I wandered in the plantation for hours, brooding, thinking, despairing. No pen can describe what I felt, no words can convey to the mind the thoughts and pains of my mind and heart. Never did I love Miss Forrest so much, never was Voltaire's villainy so real; and yet I was to lose her, and that man--a fiend in human form--was to wed her. I could do nothing. He had paralyzed my energies. He had set a command before me which was as ghastly as hell, and yet I dared not disobey. I, a young, strong man, was a slave--a slave of the worst kind. I was the plaything, the tool of a villain. I had to do as he told me; I had to refrain from doing what he told me I was not to do. I had done I knew not what. Perchance a hangman's rope was hanging near me even now. I could not tell. And yet I dared not rise from my chains, and see whether the things I had been accused of doing were true. I went back to the house. Voltaire was gone, while the guests and family were having their lunch. I felt that I could not join them, so I went into the library. I had not been there ten minutes when Miss Forrest entered. She looked pale and worried. I suppose that I, too, must have been haggard, for she started when she saw me. She hesitated a moment, and then spoke. "The whole party are going for a ride this afternoon. They have just been making arrangements. They are going to ask you to join them. Shall you go?" she asked. "No; I shall not go," I replied. "Will you come here at three o'clock?" "Yes," I said, wondering what she meant; but I had not time to ask her, for two young men came into the room. I went to my room and tried to think, but I could not. My mind refused to work. I watched the party ride away--it was comparatively small now, for several had returned to their homes--and then I found my way to the library. I sat for a while in silence, scarcely conscious of my surroundings; and then I wondered how long Miss Forrest would be before she came, and what she would tell me. The clock on the mantelpiece began to strike three; it had not finished when she entered the room. I placed a chair for her beside my own, which she accepted without a word. For a minute neither of us spoke; then she said abruptly, "You told me you loved me when we rode out together the other day." "I did," I said, "and I do love you with all the intensity that a human heart is capable of loving; but it is hopeless now." "Why?" "You have promised to marry another man." "What do you know of this?" Both of us were very excited. We were moved to talk in an unconventional strain. "Mr. Temple told me of your interview together last night." A slight flush came to her face. "But Mr. Temple has told you the condition of the promise as well," she said. "Yes; but that condition makes me hopeless." "What!" she cried. "But no, I will not entertain such a thought. You are as innocent as I am."