“True,” said the major, “much has occurred,—much that is marvelous, and yet in it all can be traced the hand of an all-wise Providence. Let me take this occasion, my dear Stanton, to tender my congratulations on your good fortune in discovering your long-lost father.” “Thank you,” said Hugh. “It is all so new and strange that I can’t realize the new relations.” “Stanton,” said the major, turning to his writing-table, “I have just been preparing an article on cattle-thieving, and I am anxious to know how it will impress you.” The old major threw his head back in a supreme way, and looked thoughtfully into a darkened corner of the room. “You certainly know, Major,” said Hugh, “that I am an admirer of your writings, it matters not on what subject.” “John Brown,” said the major, without removing his eyes from the darkened corner, “was an emancipator, and his memory is revered, his name honored, and the personality of the man loved by thousands of people. Is not that so?” Hugh answered that it was. “Very well,” said the major, while the deep wrinkles in his face began to grow more prominent, “what was John Brown but a law-breaker, a notorious thief, on a gigantic scale? What right had he to take slaves from their owners,—black men who were worth, in the market, a thousand dollars apiece, and help them to escape?” “You must remember,” said Hugh, “that time has covered any mistakes the great emancipator may have made with the veil of charity. The fact remains, of course, that he was a lawbreaker.” “That is just it,” exclaimed the major. “He was a law-breaker,—he violated the statutes,—and yet his name is honored by this generation, while others yet unborn will revere his memory and honor his name as one of earth’s greatest.” “Yes; not because he was a law-breaker, Major, but because he led a crusade in behalf of the oppressed and the helpless.” “Ah!” said the major, leaning back in his chair, and taking his eyes away from the darkened corner, and beaming benignly at Hugh, “now you are uttering words of great wisdom. What a magnificent reformist you would make. I wanted you to give expression to that thought.” Hugh was noticeably complimented with the major’s words, and finally stammered, “I am sure, Major, that Captain Osborn and others entertain similar views, and I am not entitled to any special credit for these sentiments.” Major Hampton let his eyes turn again toward the darkened corner of the room. “Captain Osborn,” he said, half to himself, “poor old Captain; I am sorry for him, indeed I am, and yet in one way he is to be congratulated, for sorrow is a torch that enlarges the scope of the understanding and softens the heart of the sufferer toward humanity. Yes, I feel sorry for the captain,” he went on. “My regret, however, is not so much for the termination of the affair as it is that such an unequal marriage should have been made in the first place.”