saw a note addressed to me
from John Mayrant.

"You are a good sleeper," it began, "but my conscience is clear as
to the Bombo, called by some Kill-devil, about which I hope you will
remember that I warned you."

He hoped I should remember! Of course I remembered everything; why did
he say that? An apology for his leaving me followed; he had been obliged
to take the early train because of the Custom House, where he was
serving his final days; they would give me breakfast when ever I should
be ready for it, and I was to make free of the place; I had better visit
the old church (they had orders about the keys) and drive myself into
Kings Port after lunch; the horses would know the way, if I did not. It
was the boy's closing sentence which fixed my attention wholly, took
it away from Kill-devil Bombo and my Aunt Carola's commission, for the
execution of which I now held the clue, and sent me puzzling for the
right interpretation of his words:--

"I believe that you will help your friend by that advice which startled
me last night, but which I now begin to see more in than I did. Only
between alternate injuries, he may find it harder to choose which is the
least he can inflict, than you, who look on, find it. For in following
your argument, he benefits himself so plainly that the benefit to the
other person is very likely obscured to him. But, if you wish to, tell
him a Southern gentleman would feel he ought to be shot either way.
That's the honorable price for changing your mind in such a case."

No interpretation of this came to me. I planned and carried out my day
according to his suggestion; a slow dressing with much cold water, a
slow breakfast with much good hot coffee, a slow wandering beneath the
dreamy branches of Udolpho,--this course cleared my head of the Bombo,
and brought back to me our whole evening, and every word I had said
to John, except that I had lost the solution which, last night, the
triangle had held for me. At that moment, the triangle, and my whole
dealing with the subject of monogamy, had seemed to contain the
simplicity of genius; but it had all gone now, and I couldn't get
it back; only, what I had contrived to say to John about his own
predicament had been certainly well said; I would say that over again
to-day. It was the boy and the meaning of his words which escaped me
still, baffled me, and formed the whole subject of my attention, even
when I was inside the Tern Creek church; so that