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 The great head seemed to hang from the massive shoulders by the thick-thewed neck. He did not answer. Virginia examined him closely; her wonder gave way to pity. She saw on his bare limbs new wounds, some healed, some not. Where the skin was not actually rent it was a mass of scratches; also he was emaciated; there was no rotundity to the bony prominences; these stood out broad and square and angular, and where the great muscles crossed or ran parallel, they left deep sulci between; the muscles themselves stood out clear and sharp, distinct in outline even as they hung at rest.

A wave of compassion rushed over Virginia. Leyden had told her that Dessalines had failed in his purpose; she had never dreamed that his failure could come to this. She thought of him as she had seen him last, rich, honored, a celebrity, enjoying the best which the world had to give; proud, confident, ambitious; assured of a triumph, a crown. Her eyes dimmed as they rested upon him. Her warm heart poured out a tide of pity.

Still Dessalines did not look up; the dog ceased its snarling and slunk away. Tears fell from the negro's face, splashed upon the huge bare feet; his sobs shook his wasted frame, but still he did not speak.

"Dessalines," said Virginia softly, "my poor friend"

The sobs ceased, the deep chest filled, the great voice rumbled up. He slowly raised his head and the tears welled into the girl's eyes at the utter hopelessness of the black face.

"I have lost my soul!" said Dessalines. The crushing weight of eternal doom rested upon the honest, negro features. 274