With this Mr. Grey went away a thoughtful man.  He attracted some attention as he moved along the fronts of the houses.  Strangers were rare.  Being careful not to go near Josiah’s little shop, he crossed the road and climbing the fence went through the wood, reflecting that until this matter was settled he would feel that his movements must be unpleasantly governed by the need to avoid Josiah.  He felt this to be humiliating.  Other considerations presented themselves in turn.  This ungrateful black had run away with his, George Grey’s, horse—­a personal wrong.  His duty to Woodburn was plain.  Then, if this black fellow was as Swallow said, a favourite of Captain Penhallow, to plan his capture while himself a guest in Penhallow’s house was rather an awkward business.  However, he felt that he must inform his friend Woodburn, after which he would turn him over to Swallow and not appear in the business at all.  It did not, however, present itself to the Maryland gentleman as a nice situation.  If his cousin Ann were, as he easily learned, a strong Democrat, it might be well to sound her on the general situation.  She had lived half her life among slaves and those who owned them.  She would know how far Penhallow was to be considered as a law-abiding citizen, or whether he might be offended, for after all, as George Grey knew, his own share in the matter would be certain to become known.  “A damned unpleasant affair,” he said aloud as he walked up the avenue, “but we as Southern gentlemen have got to stand by one another.  I must let Woodburn know, and decide for himself.”

Neither was the lawyer Swallow altogether easy about the matter on which he had desired time for thought.  It would be the first case in the county under the fugitive-slave act.  If the man were reclaimed, he, Swallow, would be heard of all through the State; but would that help him before the people in a canvass for the House?  He could not answer, for the old political parties were going to pieces and new ones were forming.  Moreover, Josiah was much liked and much respected.  Then, too, there was the fee.  He walked about the room singularly disturbed.  Some prenatal fate had decreed that he should be old-aged at forty.  He had begun to be aware that his legs were aging faster than his mind.  Except the pleasure of accumulating money, which brought no enjoyment, he had thus far no games in life which interested him; but now the shifting politics of the time had tempted him, and possibly this case might be used to his advantage.  The black eyebrows under fast whitening hair grew together in a frown, while below slowly gathered the long smile of satisfaction.  “How Penhallow will hate it.”  This thought was for him what the stolen mare was for George Grey.  He must look up the law.