valuable than ever before."

She turned her head, and I felt her eyes searching the dim outline of
my face questioningly.

"Of course I did everything I knew," she replied. "Why should I not?
You are here, Captain Carlyle, for my sake; I owe you service."

"And must I be content merely with that thought?" I urged, far from
pleased. "This would mean that your only interest in me arises from
gratitude."

"And friendship," her voice as confidential as my own. "There is no
reason why you should doubt that surely."

"It would be easier for me to understand, but for the memory of what I
am--a bond slave."

"You mean the fact that you were sold to my uncle remains a barrier
between us?"

"To my mind, yes. I hope you forget, but I cannot. If I return to
Virginia, it is to servitude for a term of years. I am exiled from my
own country by law, and thus prevented from following a career on the
sea. I belong to Roger Fairfax, or, if he be dead, to his heirs, and
even this privilege of being the property of a gentleman is mine
through your intercession. I know your sympathy, your eagerness to
help--but that is not all of friendship."

"Your meaning is that true friendship has as a basis equality?"

"Does it not? Can real friendship exist otherwise?"

"No," she acknowledged gravely. "And the fact that such friendship
does exist between us evidences my faith in you. I have never felt
this social distinction, Captain Carlyle, have given it no thought.
This may seem strange to you, yet is most natural. You bear an
honorable name, and belong to a family of gentlemen. You held a
position of command, won by your own efforts. You bore the part of a
man in a revolution; if guilty of any crime, it was a political one,
in no way sullying your honor. I have every reason to believe you were
falsely accused and convicted. Consequently that conviction does not
exist between us; you are not my uncle's servant, but my friend--you
understand me now?"

"I have trained myself so long to another viewpoint, Mistress
Dorothy," I admitted, still speaking doubtfully, although impressed by
her earnestness, "I know not how to accept this statement. I have not
once ventured to address you, except as a servant."

"I know that, and have regretted it," she interrupted. "But not until
now have I been able to correct your impression."

"And you would actually have me speak with you as of your own class--a
free man, worthy to claim your friendship i