“Go on,” said Harcourt eagerly. “Well, after a while, I thought of those two poor negroes left there alone, without any means of communicating with the mainland and the rest of the world. So, on one mild day in Indian summer, I jest got Len Poole to take me in his big boat over to the island, to see after them poor niggers, who might be starving for aught I knew. People may think it was curiosity that took me, if they like, but it was not, sir, it was not. It was humanity, sir, humanity.” “I have no doubt of it,” said Harcourt, who was anxious for the remainder of the story. “Well, sir, I went, and it was from them two honest niggers that I heard the facts about that quarrel and parting. Why, they told me from the time she entered the house, a newly married bride, in her wedding dress, to the time her aunt came and took her away, she never permitted him to cross the threshold of her door. No, sir! There was a vixen for you!” “Did the man make any opposition to her departure?” Harcourt inquired. “No; he was not in a state so to do. Her cruelty had driven him to drink. He was dead drunk when she left with her aunt and uncle, and he didn’t come to himself until the next morning, when he woke up to find that the old folks had carried off his bride and the storm had carried off his boats so that he couldn’t go after her. Then there was the loveliest little circus you ever heard of in your life. He was harlequin, clown, pantaloon, and a whole menagerie of wild beasts, all in one, and them niggers was the only audience. But the lady was gone, and the lady was safe!” “Oh, glorious Roma! Queen! goddess! I might have known that you would deliver yourself from the power of the beast!” muttered Harcourt to himself, and he felt as if the last few months had been only a dark nightmare, from which he was now awakening. Not that even now he hoped ever to possess Roma, but—she had escaped the deep dishonor of a union with Hanson; and now such a load was lifted off Harcourt’s breast, he breathed so freely; he was almost happy. Yes, though he might never see Roma again, though she could never be able to forgive him for the foulest wrong ever done to any human being; though he must remain in her memory as one guilty, degraded, accursed, still he was now almost happy, for she was free and safe. She, his queen—ah! no, not his queen! But she, the queen, the goddess, the glorious woman, who had liberated herself, was free! “Thank God! Oh, thank God!” he breathed from the depths of his heart. “Seems like you take a great interest into this, sir. Now, if you’d like to get the facts at first hand, you can just hire a boat and go over to the island, and them niggers will tell you all about it, and take pleasure in so doing,” said the landlord. Harcourt reflected—as well as a man might reflect who was in a tumult of emotions—and then inquired: “What time does the train pass here which connects with the Western Virginia line?” “At eleven-fifty-five sharp.”