“Mr. Washington,” said the captain, “old Mr. Carvel has ever been a good friend to me.  And, though I could not but perceive which way the lad was tending, I had held it but a poor return for friendship had I sought by word or deed to bring him to my way of thinking.  Nor have I ever suffered his views in my presence.”

“My dear sir, I honour you for it,” put in the colonel, warmly.

“It is naught to my credit,” returned the captain.  “I would not, for the sake of my party and beliefs, embitter what remains of my old friend’s life.”

I drew a long breath and drained the full glass before me.

“Captain Daniel!” I cried, “you must hear me now.  I have been waiting your coming these months.  And if Colonel Washington gives me leave, I will speak before him.”

The colonel bade me proceed, avowing that Captain Carvel’s son should have his best assistance.

With that I told them the whole story of Mr. Allen’s villany.  How I had been sent to him because of my Whig sentiments, and for thrashing a Tory schoolmaster and his flock.  This made the gentlemen laugh, tho’ Captain Daniel had heard it before.  I went on to explain how Mr. Carvel had fallen ill, and was like to die; and how Mr. Allen, taking advantage of his weakness when he rose from his bed, had gone to him with the lie of having converted me.  But when I told of the scene between my grandfather and me at Carvel Hall, of the tears of joy that the old gentleman shed, and of how he had given me Firefly as a reward, the captain rose from his chair and looked out of the window into the blackness, and swore a great oath all to himself.  And the expression I saw come into the colonel’s eyes I shall never forget.

“And you feared the consequences upon your grandfather’s health?” he asked gravely.

“So help me God!” I answered, “I truly believe that to have undeceived him would have proved fatal.”

“And so, for the sake of the sum he receives for teaching you,” cried the captain, with another oath, “this scoundrelly clergyman has betrayed you into a lie.  A scheme, by God’s life! worthy of a Machiavelli!”

“I have seen too many of his type in our parishes,” said Mr. Washington; “and yet the bishop of London seems powerless.  And so used have we become in these Southern colonies to tippling and gaming parsons, that I warrant his people accept him as nothing out of the common.”

“He is more discreet than the run of them, sir.  His parishioners dislike him, not because of his irregularities, but because he is attempting to obtain All Saints from his Lordship, in addition to St. Anne’s.  He is thought too greedy.”

He was silent, his brow a little furrowed, and drummed with his fingers upon the table.

“But this I cannot reconcile,” said he, presently, “that the reward is out of all proportion to the risk.  Such a clever rascal must play for higher stakes.”