As they stumbled forward through the thick obscurity he continued his personal revelations, the present enterprise having roused whatever there was of sentiment slumbering in his soul. At last they came out on a wide bayou; a white mist hung above it, and on the low shore leaf and branch were dripping with the night dews. Keeping close to the water's edge Slosson led the way to a point where a skiff was drawn up on the bank. “Step in, ma'am,” he said, when he had launched it. “I will go no farther!” said Betty in desperation. She felt an overmastering fear, the full horror of the unknown lay hold of her, and she gave a piercing cry for help. Slosson swung about on his heel and seized her. For a moment she struggled to escape, but the man's big hands pinioned her. “No more of that!” he warned, then he recovered himself and laughed. “You could yell till you was black in the face, ma'am, and there'd be no one to hear you.” “Where are you taking me?” and Betty's voice faltered between the sudden sobs that choked her. “Just across to George Hicks's.” “For what purpose?” “You'll know in plenty of time.” And Slosson leered at her through the darkness. “Hannibal is to go with me?” asked Betty tremulously. “Sure!” agreed Slosson affably. “Your nigger, too--quite a party.” Betty stepped into the skiff. She felt her hopes quicken--she was thinking of Bess; whatever the girl's motives, she had wished her to escape. She would wish it now more than ever since the very thing she had striven to prevent had happened. Slosson seated himself and took up the oars, Bunker followed with Hannibal and they pushed off. No word was spoken until they disembarked on the opposite shore, when Slosson addressed Bunker. “I reckon I can manage that young rip-staver, you go back after Sherrod and the nigger,” he said. He conducted his captives up the bank and they entered a clearing. Looking across this Betty saw where a cabin window framed a single square of light. They advanced toward this and presently the dark outline of the cabin itself became distinguishable. A moment later Slosson paused, a door yielded to his hand, and Betty and the boy were thrust into the room where Murrell had held his conference with Fentress and Ware. The two women were now its only occupants and the mother, gross and shapeless, turned an expressionless face on the intruders; but the daughter shrank into the shadow, her burning glance fixed on Betty. “Here's yo' guests, old lady!” said Mr. Slosson. Mrs. Hicks rose from the three-legged stool on which she was sitting. “Hand me the candle, Bess,” she ordered.