The Squire’s pleasure at his encounter with an old West Point comrade for a moment caused him to forget that this was the master who had been set on Josiah’s track by Grey.  It was but for a moment.  Then he drew up his soldierly figure and said coldly, “I am sorry that you are here on what cannot be a very agreeable errand.”

“Oh!” said Woodburn cheerfully, “I came to get my old servant, Caesar.  It seems to have been a fool’s errand.  He has slipped away.  I suppose that Grey as usual talked too freely.  But how the deuce does it concern you?  I see that it does.”

Penhallow laughed.  “He was my barber.”

“And mine,” said Woodburn.  “If you have missed him, Jim, for a few days, I have missed him for three years and more.”  Then both men laughed heartily at their inequality of loss.

“I cannot understand why this fellow ran away.  He was a man I trusted and indulged to such an extent that my wife says I spoiled him.  She says he owned me quite as much as I owned him—­a darned ungrateful cuss!  I came here pretty cross when I got George’s letter, and now I hear of an amount of hostile feeling which rather surprised me.”

“That you are surprised, Will, surprises me,” said Penhallow.  “The Fugitive-Slave Act will always meet with opposition at the North.  It seems made to create irritation even among people who really are not actively hostile to slavery.  If it became necessary to enforce it, I believe that I would obey it, because it is the law—­but it is making endless trouble.  May I ask what you propose to do about this present case?”

“Do—­oh, nothing!  I am advised to employ detectives and hunt the man down.  I will not; I shall go home.  It is not Mr. Swallow’s advice.”

“No, it is not,” said the lawyer, who stood aside waiting a chance to speak.  “Some one warned the man, and it is pretty generally suspected how he came to be told.”

Penhallow turned to Woodburn, “Has Mr. Swallow ventured to connect me or any of my family with this matter?”

“No,” said Woodburn, which was true.  Swallow meant to keep in reserve Mrs. Penhallow’s share in the escape until he learned how far an angry slave-owner was disposed to go.  Woodburn had, however, let him understand that he was not of a mind to go further, and had paid in good-humour a bill he thought excessive.  Grey had made it all seem easy, and then as Swallow now learned had gone away.  He had also written to his own overseer, and thus among their neighbours a strong feeling prevailed that this was a case for prompt and easy action.  The action had been prompt and had failed.  Woodburn was going home to add more bitterness to the Southern sense of Northern injustice.

When Woodburn, much to Penhallow’s relief, had said he was done with the case, the Squire returned, “Then, as you are through with Mr. Swallow, come home and dine with me.  Where are you staying?”

“At Mr. Swallow’s, but I leave by the night train.”