“Look at him!” he cried. “Helpless, miserable, merciless wretch, I cast him on your mercy! Show him what it is to be a man. Teach him the lesson that he never learned—how the brave can spare; and let him crawl home with the shame upon him that he owes his life to the compassion of the people he would destroy!”
The words swept from Harrington’s lips like a storm. An awful moment of silence succeeded, disturbed only by the roaring clamor of voices that surged around the dwelling. In that moment, the slaveholder, believing that his hour had come, stood crouching and ahunch, stupefied with terror, his hands clasped, his dead eyes staring on the visage of the negro, his hair bedrenched and limp around his livid, sweat-bedabbled face, his dark moustache hanging dank above his fallen jaw, his breath coming and going in short, thick gasps, and his whole frame shaken like an aspen. Muriel, calm, but still and pallid as a statue, stood gazing on him with a white sparkle in her ashen eyes. The negro, dilated to his full height, like a man in the presence of a wild beast, glared upon him for an instant with a look of frightful ferocity, and then his expression changing to contemptuous pity, he burst into a short, scornful guffaw.
“You damned soul-driving tyrant,” he bellowed at him, “I could split your heart with this knife if you wasn’t too mis’ably mean for me to look at.”
And with this address, and another short, scornful guffaw, he turned away, snorting with contempt, and sheathed his bowie-knife under his waistcoat.
Muriel started from her stillness, and with something of her usual frank and cordial air, advanced and held out her hand to him. The negro, suddenly disturbed, as though just conscious of her presence, took the offered hand, half ashamedly, and bowed low.
“Excuse my language, Miss Eastman,” he said, “but I kind o’ forgot you were in here. Now, Mr. Harrington,” he said, hurriedly turning from her with a look of trouble, “I don’t know how we’ll get this curse out of here. I’m afeard the folks’ll fly at him when they see him. The women folks’ll be the worst to manage. Hold on there!” he shouted, going to the door, which was straining with the outside pressure, and resounding with kicks and blows, “I’ll be out in a minute. The women folks, you see,” he resumed, “they’ll have red pepper to throw, just as like as not. It’ll be skittish business, I tell you.”
Harrington lifted Roux, who was recovering from his swoon, from the floor, carried him into the other room, laid him on the bed, and returned.
“Listen, Brown,” he said, quickly. “It’s a hard matter, but you must use all your influence to keep the people still. Unless you can persuade them to disperse, there’s only one thing to be done. You and I must take him between us, and go through the crowd.”
Lafitte seemed to catch what was going on, and abjectly slinking near Harrington, gasped out that he had a carriage waiting for him round the corner, if they could only get him to that. Harrington instantly communicated this information to Brown.
“Mr. Brown,” said Muriel, “suppose you let in twenty or thirty of the men outside for a body-guard. Then we can take him in the centre. How will that do?”