"I will let you go,"--Westlake spoke now with real dignity,--"but not as you think. If I would have you remember what I have been to you, it is for your own sake, not for mine. I am used to ingratitude; I do not complain of yours. I have never sold a servant left me by my father, and I do not mean to begin with you. You shall not drive me to it. You are to go, and forever, but by your own road. I will set you on it myself. Is there any one in the neighborhood you can trust? We shall need help." A doubtful smile passed over Senator's face. "There is no one, then? Think! no one?" "I am not so unhappy. There are those whom I trust." "Then I will trust them. Tell me who they are and where they are. And quick! This news will be everywhere soon. To-morrow morning the neighbors will be coming in. What is done must be done to-night. Senator, do not ruin yourself! I mean right by you. Here is Mr. Colvil to witness to what I say. Is this mad obstinacy only? or do you _dare_ not to trust yourself to me?" "I do not trust to you those who trust me." "Do you suppose I would give up those whose aid I have asked?" "You would know where to find them when they give aid you have not asked." "Colvil, speak to him! If he goes off by himself, I cannot hide it long. The country will be roused. I shall have to hunt him down myself. My honor will be at stake. I shall have to do it!" The obdurate slave studied his master's features with curiosity mingled with triumph. "Help me, Colvil! Help him! Tell him to listen to my plan and join in it! The useful time is passing!" "Senator," I said at last, being so adjured, "your master means you well. He is not free to set you free,--you know it. You have done work for him,--good and faithful work; but never yet have you done him a pleasure, and he has intended you a good many. This is your last chance. Gratify him for once!" Senator looked again, and saw, through the intent and wistful eyes, the poor, imploring soul within, which, hurried unconsenting towards crime, clung desperately to his rescue as its own. He comprehended that here was no tyrant, but a wretched victim of tyranny. A laugh, deep, reluctant, uncontrollable, no mirth in it, yet a certain bitter irony, and Senator had recovered his natural bearing, self-possessed and authoritative; he spoke in his own voice of composed decision. "What is the plan, Master?"