“In spirit, yes,” he answered at last, “but not physically.  I believe under the circumstances you are justified, Knox.  Perhaps I’d do the same thing if I was in your place and had your youth behind me.  But I am a lawyer, fifty years old, and this is my home.  If the story ever got out that I took part in nigger stealing, that would be the end of me in Missouri.  As you say, you are a young man, and I reckon you were not brought up in the South either.  That makes a difference.  You can take the risk, but about all I can do will be to keep a quiet tongue in my head.  Nobody will ever learn what has happened through me—­I’ll promise you that.  But that is all I can promise.”

“Yet you acknowledge this is the only way?  No legal course is open to us?”

“Absolutely none.  If there was I should never consent to be a party to this plan, or shield you in any way.  Kirby has undoubtedly got the law with him.  We cannot establish fraud; the property actually belongs to him—­both mother and daughter are his slaves.”

“And how about the other girl—­Eloise?”

“He has no legal hold on her; she is a free white woman.  He could only hope to overcome her resistance by threats.  The plantation is irrevocably lost to the Beaucaires, but she possesses the power to defy him because of her mother’s property.  If Kirby marries her, it will only be through her consent.”

He picked up his hat from the table, and a stout stick he had brought along with him, taking a step toward the door.

“I might as well tell you I consider this a mad scheme,” he paused to add gravely, “and that it will probably fail.  There is a possible chance of success, I admit, and for that reason I permit you to go ahead with it, and pledge myself to keep the secret.  I was rather intimately associated with Beaucaire for a number of years, and to see his granddaughter sold into slavery, even if she does have a drop of nigger blood in her veins, is more than I can stand, without giving her a chance to get away.  That is why I consent to abet a crime, and keep still about it.  But beyond that I’ll not go.  I am a southerner, Knox; my father owned slaves.  I believe in the system, and have always upheld it.  Nobody in Missouri hates a Black Abolitionist worse than I do; if anyone had ever said I would help a nigger run away, I’d call him a liar in a minute.  Do you understand the position this damned affair puts me into?”

“Yes, I do, Haines,” and I held out my hand to him, with fresh cordiality.  “It is uncommonly white of you to even go that far.  On the other hand I was brought up to despise slavery.  I’ll pledge you this—­for Pete here, as well as myself—­that if we are caught, your name shall never be mentioned.  Have you any advice to give?”

He paused uncertainly, his hand on the latch, the firelight flashing up into his face.