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 many times before, each time amended a trifle, but always couched in terms of flowing eloquence. He doubted that it was entirely original; less that than gathered here and there; pieced, parceled, but always rhetorical. He looked up with a quizzical smile.

"Long live King Dessalines!" he murmured. Virginia, watching the Haytian, saw a swift flash cross the mobile face; a smile full of good humor swept it away.

"Then you shall be British Minister, Giles. Ah, but you would love Hayti reconstructed!" He turned the conversation to a different topic, still monopolizing the bulk of it. Virginia, listening closely, was not long in discovering that she was held less by what he said than his manner of saying it. Afterwards she was surprised at the paucity of ideas transmitted by the man; she could not rid her ears of the vibration of the low, resonant voice, neither could she banish his image from her eyes.

Dessalines' departure was nearly attended by an accident. He was about to mount when one of the grooms stepped forward to take the horse's head; before the man discovered his danger, back went the stallion's ears, the lips were drawn upward, and with a snarl like a dog he had snapped at the man, caught him by the loose shoulder of his coat, thrown him down, and was about to spring upon him when Dessalines' great arm shot out, the thick black fingers closed like a vise upon the lower jaw of the animal; up flew the heavy crop and four blows which seemed enough to splinter the skull fell upon the glossy head. Just for a second Virginia caught a glimpse of the black face; the thick lips were curled up from the white teeth, the flat nose was flatter, with deep lines between it and the cheeks, the forehead wrinkled until the 63