say. You knew her well--the soft one; the tender
one, who was always so pliable, so unselfish, so easily led,--she _would
not_ yield! They led her to the place of execution; they tied her to a
stake and kindled the fire about her beautiful limbs,--my little child,
Raniva! I saw the skin upon her flesh blacken and crack and blaze. But
she sang! sang loud and clear! I would have rushed into the fire to her
but they held me back--four strong men held me! When she was consumed
they led me away to the torture--but I burst from them--escaped--I know
not how--I care not! for my little one is lost!--lost!--"

"Nay, Razafil--not lost!" said Ravonino, in a quiet but firm tone, for
he saw the gleam increasing in the poor father's eyes. "Did you not say
just now that she is singing with joy unspeakable the praises of His
name?"

The words were fitly spoken. The father's agonised soul was quieted,
but as quietness partly returned to him, a new expression appeared on
his countenance.

"Listen," he said, still holding the guide's wrist in his powerful
grasp. "I go to my poor wife. She is safe in the cave with
Reni-Mamba--"

"Not in the cave you think of," interrupted the guide, explaining the
change of abode which had been recently made by the Christian fugitives.

"No matter," returned the bard, "I know all the caves, and can find the
one she has gone to. But now I must warn you--warn all of you who are
Christians," he added, with emphasis, looking round upon the natives,
"if there be any such among you--that Queen Ranavalona has got one of
her bad fits again. She has ordered that no one is to sing or pray to
Jesus, or to read the Word of God, on pain of imprisonment, death, or
being sold into slavery. Many have been sold already, and some have
died. Things would have been even worse, for the English missionary has
left Antananarivo, but Prince Rakota remains our friend. Still, he
cannot save every one. He could not save my Raniva! Now," he added,
turning to the guide abruptly, as if anxious to keep his mind from
dwelling on his terrible bereavement, "you must go to Antananarivo with
all haste if you would save Rafaravavy, for she is in great danger."

The bard had touched a cord in Ravonino's breast which vibrated
sensitively.

"She has not confessed? She is not in prison?" he asked, quickly, with
emotion which was too powerful to be entirely suppressed.

"As to confessing," returned Razafil, "there is no