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Judith hardly gave a thought to the price he named; but as soon as she perceived that he had disentangled himself from his higgling preamble so far as to offer a definite sum, she accepted it.

This lack of hesitation on her part disconcerted the peddler, who had a feeling that a bargain made without preliminary chaffering had not been properly solemnized. He was suspicious now that he was the victim of some design.

“That is to say, Mis’ Braown, I only dew this to accommodate ole friends. It ain’t preudent to make such a trade in the dark. I’ll dew it if I find the man sound in wind and limb, and all satisfactory, when I come to look him over.”

“Of course that’s what I mean,” said Judith. “Now come in and take supper with us, captain,” she continued, her voice still in a quiver with recent emotions.

“Well, I don’t keer if I dew, jest fer to bind the bargain, you knaow. I told the boy I’d be back, but I reckon they won’t wait long. Ship folks don’t wait much on nobody.”

Judith turned toward the house, followed by the peddler. Sanford Browne was still sitting in the entry just as Judith had left him, surprised and in a sense paralyzed by the sudden and effective opposition which his wife had offered to the gratification of his only grudge.

“Mr. Browne!” called Judith, almost hysterically, her tense nerves suddenly shaken again. “What’s that? Something’s happened down at the quarters.”

Looking through the wide passage into the dim twilight beyond, she could see running figures like shadows approaching the house. Sanford Browne rose at his wife’s summons in time to meet the convict Lewis, still manacled, as he rushed into the passage at the back of the house and dashed out again at the front. Browne attempted to arrest his flight, crying out, as he made an effort to seize him, “Stop, you old villain, or I’ll kill you!” But the momentum of the flying figure rendered Browne’s grasp ineffectual, and in a moment he was out of doors, just as Bob and Jocko and the other servants entered the passage in a pell-mell pursuit.

As the running man emerged from the darkness of the passage, Perkins, thinking his profit in jeopardy, threw himself athwart his path, and cried: “Here! Where be you a-goin’ so fast with them things on your wrist?”

“To hell and damnation!” yelled Lewis, striking the peddler fair in the breast with both manacled hands, and sending him rolling on the ground.

The convict did not pause a moment in his flight, but, with the whole pack in full cry after him, dashed onward to the bank and down it. Before any of his pursuers could lay hands on him he was aboard the sloop.

“Ketch him! Ketch him!” cried Captain Perkins, once more on his feet, and giving orders from the top of the bank.

The cabin boy had just emerged from the cabin to call the man to supper. He and the sailor tried hard to seize the fleeing man, but Captain Lewis swerved to one side and ran round the gunwale of the sloop with both men after him. When he reached the stern he leaped beyond their reach, and plunged head first into the water, sinking out of sight where the fast-ebbing tide was now gurgling round the rudder.

In vain the boy and the sailorman looked with all their might at the place where he had gone down; in vain they poked a long pole into the water after him; in vain did Bob and Jocko paddle in the canoe all over the place where Black Jim Lewis had sunk.

Perkins took the precaution, before descending the bank, to say: “You’ll remember, Mis’ Braown, that I only bought him on conditions, and stipple-lated I wuz to be satisfied when I come to look him over. ‘Tain’t no loss of mine.” This caveat duly lodged, he descended to the deck of his sloop, where he found the cabin boy shaking as with an ague.

“What be you a-trimblin’ abaout, naow? Got a fever ‘n’ agur a’ready? Y’ ain’t afeard of a dead man, be yeh, Elkanah?”

“I don’t noways like the idear,” said Elkanah, “of sleepin’ aboard, an’ him dead thar by his own will, a-layin’ closte up to the sloop.”

“He ain’t nowher’s nigh the sloop,” responded Perkins. “This ebb-tide’s got him in tow, an’ he’ll be down layin’ ag’in’ the Nancy Jane afore mornin’. That’s the ship he’ll ha’nt, bein’ kind uv used to her.”

Browne had remained standing at the top of the bank, without saying a single word. He turned at last, and started slowly toward the house. Judith, forgetting her invitation to the peddler, went after her husband and took his hand.

“I’m so glad he’s dead,” said she. “I know the cruel man deserved his fate. He’ll be off your mind, now, dear; and nobody can say you did it.”