"You cannot. Even Mr. Moore tells you that."
"Yes," said the clergyman, conscientiously, "I must say it though I do not wish to; the place is unusually lonely, it stands quite by itself; it would be unwise to remain."
"I must give it up, I see," Margaret answered; "I am sorry. But at least I can retain the house; I should like to keep it open, too; the servants could stay here, I suppose."
Winthrop turned and looked at her, a quick surprised suspicion in his glance.
"I could do that, couldn't I?" she repeated, addressing Mr. Moore.
Again the clergyman looked uncomfortable. He crossed his legs, and extending the pendent foot a little in its long, thin-soled boot, he looked at it and moved it to and fro slightly, as if he had been called upon to give an opinion upon the leather. "I fear," he said, as the result of his meditation, "that it might not be altogether prudent. The negroes have much hospitality; with a large house at their command, and nobody near, I fear they might be tempted to invite their friends to visit them."
"The place would swarm with them," said Winthrop.
"At any rate, I shall keep the house even if I close it," said Margaret. "It must be ready for occupancy at any time."
"Then you are thinking of coming back?" Winthrop asked. His face still showed an angry mistrust.
"I may come back. At present, however, I shall go north; and as I prefer to go immediately, I shall set about arranging the rooms here so that I can leave them. It will not take long, two days, or three at most; it would be a great kindness, Mr. Moore, if you would stay with me until I leave—by next Saturday's steamer, probably."