“You mistake me; I mean to ask if this secret, told by Moses to his mistress, was about anything that happened lately—within the last six months, for instance?” “Lor’, no, young marse! but years an’ years ago, f’om de time de ole house an’ furnitur’ was sold ober ole mist’ess’s head to dese p’esents.” “What could it have been, this disgrace to the family, unknown to my mother until it was revealed by Moses? Have you no idea at all of its nature, Martha?” “Well, young marse, I has had my ’spicions, an’ I’s had ’em f’om de fus’, an’ dey’s growed stronger since my po’ ole man went to glory.” “What were your suspicions?” “Well, young marse, dough I nebber breaved dem to no libin’ soul, I do yeckon as I ought fo’ to tell yo’, seein’ as yo’ is de head ob de family like, arter de ole madam.” “Yes, it is certainly your duty to let me know the truth about this alleged disgrace,” said Harcourt solemnly. “Now, young marse,” exclaimed Martha, firing up, “I wan’ yo’ to understan’ one fing, fus’ off, as I nebber said it were no disg’ace, an’ nebber ’liebed it to be no disg’ace, an’ no sin, an’ no shame, an’ no yong done to nobody in dis worl’. Dat’s wot I nebber b’liebes it not to be.” “Then why should it have distressed my mother and hurt poor, dear old Moses’ conscience?” “W’y, Lor’, Marster Will! Yo’ been to collidge, an’ doane know how some people’s conshence—an’ good people’s conshence—ain’t got yight good sense. Some people’s conshence won’t let ’em go to a dancin’ party, an’ some odder people’s conshence won’t let ’em eat meat o’ Fyday! An’ so it go. Now, my po’ ole man’s conshence had a sort o’ saf’enin’ ob de brain—it was dat tender. He would nebber hab done wot he did, dough it were not yong, ’cept as he ’sidered ob it, on’y fo’ de ole madam’s sake. Ah! he would ’a’ gibben his soul as well as his body fo’ de ole mist’ess’s sake, wot he nebber would ’a’ done to save me f’om starvin’—dough I ’peat, it was no yong, ’cept as his saf’ conshence ’sidered it. He nebber did no yong in al de days ob his life. He were too good fo’ dis worl’, my po’ ole man were, bress his heart,” said Martha, again wiping away the intrusive tears. “Yes, Moses was a good man, one of the very best I ever knew in all my life, but still that which he did, whatever it was, was not only wrong in his eyes, but in those of his mistress, else she could not have been so distressed,” said Harcourt. “Oh, yes, she could, young marse. It was her pwide, an’ her pwide had no mo’ sense in it dan my ole man’s conshence. Her pwide had saf’enin’ ob de brain wus’n his conshence!” “Well, but what was it? What did Moses do?” rather impatiently demanded Harcourt. “I gwine tell yo’, young marse, yight now. Yo’ know w’en we-dem all lib up in de big house in de good ole time ’fo’ de wah?” “I should think so.” “Yo’ was a b’y den, but still yo’ muss’ ’member how Moses were dinin’-yoom sarvint, an’ how he had charge ob all de silber in de house.” “Oh, yes.”