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We now return to our messenger. Foresta sees that she is not going to be able to appear before her father free from signs of sorrow, and she decides on another course. Picking up a stone she rubbed it violently on the back of her hand, tearing the skin and causing blood to flow. She now hurried to the spot where her father sat, and said, "Papa, mama wants you!"
Thus, though innocent, he decided that it was best for him to leave Almaville and remain in hiding for a time at least. Foresta asserted her determination to go with him it mattered not where he went. Bud gave to Foresta the privilege of choosing their exile. For a number of years the condition of the Negroes in the cotton states farther South had been weighing heavily on her mind.
It was evident to Ensal that further progress in her favor was largely contingent upon his answer, and the marriage of Frederick Douglass to a white woman became an exceedingly live question with him. He accompanied Tiara and Foresta home and the moonlight and starlight never before appeared so glorious to him or nature so benign. After all the heart makes its world. Friendly Enemies.
"Bud had a brother Dave that looked just like him," said Foresta. "Almost, I mean," she added, remembering that nobody was to be put on a level with Bud. "Poor Dave is dead now," she said in sad tones, looking the young woman fully in the face as if making a further study of her. Satisfied with the result of the inspection, Foresta now said in a confidential tone: "Dave died in the penitentiary.
If a colored girl is insulted by a white man and a colored man resents it, the colored man is lynched." Mrs. Crump let a tear drop and it fell on Foresta's cheek. Foresta felt the tear and raised herself and said. "Now, you bad mama, you! What's the use crying? I'll take care of myself," a fierce gleam coming into her pretty eyes.
At her arrival at Saint Hilaire, the Marquis de Foresta, Prefect of La Vendec, said to her: "Madame does not like phrases; La Vendee does not make them; it has but one sentiment and one cry to express it: Long live the King! Long live Madame! Forever live the Bourbons!" The peasants never wearied of admiring her intrepidity.
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