Stung to madness and despair by the crushing agonies of a life, Cassy had often resolved in her soul an hour of retribution, when her hand should avenge on her oppressor all the injustice and cruelty to which she had been witness, or which she had in her own person suffered.

One night, after all in Tom’s cabin were sunk in sleep, he was suddenly aroused by seeing her face at the hole between the logs, that served for a window.  She made a silent gesture for him to come out.

Tom came out the door.  It was between one and two o’clock at night,—­broad, calm, still moonlight.  Tom remarked, as the light of the moon fell upon Cassy’s large, black eyes, that there was a wild and peculiar glare in them, unlike their wonted fixed despair.

“Come here, Father Tom,” she said, laying her small hand on his wrist, and drawing him forward with a force as if the hand were of steel; “come here,—­I’ve news for you.”

“What, Misse Cassy?” said Tom, anxiously.

“Tom, wouldn’t you like your liberty?”

“I shall have it, Misse, in God’s time,” said Tom.  “Ay, but you may have it tonight,” said Cassy, with a flash of sudden energy.  “Come on.”

Tom hesitated.

“Come!” said she, in a whisper, fixing her black eyes on him.  “Come along!  He’s asleep—­sound.  I put enough into his brandy to keep him so.  I wish I’d had more,—­I shouldn’t have wanted you.  But come, the back door is unlocked; there’s an axe there, I put it there,—­his room door is open; I’ll show you the way.  I’d a done it myself, only my arms are so weak.  Come along!”

“Not for ten thousand worlds, Misse!” said Tom, firmly, stopping and holding her back, as she was pressing forward.

“But think of all these poor creatures,” said Cassy.  “We might set them all free, and go somewhere in the swamps, and find an island, and live by ourselves; I’ve heard of its being done.  Any life is better than this.”

“No!” said Tom, firmly.  “No! good never comes of wickedness.  I’d sooner chop my right hand off!”

“Then I shall do it,” said Cassy, turning.

“O, Misse Cassy!” said Tom, throwing himself before her, “for the dear Lord’s sake that died for ye, don’t sell your precious soul to the devil, that way!  Nothing but evil will come of it.  The Lord hasn’t called us to wrath.  We must suffer, and wait his time.”

“Wait!” said Cassy.  “Haven’t I waited?—­waited till my head is dizzy and my heart sick?  What has he made me suffer?  What has he made hundreds of poor creatures suffer?  Isn’t he wringing the life-blood out of you?  I’m called on; they call me!  His time’s come, and I’ll have his heart’s blood!”

“No, no, no!” said Tom, holding her small hands, which were clenched with spasmodic violence.  “No, ye poor, lost soul, that ye mustn’t do.  The dear, blessed Lord never shed no blood but his own, and that he poured out for us when we was enemies.  Lord, help us to follow his steps, and love our enemies.”