d the mumbling old woman in her chair; but
most of all he remembered the girl who sat opposite him. Her face was
always with him, and it came before him now, just as it was in the
moonlight, when she said: "You can trust me. I will do the best I can."

She had stood with her hands upon the fence and he saw them as they
looked then, and holding up his own he said, "They were little brown
hands, but they should have been white like mine. Poor Dory!"

There was a throb of pity in his heart as his remorse increased, and the
hot night seemed to quiver with the echo of Mandy Ann's "cuss him, cuss
him wherever he may be, and if his bed is soff as wool doan' let him
sleep a wink." His bed was soft as wool, but it had no attraction for
him, and he sat with his hot-water bag and blanket until his chill
passed, and was succeeded by a heat which made him put blanket and bag
aside, and open both the windows of his room. The late moon had risen
and was flooding the grounds with its light, bringing out distinctly the
objects nearest to him. Some tables and chairs were left standing, a few
lanterns were hanging in the trees, and in front of him was the long
bench on which the little girls had been sleeping, with their feet from
the ground, when he made his speech. The sight of this brought to his
mind the day three years before when, just as his plans were perfected,
there had come a letter which made him stagger as from a heavy blow,
while all around him was chaos, dark and impenetrable. In most men the
letter would have awakened a feeling of tenderness, but he was not like
most men. He was utterly selfish, and prouder than any Crompton in the
long line of that proud race, and, instead of tenderness or pity, he
felt an intense anger against the fate which had thus dealt with him
when he was trying to do right.

What to do next was the question, which Tom Hardy, as cold and unfeeling
as himself, answered for him.

"You are in an awful mess," he wrote, "and the only course I see is to
keep them supplied with money, and let things run until they come to a
focus, as I suppose they must, though they may not. Florida is a long
ways from Massachusetts. Few Northerners ever go to Enterprise, and if
they do they may not hear of the clearing and its inmates. The girl is
not over-bright. I beg your pardon, but she isn't, and will be apt to be
quiet when she makes up her mind that she is deserted. The only one you
have to fear is that nigger,