low voice, began to question Chloe. Sambo noticed Deborah, and smiled faintly as she leaned over him. In a moment more a swift spasm of agony passed over the small features, and he uttered a guttural cry of pain. Carroll ran to his side, while the colored woman, wringing her hands, sank helplessly on the floor. The paroxysm was violent. The child's body twisted and writhed. He rolled over and over upon the bed, moaning like an animal, or shrieking in a delirium of torture. Deborah, very pale, and Carroll, silent and stern, held him so as to prevent as much exhaustion of strength as was possible. When he began to grow more quiet, Madam Trevor came in, looking angrily at her cousin, who, however, scarcely saw her.

"It is possible that you do not need me, doctor," she said, in her most offended tone.

Carroll paid small attention to her manner. "If you will send out some old linen, pepper, mustard, and salt from the house, it will be all that we can use. To be frank," he added, in a low tone, "there is little hope now."

Madam Trevor looked aghast, and her manner softened instantly. "Little hope! What do you mean? What shall we do?"

"What I ask, if you please. Linen, salt, mustard, and pepper. Chloe, you must heat some water in the kettle there." And Carroll turned about again as Madam Trevor, without another word, hurried out of the cabin on her errand.

The girl, meantime, bent over Sambo, questioning him.

"What was it, Sambo? Have you eaten anything? What have you done?" she asked, caressingly.

Sambo, panting from weakness, answered, just audibly: "Done eat nuf 'n 't all but mushrooms you picked 's mo'n wiv Mas' Frenchman. You say dey good fo' dinne'."

"My God!"

"What is it?" asked the doctor, quickly, seeing her face grow gray.

"He has eaten the _muscaria_," she whispered, tremulously.

"I know it."

"And it was my fault--my fault! Good Heavens! What shall I do?"

With a quick sob she caught the child, who suddenly sprang to her in a new spasm of pain. The muscles of his body grew rigid with contraction beneath her grasp. Sambo clutched and opened his hands wildly in the air. New sweat poured out upon his cold flesh, his eyes started from their sockets, and Chloe, catching sight of him, screamed with despair. At this moment Madam Trevor, bearing those things which the doctor had commanded, re-entered the cabin. While Carroll worked over Sambo's body, Deborah suddenly left her place, turned blindly about and ran out of the cabin through the terror-stricken group at the door, and across the sunny yard to the still-room. Without an instant's hesitation she flung herself against the closed door and turned its handle with her shaking fingers. Presently she found herself standing dizzily before the cage of the poisoned animal. Twice she opened and shut her eyes to make sure that her vision was not deranged. No. There was the cat making its afternoon toilet with foppish precision, stopping occasionally to regard her solemnly with its bright green eyes.

Deborah was not long there. When she was sure her hope had been realized, she turned to the cupboard, snatched a bottle from its shelf, and ran at full speed out of the room and back towards the cabin. Upon the bed Sambo's body lay now outstretched, quiet save for an occasional little quiver of the muscles, and over it Madam Trevor, with grave tenderness, and Dr. Carroll, with hopeless skill, worked. Some hot gin had been forced down the child's throat, and across him were spread linen cloths soaked in water so near to boiling that they had scalded Chloe's hands; yet Sambo paid no attention either to them or to the mixture with which they were rubbing his limbs. When Deborah returned, Carroll left off chafing the little black arms and went to her where she stood by the door.

"What to do, Debby?" he whispered, helplessly.

"There's no hope?" she asked.

Carroll shook his head. "He is passing into the coma now. That is the end."

"You will let me try something?" she asked, quickly.

"Anything in the world. Nothing can harm him now."

"Where is a cup?"

"What have you?" he cried.

Madam Trevor started and looked around. Deborah put a tremulous finger to her lips, and shook her head. The doctor instantly understood, and let her go to the shelf in a corner, where, her back being to the others, she poured half the contents of her bottle into a tin cup. With this, slowly and resolutely, she approached the bed. Chloe stepped suddenly in her way:

"What yo' got?" she asked, in no friendly tone.

