“Save me, save me,” wailed the miserable creature, rushing forward, and flinging himself on his knees with clasped hands at the feet of Muriel.
“Up, up,” she cried, “quick, quick, and stay here.”
She dragged him up on his feet as she spoke, and hurrying him into the inner room, closed the door upon him, and flew with the courage of an angel to the side of Harrington, just as the dense and raving mob of negroes poured headlong into the passage-way.
He stood on the threshold, resolute and tranquil, knowing well that his own life was in imminent danger at that moment, as well as the slaveholder’s. Muriel stood by him, as calm and brave in that terrible crisis as he. Arrested in their fury by these strong, still presences, the sullen-browed and heavy-lipped grotesque throng hung lowering and swaying for the rush of the next instant. In their front stood the tall and muscular form of Elkanah Brown, with his knife in his hand.
“Mr. Brown,” said Harrington, with magnetic dignity, “come here.”
The stalwart negro stepped forward, with a face of fearful fierceness, amidst a deep hush in front, while shouts and murmurs still rose behind.
“Mr. Brown,” said Harrington, in the same tone, “I want to speak with you a moment in this room, and I want you to ask our friends to remain where they are till you come out to them.”
The negro hesitated for a moment, fiercely glaring at Harrington. Then, his glance falling on the sweet and solemn face of Muriel, grew gentler; and slowly turning, with a limber-hipped, insouciant movement, he waved his hand to his fellows.
“Just wait here till I come out,” he said with a commanding air; then turning again, he entered the room, amidst a wild swarming of voices, and Harrington, closing the door, bolted it and faced him.
“Is William Roux dead?” asked Brown, glancing gloomily at the prostrate body.