"Her mother died here. She comes to pay her first visit to the lonely grave of Francilia, the quadroon."
"Ah! I understand. Poor girl, poor girl!"
"I left her with the mulatto, Toby, who was to conduct her to the spot. At ten o'clock she will return to the landing-place on the river, where the boat will wait for us."
"Enough," said Mortimer, in a voice broken by emotion, "whatever happens I will be there to protect her."
At this moment a loud shout resounded through the stillness of the forest scene.
It was the signal.
"Take your weapon, Gilbert," said Mortimer, placing the carbine in Margrave's hand. "Augustus Horton is my cousin—you are my friend. I dare not pray for the safety of either, at the cost of the other's death. The moonlit heavens are shining down upon us, and the eye of Providence watches the struggle. Farewell!"
They clasped each other's hands once more in silence. Then Gilbert Margrave dashed forward through the brushwood, and disappeared in the dell below.
Mortimer Percy paced up and down the dewy turf, listening for the report of their guns.
"What is this?" he exclaimed as he laid his hand upon his beating heart. "For which of these two men do I tremble? This, then, is America, of whose freedom her citizens so proudly boast! Here are two men met together to shed each other's blood, because one of them has dared to uphold the cause of a daughter of the despised race. Hark!"