"Medicine for Sambo," was the steady reply.

"Of your own making, Deborah?" came Madam Trevor's sharp voice.

"Yes, yes. You are wasting precious time. Chloe--let me pass."

"No, Miss Deb'. You ain' goin' give Sambo nuf'n from still-house."

"Dr. Carroll!" There was a desperate appeal in her tone, and the man came instantly to her aid.

"Listen, Chloe! Unless your child in some way gets the help that I cannot give, he must die. He is poisoned, as I supposed, fatally. Miss Deborah believes that she can save his life. You cannot let him die without the attempt."

The colored woman paid no attention to the words, and still menacingly barred the way. A new idea was taking possession of her: that Deborah had poisoned the boy. Carroll, who was watching her narrowly, saw the sudden squaring of her shoulders, darted quickly in front of her and seized her about the body just as she had been about to fling herself upon the girl. Deborah, keyed to the highest pitch, watched her opportunity, slipped like a cat around to the bedside, raised Sambo's head upon her arm, and, to Madam Trevor's terror, pressed her fingers on the child's throat, and forced him to swallow the contents of the cup. At once he was seized with a violent coughing fit. Deborah lifted him upright at once, pressed her hands upon his temples and the back of his neck, and kept him from that retching which would have been fatal to her experiment.

Meantime Carroll had forced Chloe, screaming and struggling, from the cabin, and, after calling Thompson to keep order in the group outside, he closed and barred the door. Madam Trevor then rose from her place.

"Charles Carroll, you are permitting my ward to murder this child. I cannot remain here as witness to such a deed. When you will accept the assistance that I have to give, and will order this girl away, you may send word to the house."

And, with these words, Antoinette Trevor rose in strong anger, shook out her flounces, unfastened the door for herself, and, without more ado, left the cabin and the dying child alone to the care of the doctor and his mad protégée.

Carroll witnessed the departure without a word, and it was with an expression rather of relief than chagrin that he turned to Deborah.

"What did you give him?" he asked, quietly.

"Atropine. Four times more than enough to kill him."*

* Atropine is to-day considered the best antidote for cases of poisoning by the _amanita muscaria_ or the _amanita phalloides_. At the period of the story (1744) its efficacy was unknown.

"The cat--"

"Lives."

"Good God, Deborah! We must save him now!"

Deborah set her teeth. "We--I will save him," she said, with slow precision. "Or else--they will bury me with him."

Madam Trevor, upon her return to the house, said not a word of the scene in the cabin. It was a relief to her to find that de Mailly had tactfully departed and that the family was alone. Lucy and Virginia beset her with questions, for the child was a pet with them all. It was something of a shock, then, when their mother turned upon them, saying sharply: "Sambo will die," and forthwith retired to her own room. The girls looked at each other for a long moment in amazement, and then Lucy cried quickly:

"Let us go to see him at once."

Virginia would have assented, but her brother shook his head.

"Deborah and the doctor both are there. If you are needed, you will be sent for. Otherwise I forbid you to go."

And so the Trevor family lived dismally through the afternoon, waiting for the supper-hour, when the watchers would appear. But Adam blew the horn in vain. No word came from the cabin, and Madam Trevor, burning with curiosity and anxiety, flatly refused to send any one to ask news of the child.

The sun set, and dusk deepened to evening. Candles were lighted in the sitting-room, but Vincent alone made any pretence of reading. The three women moved about restlessly, the girls not daring, and their mother unwilling to speak on the subject which occupied all their thoughts. The silence had become unbearable, and Vincent at last started to put away his book, with a resolve to go to the quarters, when the door flew open and Dr. Carroll strode into the room, carrying Deborah's body in his arms. He laid her down upon the brocaded sofa, while the girls rushed to her side.

"She fainted as we came across the yard," explained the doctor, wearily.

"The child is dead, then?"

"Sambo will live. The girl saved his life. She is a genius, madam; and--for God's sake, get me a glass of wine!"