“I hab my orders fum—­”

“Silence!” thundered Whately.  “Obey, or you’ll go back at the point of the sabre.”

Uncle Lusthah and his companions still hesitated, for they saw Miss Lou running toward them.  She had lingered to talk with Aun’ Jinkey and was returning when she heard Perkins’ high, harsh words.  The overseer was in a rage, and limped hastily forward with uplifted cane, when he was suddenly confronted by the hot face and flashing eyes of Miss Lou.

“Don’t you dare strike Uncle Lusthah,” she said sternly.

Her appearance and attitude evoked all the pent-up hate and passion in the man’s nature and he shouted, “By the ’tarnal, I will strike ’im.  I’ve got my orders en I’ll find out yere en now whether a traitor girl or a Southern officer rules this place.”

Before the blow could descend she sprang forward, seized his wrist and stayed his hand.

“Wretch! murderer! coward!” she cried.

“Oh, come, Cousin Lou, this won’t do at all,” began Whately, hastening up.

An ominous rush and trampling of feet was heard and an instant later the negroes were seen running toward them from the quarters and all points at which the sounds of the altercation reached them.

“Turn out the guard,” shouted Whately.  “Rally the men here with carbines and ball-cartridges.”  He whirled Perkins aside, saying, “Get out of the way, you fool.”  Then he drew his sabre and thundered to the negroes, “Back, for your lives!”

They hesitated and drew together.  Miss Lou went directly toward them and implored, “Go back.  Go back.  Do what I ask and perhaps I can help you.  If you don’t, no one can or will help you.  See, the soldiers are coming.”

“We’ll ’bey you, young mistis,” said Uncle Lusthah, “but we uns lak ter hab ’splained des what we got ter ’spect.  We kyant die but oncet, en ef we kyant eben bury de sogers dat die fer us—­”

“Silence!” shouted Whately.  “Forward here, my men.  Form line!  Advance!  Shoot the first one that resists.”  He then dashed forward, sought to encircle his cousin with his arm and draw her out of the way.

She eluded him and turned swiftly toward the advancing line of men, crying, “Stop, if there is a drop of Southern blood in your veins.”  They halted and stared at her.  She resumed, “You will have to walk over me before you touch these poor creatures.  Uncle” (for Mr. Baron now stood aghast on the scene), “as you are a man, come here with me and speak, explain to your people.  That is all they ask.  They have been told that they were free, and now the oldest and best among them, who was doing my bidding, almost suffered brutal violence from a man not fit to live.  Where is the justice, right, or sense in such a course?  Tell your people what you wish, what you expect, and that they will be treated kindly in obeying you.”