Chapter XIII

The night passed, and the troublous morning broke, And Ruth was sold away from him she loved.

The dark day died, and when the moon arose, The foremost torch in day's long funeral train, Karagwe went down toward the river's brink, Thinking of what had been. He turned and saw His enemy walk calmly up the road. Quickly behind him came another form; And in a jeweled hand, half raised to strike, A poniard glistened. Then the negro rose, And caught the weapon from the assassin's grasp, And stood before the planter, Dalton Earl! "Forgive," he said, "Forgiveness is a slave; She has no pride, she never does an ill; For she is meekly great, and nobly good, And patient, though the lash of anger smites."

Rebuked, the master stood before the slave, And Richard Wain passed on, nor knew his life Was saved by one that he had that day wronged. Thus Dalton Earl: "I thank you for this act, Thwarting a bad intent. Yet I had cause To take the sullied life of Richard Wain. He drugged the wine he gave me at his house, And knowing that I had with me the deed And title of my lands, begged me to play, And while I played, stake all upon a card. He won, and I have hated from that hour."