[Illustration: “FACED THE GANG OF MASKED MEN.”] Victor turned his deep, pitiful eyes on the imbruted forms before him, some black and some white, but all covered with the blackness of ignorance, and superstition, and causeless anger, and brutality— And he sez to them, “My friends and brothers, I have only wanted to do you good. Heaven is my witness I have only sought out a better way for you. And I have been willing to spend my life and strength to help you. This country is no place for us.” “It wuz good nuff for our faders and muders, and, ’fore Gawd, it is good nuff for us,” shouted out some one in the crowd. “I have wanted to help you all—to help myself to a better way of living. The evils we have about us are not of our own making nor of this generation—they are old and heavy with sorrow and iniquity. This land is burdened, and cries out under this load of woe, and perplexity, and sin. I have tried the old way—we all have—we have been burdened more than we could bear in the old paths. I have only sought to lead my people out into a safer, broader place, where we could be free from some of the worst evils that beset us here, and where there is a chance for us to have a home and a country of our own.” “Curse you! shet up your jaw!” sung out one burly ruffian, in the thick tones of semi-intoxication. For Col. Seybert had not failed to prime up their courage with bad whiskey. “We have heard enough of your yawp! Will you give up your plans or not?” “Never!” said Victor. “I will never give up this hope, this work while I live.” “Then you may die, curse you!” said one voice. And another voice rose up in venomous, brutal tones: “You have preached your damned sermons about patience, and forgiveness, and all that bosh, and you have been all the time a carryin’ on your underhanded stealin’, and featherin’ your own nest out of the hard-earned wages of the black men. And they say,” went on this voice, which wuz evidently the voice of a white man, “they say that you are a goin’ to sell the hull crew you take over for slaves and line your own pockets with the blood-money of your brothers—you traitor you!” Victor raised his arms mutely to the heavens as if to plead aginst the injustice of men. And as his clasped hands wuz raised, a bullet struck that noble heart, and he fell, breathin’ out that old prayer: “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.” [Illustration: “WHEN THE MOON HAD RISEN.”] CHAPTER XVIII. WHEN the moon had risen a little higher and its direct rays fell down through the glossy leaves onto that white, kingly face, another shadow fell on the green, blossomin’ sward, and a pale face looked through the branches, and Genieve stood there by the dead form of the man she worshipped. It wuz all over. She could do nothin’—wimmen seldom can in tragedys arisin’ from grave political difficulties.