Sternly the determined trio, aided by Winona in her boy’s attire, secured the officials of the jail and quieted the prisoners. It was hard to resist the entreaties of the slaves confined there, but, after a hurried consultation, it was deemed advisable not to burden themselves with fugitive slaves. With few words the business of releasing Maxwell was carried forward. When Maybee unlocked the door of Warren’s cell with the warden’s key, there were tears in his eyes as he beheld the wreck that two months of imprisonment and brutal treatment had made of the stalwart athlete. The burns were not yet healed, and great red scars disfigured his face in spots; he still wore his arm in a sling; starvation, physical weakness and lack of cleanliness had done their worst. Maybee’s heart was too full for words as he folded the emaciated form in his arms, and openly wiped the tears from his eyes; his were the feelings of a father: “This, my son, was dead and is alive again.” “Oh, never m-min’ my cryin’! ’Taint nothin’. Some fellers cries easier than others,” he muttered as the tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks. Winona was sobbing in company and Judah was feeling strange about the eyes also. “I never thought to see you again, boys,” said Warren solemnly, as he held their warm, friendly hands and felt the clasp of honest friendship. “I understand the slavery question through and through. Experience is a stern teacher.” “Min’ my words to you, Maxwell? But God knows I didn’t reckon they’d come home to you so awful an’ suddint-like. I have never feared for you, my boy, even when things l-looked blackes’; but if you don’ fin’ Bill Thomson somewhere, some time, an’ choke him an’ tear his win’pipe to fiddlestrings, you ain’t got a drop of British blood in yer whole carcass!” “Amen!” ejaculated Captain Brown. “Come, boys, time’s up.” Judah lifted Maxwell in his strong arms preparatory to carrying him out to the waiting vehicle. He felt all his passionate jealousy die a sudden death as pity and compassion stirred his heart for the sufferings of his rival. “Here is another white man who does not deserve death at a Negro’s hands,” he told himself. Winona was silent and constrained in manner. For the first time since she had adopted her strange dress she felt a wave of self-consciousness that rendered her ashamed. She turned mechanically and walked by Judah’s side as he bore his almost helpless burden to the wagon, and seated herself beside the driver, still silent. Warren, reclining on fresh straw in the bottom of the cart, wondered in semi-consciousness at the sweetness of the air dashed in his face with the great gusts of rain, and at his own stupidity in not recognizing Winona; beneath the stain with which she had darkened her own exquisite complexion, he could now plainly trace the linaments that had so charmed him. Then, lulled by the motion of the vehicle and weakened by excitement, he slept the sleep of exhaustion.