“Well, Massa Raleigh,—­’pears to me I do remember suthin’,—­I do b’lieve—­yes, dis’s jist how ’twas.  Spect I might as well make a crean breast ob it.  I’s alwes had it hangin’ roun’ my conscious; do’no’ but I’s done grad to git rid ob it.  Alwes spected massa ’d be ‘xcusin’ Cap o’ turnin’ tief.”

“That is the last accusation I should make against you, Capua.”

“But dar I stan’s convicted.”

“Out with it, Capua!” said Mr. Laudersdale, laughing.

“Lord!  Massa Lausdel! how you do scare a chile!  Didn’ know mass’r was dar.  See, Mass Roger, dis’s jist how ’twas.  Spec you mind dat time when all dese yer folks lib’d acrost de lake dat summer, an’ massa was possessed to ‘most lib dar too?  Well, one day, massa mind Ol’ Cap’s runnin’ acrost in de rain an’ in great state ob excitement to tell him his house done burnt up?”

“Yes.  What then?”

“Dat day, massa, de letters had come from Massa Reuben out in Indy, an’ massa’s pipe kinder ’tracted Cap’s ‘tention, an’ so he jist set down in massa’s chair an’ took a smoke.  Bimeby Cap thought,—­’Ef massa come an’ ketch him!’—­an’ put down de pipe an’ went to work, and bimeby I smelt mighty queer smell, massa, ‘bout de house, made him tink Ol’ Nick was come hissef for Ol’ Cap, an’ I come back into dis yer room an’ Massa Reuben’s letters from Indy was jist most done burnt up, he cotched ’em in dese yer ol’ brack han’s, Mass Roger, an’ jist whipt ’em up in dat high croset.”

And having arrived at this confusion in his personal pronouns, Capua mounted nimbly on pieces of furniture, thrust his pocket-knife through a crack of the wainscot, opened the door of a small unseen closet, and, after groping about and inserting his head as Van Amburgh did in the lion’s mouth, scrambled down again with his hand full of charred and blackened papers, talking glibly all the while.

“Ef massa’d jist listen to reason,” he said, “‘stead o’ flyin’ into one ob his tantrums, I might sprain de matter.  You see, I knew Mass Roger’d feel so oncomforble and remorseful to find his ol’ uncle’s letters done ’stroyed, an ‘twas all by axerden, an’ couldn’ help it noways, massa, an’ been done sorry eber since, an’ wished dar warn’t no letters dis side de Atlantic nor torrer, ebery day I woke.”

After which plea, Capua awaited his sentence.

“That will do,—­it’s over now, old boy,” said Mr. Raleigh, with his usual smile.

“Now, massa, you a’n’t gwine”——­

“No, Capua, I’m going to do nothing but look at the papers.”

“But massa’s”——­

“You need not be troubled,—­I said, I was not.”

“But, massa,—­s’pose I deserve a thrashing?”

“There’s no danger of your getting it, you blameless Ethiop!”

Upon which pacific assurance, Capua departed.

The two gentlemen now proceeded to the examination of these fragments.  Of the letters nothing whatever was to be made.  From one of them dropped a little yellow folded paper that fell apart in its creases.  Put together, it formed a sufficiently legible document, and they read the undoubted marriage-certificate of Susanne Le Blanc and Reuben Raleigh.