“No—­you were right.  The cheque was in John’s handwriting.  You were the person to draw it.  I would have drawn the money for him.  He had a man’s right to his honest savings.  It will end here—­so you may be quite at ease.”  Of this he was not altogether certain.  He understood now why she had not given him of her own money, but Ann was clearly too agitated to make it well or wise to question her methods further.  “Go to bed, dear, and sleep the sleep of the just—­you did the right thing.”  He kissed her.  “Good-night.”

“One moment more, James.  You know, of course—­you know that all my life I have believed with my brothers that slavery was wise and right.  I had to believe that—­to think so might exact from me and others what I never could have anticipated.  I came face to face with a test of my creed, and I failed.  I am glad I failed.”

“My dear Ann,” he said, “I am supposed to be a Christian man—­I go to church, I have a creed of conduct.  To-day I lost my temper and told a man I would thrash him if he dared to say a word more.”

“It was at the bank, James?”

“Yes.  That fellow Swallow spoke of your having drawn Josiah’s money.  He was insolent.  You need have no anxiety about it—­it is all over.  I only mention it because I want you to feel that our creeds of conduct in life are not always our masters, and sometimes ought not to be.  Let that comfort you a little.  You know that to have been a silent looker-on at the return to slavery of a man to whom we owed so much was impossible.  My wonder is that for a moment you could have hesitated.  It makes me comprehend more charitably the attitude of the owners of men.  Now, dear, we won’t talk any more.  Good-night—­again—­good-night.”

He lighted a cigar and sat long in thought.  He had meant not to speak to her of Swallow, but it had been, as he saw, of service.  Then he wondered how long Mr. George Grey would remain and if he would not think it necessary to speak of Josiah.  As concerned John, he would be in no hurry to talk to him of the barber; and how the lad had grown in mind and body!—­a wonderful change and satisfactory.

When after breakfast Mr. Grey showed no desire to mention Josiah and prudently avoided talk about politics, Penhallow was greatly relieved.  That his host did not open the question of Mr. Grey’s conduct in the matter of the runaway was as satisfactory to the Maryland gentleman, whose sense of duty had created for him a situation which was increasingly disagreeable.  He warmly welcomed Penhallow’s invitation to look at some newly purchased horses, and expressed the most cordial approval of whatever he saw, somewhat to the amusement of Penhallow.

Penhallow left him when, declining to ride to the mills, Mr. Grey retired to the library and read the Tribune, with internal comment on its editorial columns.  He laid the paper aside.  Mr. Woodburn would probably have arrived in the afternoon, and would have arranged with Swallow for a consultation in which Mr. Grey would be expected to take part.  It was plain that he really must talk to the Captain.  He rose and went slowly down the avenue.  A half-hour in Westways singularly relieved him.  Swallow was not at home, and Josiah, the cause of Mr. Grey’s perplexities, had certainly fled, nor did he learn that Mr. Woodburn had already arrived.