“A piece of U. G. baggage came over the river last night,” Hardaker began as they drove on, his voice just above a whisper, “and went to Conners’ house, as he had been directed. You know they’ve been keeping a close watch on Conners lately, and this morning Marshal Hanscomb swooped down while the baggage was still there. But Mrs. Conners got him into a bonnet and veil and dress of hers, while Conners kept the slave catchers at the front door a few minutes. She did a lot of talking and laughing in the kitchen, as if she was saying good-by to some neighbor woman, and hustled him out of the back door, just as Conners had to let them in at the front. He got away all right, with directions for going on to Gilbertson’s. If he gets there they’ll hide him in their hollow haystack until the immediate danger blows over. But the marshal and his catchers are after him to-day, and it’s a chance if he makes it.” Dr. Ware’s face was serious. “No, Conners’ house won’t do any longer--it isn’t safe,” he commented, in low tones. “We’ve got to find some other place. My house is the best, if things turn out all right. But I don’t know yet how it’s going to be. You met that young man from Kentucky there last week, the evening of the meeting. He’s a slaveholder, but he wants to marry Rhoda.” Hardaker made a sudden, nervous movement and the doctor, casting a sidewise glance, saw a flush overspread his face. “I know, Horace--that is, I guessed,” he said kindly, “and I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that she might have felt differently about it.” “So do I, doctor,” the other answered grimly, “but--she didn’t. Is she--does she--” he went on awkwardly and Dr. Ware took the burden of the question from him. “She doesn’t know yet what she’ll do. If she decides to marry him that will put an end to my scheme. I’d have to have somebody in the house in sympathy with the work. Rhoda is so capable, she could take the thing right into her own hands and carry it on so quietly that nobody would know what she was about. I wish I’d got it started before Delavan appeared on the scene.” “Delavan?” Hardaker repeated with sudden interest. “Is his name Jefferson Delavan?” “Yes. He has a tobacco plantation down below Lexington.” Horace slapped his knee. “The same one!” he exclaimed softly, and went on in reply to Dr. Ware’s look of inquiry: “He’s the owner of that slave they so nearly caught at Conners’ house this morning, and he’s out with Marshal Hanscomb following the fellow now!” Dr. Ware pursed his lips in a subdued whistle. “Then he’s likely to come to my house again before he goes back. I’m sorry--he’s a taking sort of chap, and Rhoda likes him.” * * * * *