land, it had not of late years been profitable; in spite of which Mr. Delamere, with the conservatism of his age and caste, had never been able to make up his mind to part with any considerable portion of it.  His grandson, he imagined, could make the estate pay and yet preserve it in its integrity.  Here, in pleasant weather, surrounded by the scenes which he loved, old Mr. Delamere spent much of the time during his declining years.

Dr. Miller had once passed a day at Belleview, upon Mr. Delamere’s invitation.  For this old-fashioned gentleman, whose ideals not even slavery had been able to spoil, regarded himself as a trustee for the great public, which ought, in his opinion, to take as much pride as he in the contemplation of this historic landmark.  In earlier years Mr. Delamere had been a practicing lawyer, and had numbered Miller’s father among his clients.  He had always been regarded as friendly to the colored people, and, until age and ill health had driven him from active life, had taken a lively interest in their advancement since the abolition of slavery.  Upon the public opening of Miller’s new hospital, he had made an effort to be present, and had made a little speech of approval and encouragement which had manifested his kindliness and given Miller much pleasure.

It was with the consciousness, therefore, that he was approaching a friend, as well as Sandy’s master, that Miller’s mind was chiefly occupied as his tired horse, scenting the end of his efforts, bore him with a final burst of speed along the last few rods of the journey; for the urgency of Miller’s errand, involving as it did the issues of life and death, did not permit him to enjoy the charm of mossy oak or forest reaches, or even to appreciate the noble front of Belleview House when it at last loomed up before him.

“Well, William,” said Mr. Delamere, as he gave his hand to Miller from the armchair in which he was seated under the broad and stately portico, “I didn’t expect to see you out here.  You’ll excuse my not rising,—­I’m none too firm on my legs.  Did you see anything of my man Sandy back there on the road?  He ought to have been here by nine o’clock, and it’s now one.  Sandy is punctuality itself, and I don’t know how to account for his delay.”

Clearly there need be no time wasted in preliminaries.  Mr. Delamere had gone directly to the subject in hand.

“He will not be here to-day, sir,” replied Miller.  “I have come to you on his account.”

In a few words Miller stated the situation.

“Preposterous!” exclaimed the old gentleman, with more vigor than Miller had supposed him to possess.  “Sandy is absolutely incapable of such a crime as robbery, to say nothing of murder; and as for the rest, that is absurd upon the face of it!  And so the poor old woman is dead!  Well, well, well! she could not have lived much longer anyway; but Sandy did not kill her,—­it’s simply impossible!  Why, I raised that boy!  He was born on my place.  I’d as soon believe such a thing of my own grandson as of Sandy!  No negro raised by a Delamere would ever commit such a crime.  I really believe, William, that Sandy has the family honor of the Delameres quite as much at heart as I have.  Just tell them I say Sandy is innocent, and it will be all right.”