Captain Murrell, with Crenshaw and the squire, came from the house, and Murrell's swarthy face lit up at sight of the girl. Yancy, sensible of the gulf that yawned between himself and what was known as “the quality,” would have yielded his place, but Betty detained him. “Are you going away, ma'am?” he asked with concern. “Yes--to my home in west Tennessee,” and a cloud crossed her smooth brow. “That surely is a right big distance for you to travel, ma'am,” said Yancy, his mind opening to this fresh impression. “I reckon it's rising a hundred miles or mo',” he concluded, at a venture. “It's almost a thousand.” “Think of that! And you are that ca'm!” cried Yancy admiringly, as a picture of simply stupendous effort offered itself to his mind's eye. He added: “I am mighty sorry you are going. We-all here shall miss you--specially Hannibal. He just regularly pines for Sunday as it is.” “I hope he will miss me a little--I'm afraid I want him to!” She glanced down at the boy as she spoke, and into her eyes, very clear and very blue and shaded by long dark lashes, stole a look of wistful tenderness. She noted how his little hand was clasped in Yancy's, she realized the perfect trust of his whole attitude toward this big bearded man, and she was conscious of a sudden feeling of profound respect for the Scratch Hiller. “But ain't you ever coming back, Miss Betty?” asked Hannibal rather fearfully, smitten with the awesome sense of impermanence which dogs our footsteps. “Oh, I hope so, dear--I wish to think so. But you see my home is not here.” She turned to Yancy, “So it is settled that he is to remain with you?” “Not exactly, Miss Betty. You see, there's an order from the Fayetteville co't fo' me to give him up to this man Bladen.” “But Uncle Bob says--” began Hannibal, who considered his Uncle Bob's remarks on this point worth quoting. “Never mind what yo' Uncle Bob said,” interrupted Yancy hastily. “Oh, Mr. Yancy, you are not going to surrender him--no matter what the court says!” cried Betty. The expression on Yancy's face was so grim and determined on the instant with the latent fire that was in him flashing from his eyes that she added quickly, “You know the law is for you as well as for Mr. Bladen!” “I reckon I won't bother the law none,” responded Yancy briefly. “Me and my nevvy will go back to Scratch Hill and there won't be no trouble so long as they leave us be. But them Fayetteville folks want to keep away--” The fierce light slowly died out of his eyes. “It'll be all right, ma'am, and it's mighty good and kind of you fo' to feel the way you do. I'm obliged to you.” But Betty was by no means sure of the outcome Yancy seemed to predict with such confidence. Unless Bladen abandoned his purpose, which he was not likely to do, a tragedy was clearly pending for Scratch Hill. She saw the boy left friendless, she saw Yancy the victim of his own primitive conception of justice. Therefore she said: