knew that they were sending Brown on a man-hunt. They
knew that the results might mean bloodshed. They knew, as individuals,
exactly what was being said and what was being planned. Its details
they did not wish to know. The moral significance--the _big_ moral
significance of the deed was something apart from the bloody details.
The Great Deed could be justified by the Higher Law, the Greater Glory
of God. They were twisting the moral universe into accord with the
elemental impulse of the brute that sleeps beneath every human skin.

The Great Deed about to be done would be glorious, its actors heroes and
martyrs of a Divine Cause. They knelt in prayer and their Chosen Leader
invoked the blessings of the Lord of Hosts upon them and upon his
disciples in the Divine Cause.

The hour of Action was now swiftly approaching. Cook had become a book
agent. With his pretty Virginia wife his figure became familiar to every
farm, in the county. He visited every house where a slave was to be
found. He sold maps as well as books. He also sketched maps in secret
when he reached the quiet of his home while his happy little bride sang
at her work.

He carefully compiled a census of slaves at the Ferry and in the
surrounding country. So sure had he become of the success of the blow
when it should fall, that he begged his Chief to permit him to begin
to whisper the promise of the uprising to a few chosen men among the
slaves.

The old man's eyes; flamed with anger.

"You have not done this already?" he growled.

"No--no."

"You swear it?"

Brown had seized Cook by both arms and searched his eyes for the truth.
The younger man was amazed at the volcanic outburst of anger.

"A hundred times I've told you, Cook, that you talk too much," he went
on tensely. "You mean well, boy, but your marriage may prove a tragedy
in more ways than one."

"It has proven my greatest weapon."

"If you're careful, if you're discreet, if you can control your foolish
impulses. I've warned you again and again and yet you've been writing
letters--"

Cook's eyes wavered.

"I only wrote one to an old girl friend in Tabor."

"Exactly. You told of your marriage, your happiness, your hopes of a
great career--and I got a copy of the letter."

"How?"

"No matter. If I got it, somebody else could get one. Now will you swear
to me again to obey my orders?"

The burning eyes pierced his soul and he was wax.

"Yes. I swear!"

"Good. I want a report f