As his eyes fell upon the beautiful white lady he prostrated himself upon the ground, his arms outstretched before him.

He would not move till she was gone.

Then he arose like a hermit who has seen a vision.

"_Bras-Coupe n' pas oule oir zombis_ (Bras-Coupe dares not look upon a spirit)." From that hour he worshipped.

He saw her often; every time, after one glance at her countenance, he would prostrate his gigantic length with his face in the dust.
The third person who did not fear him was--Agricola?
Nay, it was the Spaniard--a man whose capability to fear anything in nature or beyond had never been discovered.
Long before the end of his probation Bras-Coupe would have slipped the entanglements of bondage, though as yet he felt them only as one feels a spider's web across the face, had not the master, according to a little affectation of the times, promoted him to be his game-keeper.