As he uttered these words, he drew a knife from his belt, and was on the point of sheathing it in her heart, when his arm was seized, and a voice full of agony vibrated in his ear—
“Spare her!—oh! spare her. Take my life instead.”
“Nelatu!”
“Yes, Nelatu; your cousin, your slave, if you will—only spare her life!”
“You forget her name.”
“No, no; I know it but too well.”
“You forget that her father has been the accursed cause of all this misery?”
“No; I remember that too.”
“Then you are insane thus to beg for her life. She must die!”
“I am not insane. Oh! Wacora, on my knees I implore you to spare her!”