"Polete," I said sternly, "I suppose you know that if this night's work gets out, as it is certain to do sooner or later, no power on earth can save your life?"
"Yes, massa," he muttered, and looked about him wildly, as though he already saw the flames at his feet.
"Well, Polete," I went on, "after the way you have acted to-night, I see no reason why I should try to save you. You certainly did all you could to get me killed."
"Yes, massa," he said again, and would have fallen had not Long held him upright by the collar.
I waited a moment, for I thought he was going to faint, but he opened his eyes again and fixed them on me.
"Now listen," I went on, when he appeared able to understand me. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to give you a chance for your life,—not a very big chance, perhaps, but a great deal better one than you would have here."
"Yes, massa," he said a third time, and there was a gleam of hope in his face.
"I'm going to let you go," I concluded. "I'd advise you to follow the river till you get beyond the settlements, and then try for Pennsylvania. I promise you there'll be no pursuit, but if you ever show your face around here again, you're as good as dead."
Before I had finished, he had fallen to his knees and bowed his head upon my feet, with a peculiar reverence,—a relic, I suppose, of his life in Africa. He was blubbering like a baby when he looked up at me.
"I'll nevah f'git yeh, Mas' Tom," he said. "I'll nevah f'git yeh."