This day Kombenyamango, though receiving me with sufficient respect, was nonchalant. He did not lie. He promptly, in answer to my question, said, "Yes, I have a prisoner here, and I intend to put her to death." "Why?" "Because she has killed my mother!" I told him I did not believe his mother had died by unnatural means, and I preached to him the usual sermon on the Sixth Commandment. I was at that time young in my knowledge of native thought and fetich belief. I can see now that to every sentence of my address he could have said Amen, in his believing, as he did, that his mother had been murdered, and that this slave woman had broken the Sixth Commandment. But, after listening awhile, he became impatient, and said, "Look here! in your country, when a person kills your mother, don't you tie a rope about his neck and hang him up, and don't you say you are doing right in so doing?" "Yes." "Well, that's just what I am going to do to this woman, and I am right." "Yes, you would be right if she has killed your mother; but she has not. The bewitching with which you charge her is foolish." (As to the folly, I know now that that was a matter of opinion between him and me; and he had reason for his opinion.) He replied, "But she has confessed that she is guilty." "Quite possibly; but still a lie on her part, for she would say anything to obtain temporary relief from your torture." "But ask her yourself." "No use to do so in your presence; she is afraid of you, and she will not dare to speak to me or contradict you." "Well, then, I will bring her; and you take her off there among the plantains by yourself, and see what she will say." This sounded fair; but even so, I had my doubts, for she did not know me. Perhaps they would lie to her, and tell her I was confederate with her master, and would order her not to alter her confession. And she, in her dazed condition, was really not responsible for anything she might say. She was brought from a hut. She was in chains, and yet with her limbs free to walk. There was no possibility of her escape; nor of my being able to abduct her, had I been unwise enough to attempt it. I led her out of Kombenyamango's hearing, but still plainly in his sight, and kindly said to her, "Did you do this?" To my amazement, she said, "Yes." "But what did you do? If you say you killed her, how did you do it?" She described minutely how, being in attendance on the old woman, she was often vexed at her petulance, and had been beaten by her for small neglects; how, in her anger, she had desired her mistress's death; had collected crumbs of her food, strands of her hair, and shreds of her clothing; how she had mixed these with other substances, and had sung enchantments with drum and dance, aided by others; had tied all these things together on a stick which she had secretly buried at the threshold of the old woman's door, desiring and expecting that she should thereby die. By an unfortunate coincidence the old woman had died a month