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 but not comprehend. In this pause Giles recovered himself.

"Dessalines!" he cried in a choked voice. "Dessalines!" He stepped forward throwing out both arms.

"I tell you that this man is not guilty of any crime, more than any poor brute might be if he were hounded and hunted and driven mad from fear and hunger and hurts! He is a Haytian … an exile … an educated man. When he was driven from Hayti he came here; we knew him in England. Let me tell you how he saved the lives of Miss Moultrie and myself." With eager, rapid words he poured out the story of the rescue from the river. "He is guilty of no crime!" cried Giles.

"Yes, I am guilty." The heavy tones fell from above, sad, hopeless, half-muffled. "I am guilty, Giles."

The rich voice quavered, whimpered. "I am very guilty, Giles."

"He is mad," said Giles to Virginia. "I must keep him quiet! Make him stop! he will say something. There, he is talking again!"

The sobbing whimper of a child quavered down from above. "I shall confess … and then you may shoot me. I did not mean to kill the man. …"

Giles sprang inside the door, and, followed by Virginia, he flew to the broad stairway, his only thought to reach Dessalines, to silence his self-incriminating words.

At the foot of the stairs they heard the rumble of the deep voice; halfway up the crash of a volley smote upon their ears.

Giles clutched Virginia's wrist. "Go back!" he cried. "Back to your room. Stay there until I come for you!" 309