It seemed that on this very day my eyes were opened with a new intelligence, and not only my spiritual but my physical surroundings became clearer. I saw our great stone house as I had never seen it before, the wooded hill-sides, deep with grass, stretching far away; the white-washed cabins, quarter-circling the spacious yard, the broad garden and the weeping-willow trees whereunder Old Master's father and mother were buried; the village street which came abruptly to our big gate and there stopped in a fringe of clover. Through our place a bright creek ran, as many toned as a pack of hounds; and far to the right the turn-pike lay, white and glistening in the sun. Yes, my eyes were wider opened on this day, and a half-frightening glimmer of reason shot across my mind. I wondered why I should have been created a piece of property, while one, nearly of my own color and whom I could fling upon the ground, should possess me. This thought stung me, but there came a balm in the reflection that if I wore fetters at all, they were bright and lined with velvet. Of course, at this age I did not thus reason with myself, but I had the feeling, the substance of the thought, and the dressing of it must have come long afterward.

Bob and I slept in the same room up-stairs, he in a canopied bed, I on a low lounge. Old Master and Old Miss slept in a large room just across the hall; and now it seems to me that many a time at midnight, a stray fancy, wandering throughout the world of space, looking for entertainment in a human mind, would come to me as I lay in that little bed—come to me and rob me of sleep—compel me to lie there and listen to Old Master's slippered feet, slowly pacing up and down the long hall. One night, and it must have followed the day when I had been given over as Bob's exclusive property, I awoke to hear the old man's distressful shambling up and down the hall. The night was so dark, all the household was so still save those restless feet, that a strange pity came upon me. I heard Old Miss call him, and I heard him reply, "Go to sleep and pay no attention to me." But he seemed so lonely out there walking alone, that I found the courage to open the door and peep out at him. A dim light hung from the ceiling, not far from my peeping place, and as he turned about he saw me.

"What are you doing, Dan?" he asked, halting and turning to me.

"Will you please let me come out and walk with you?" was my bold reply.

"Walk with me? What could have put that into your head?"

"'Cause I thought you must be tired of walking by yourself."

"Well, run along back to bed."

"General," Old Miss called, "who's out there with you?"

"Do you see anybody?" he asked, looking hard toward her door.

"No, but I hear you talking."

"But isn't it possible for a man to talk to himself? Please go to sleep." Then he came back to me and said: "Go on to bed, Dan. And, see here," he added as I turned about, "don't get up any more when you hear me walking."

I hesitated a moment, looking at him, and then I asked: "Master, did you kill a man?"

He leaped toward me. "Who told you that? Come back here!" I had started to run away. "Come here to me. I'm not going to hurt you." He laid a tight hand upon my arm. "Why? Who said anything about my killing a man?"

"I don't know, sir," I answered honestly. "I don't know who said it, but I thought you did. I believe I dreamed it. Did you kill a man?"

I can see him now as he stood in the dim light, tall, frail, majestic, his old eyes bright, his white hair glistening. He cast a swift glance toward his bed-room door, and then leading me with him, stepped into my room. I heard the window curtain rustle—he was feeling about in the dark for a seat—and then he sat down upon the window ledge. I stood beside him, pressed close against his knee.

"Don't ever speak of such a thing again," he said, "but I did kill a man—in this room. Are you scared?"

"No, sir," I answered. "Tell me about it."

It was some time before he spoke again. I heard Bob's gentle breathing.

"Have you ever noticed deep marks on the stairs out there?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"The prints of a horse's shoes?" he said. And then after a silence, asked: "Do you think that I have been drinking to-night?"

"No, sir."

"Little liar you, you know I have."

"But tell me about the man and the marks on the stairs?"

"Hush! was that your mistress calling me? Wait a moment." I waited for him to continue, scarcely able to keep from trembling against his knee. "Would you think that a man could ride up those stairs?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"But a man did. I had said that I was going to horse-whip him, and one day when I lay sick in bed, he came, drunk, and rode up the stairs to my room—this room—to make me eat my words. I heard a terrible racket, and the next thing I knew a horse's head was poked through the door. I thought the devil had come. But the next moment I saw my enemy, standing in his stirrups, looking down on me. He held a pistol in his hand and he snapped it at me. I rolled out of bed, just as he fired, and grabbed a gun and killed him. He fell forward, and his horse took fright and wheeled about for the door. The man—his name was Solomon Putnam—fell to one side as the horse plunged, but his foot caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged away—dragged to his own gate. The law cleared me, and I know that I was right, but sometimes I see that man, hanging to the stirrup, with the blood streaming out of his mouth. I'm not afraid—I'd do it over again. But I can't sleep when I see him."

The door creaked. "General!" It was the voice of Old Miss.

"Madam, what do you want?"

"What are you doing in there?"

"Talking to myself. Go on and I will come in a moment."

"I told you not to drink that brandy—I knew how it would be."

"Yes, you knew how it would be and I know how it is, so we are about even. Go on, and I will be there in a moment."

The door creaked again, and I heard her footsteps as she went away. Old Master got up. "Dan," he whispered, "if you ever say a word, I'll whip you. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have told Bob. But you musn't talk about it even to him. There, now, go on to bed."

"And will you go to bed too?" I asked.

"What's that to you, nighthawk? Go to bed, and if I catch you up again to-night, I'll whip you."