Haward yawned, and the schoolmaster broke the thread of his discourse.  “I weary you, sir,” he said.  “I will, with your permission, take my departure.  May I make so bold as to beg your Honor that you will not mention to the gentlemen hereabouts the small matter of this bottle of wine?  I would wish not to be prejudiced in the eyes of my patrons and scholars.”

“I will think of it,” Haward replied.  “Come and take your snuffbox—­if it be yours—­from the book where you have left it.”

“It is mine,” said the man.  “A present from the godly minister of this parish.”

As he spoke he put out his hand to take the snuffbox.  Haward leaned forward, seized the hand, and, bending back the fingers, exposed the palm to the light of the candles upon the table.

“The other, if you please,” he commanded.

For a second—­no longer—­a wicked soul looked blackly out of the face to which he had raised his eyes.  Then the window shut, and the wall was blank again.  Without any change in his listless demeanor, the schoolmaster laid his left hand, palm out, beside his right.

“Humph!” exclaimed Haward.  “So you have stolen before to-night?  The marks are old.  When were you branded, and where?”

“In Bristol, fifteen years ago,” answered the man unblushingly.  “It was all a mistake.  I was as innocent as a newborn babe”—­

“But unfortunately could not prove it,” interrupted Haward.  “That is of course.  Go on.”

“I was transported to South Carolina, and there served out my term.  The climate did not suit me, and I liked not the society, nor—­being of a peaceful disposition—­the constant alarms of pirates and buccaneers.  So when I was once more my own man I traveled north to Virginia with a party of traders.  In my youth I had been an Oxford servitor, and schoolmasters are in demand in Virginia.  Weighed in the scales with a knowledge of the humanities and some skill in imparting them, what matters a little mishap with hot irons?  My patrons are willing to let bygones be bygones.  My school flourishes like a green bay-tree, and the minister of this parish will speak for the probity and sobriety of my conduct.  Now I will go, sir.”

He made an awkward but deep and obsequious reverence, turned and went out of the door, passing Juba, who was entering with a salver laden with bread and meat and a couple of bottles.  “Put down the food, Juba,” said Haward, “and see this gentleman out of the house.”

An hour later the master dismissed the slave, and sat down beside the table to finish the wine and compose himself for the night.  The overseer had come hurrying to the great house, to be sent home again by a message from the owner thereof that to-morrow would do for business; the negro women who had been called to make the bed were gone; the noises from the quarter had long ceased, and the house was very still.  In his rich, figured Indian nightgown and his silken