his
marriage was already gossip known to babes.

"I'm Peter Siner," he repeated.

"Den I knows which way you wants to go," piped the youngster in sudden
helpfulness. "You wants to go over to Cap'n Renfrew's place acrost de
Big Hill. He done sont fuh you. Mr. Wince Washington tol' me, ef I seed
you, to tell you dat Cap'n Renfrew wants to see you. I dunno whut hit's
about. I ast Wince, an' he didn' know."

Peter recalled the message Nan Berry had given him some hours before.
Now the same summons had seeped around to him from another direction.

"I--I'll show you de way to Cap'n Renfrew's ef--ef you'll come back wid
me th'ugh de cedar glade," proposed the child. "I--I ain't skeered in de
cedar glade, b-b-but hit's so dark I kain't see my way back home.
I--I--"

Peter thanked him and declined his services. After all, he might as well
go to see Captain Renfrew. He owed the old gentleman some thanks--and
ten dollars.

The only thing of which Peter Siner was aware during his walk over the
Big Hill and through the village was his last scene with Cissie. He went
over it again and again, repeating their conversation, inventing new
replies, framing new action, questioning more fully into the octoroon's
vague confession and his benumbed acceptance of it. The moment his mind
completed the little drama it started again from the very beginning.

At Captain Renfrew's gate this mental mummery paused long enough for him
to vacillate between walking in or going around and shouting from the
back gate. It is a point of etiquette in Hooker's Bend that negroes
shall enter a white house from the back stoop. Peter had no desire to
transgress this custom. On the other hand, if Captain Renfrew was
receiving him as a fellow of Harvard, the back door, in its way, would
prove equally embarrassing.

After a certain indecision he compromised by entering the front gate and
calling the Captain's name from among the scattered bricks of the old
walk.

The house lay silent, half smothered in a dark tangle of shrubbery.
Peter called twice before he heard the shuffle of house slippers, and
then saw the Captain's dressing-gown at the piazza steps.

"Is that you, Peter?" came a querulous voice.

"Yes, Captain. I was told you wanted to see me."

"You've been deliberate in coming," criticized the old gentleman,
testily. "I sent you word by some black rascal three days ago."

"I just received the message to-day." Peter remained discreetly at the