“And is it not?” asked Rivers.

“No.  I do not talk about Peter Lamb to my wife, because she thinks my helping him so often has done the man more harm than good.  It was not Grey alone who was responsible.  He told Mrs. Penhallow that Peter had sent him to Josiah’s shop.  He told Grey too that Josiah must be a runaway slave and that any one would know him by his having lost two fingers.  That at once set Grey on this mischievous track.”

“I am only too sure that you are right,” returned Rivers.  “Peter tried a very futile blackmailing trick on Josiah.  He wanted to get whisky, and told the poor negro that he must get it for him or he would let his master know where he was.  Of course, the scamp knew what we all knew and no more, but it alarmed Josiah, who came to me at once.  He was like a scared child.  I told him to go home and that Peter had lied.  He went away looking as if the old savagery in his blood might become practically active.”

“I don’t wonder,” said Penhallow.  “Did it end there?”

“No, I saw Peter next day, and he of course lied to me very cleverly, said it was only a joke on Josiah, and so on.  I think, sir, and you will I hope excuse me—­I do think that the man were better let alone.  Every time you help him, he gets worse.  When he was arrested and suspected of burning Robert’s hayrick, you pleaded with the old farmer and got the man off.  He boasted of it the next time he got drunk.”

“I know—­I know.”  The Squire had paid Robert’s loss, and aware of his own folly was of no mind to confess to any one.  “I have no wish or will to help him.  I mean now to drop him altogether, and I must tell him so.  But what a pity it is!  He is intelligent, and was a good carpenter until he began to drink.  I must talk to him.”

“You will only make him more revengeful.  He has what he calls ‘got even’ with Josiah, and he is capable of doing it with you or me.  Let him alone.”

“Not I,” said the Squire; “if only for his mother’s sake, I must see what I can do.”

“Useless—­quite useless,” said Rivers.  “You may think that strange advice for a clergyman, but I do sometimes despair of others and occasionally of Mark Rivers.  Goodnight.”

During these days the fugitive floated down the swift little river at night, and at dawn hid his frail boat and himself in the forests of a thinly settled land.  He was brave enough, but his ignorance of geography added to his persistent terror.  On the third day the broader waters brought him to farms and houses.  Then he left his boat and struck out across the country until he came to a railway.  In the station he made out that it led to Philadelphia.  Knowing that he would be safe there, he bought a ticket and arrived in the city the next day—­a free man with money, intelligence, and an honest liking for steady work.