"Now I understand you, my own love," answered Lord H----. "With regard to the baronetcy, he shall do as he will; but I must press him earnestly to accept the office tendered to him. To decline it might show some resentment. By accepting it he incurs no peril, and he serves his country; for from his knowledge of the people here, of the very physical features of the land and its resources, and of the habits and feelings of all classes, I believe no man could be found, with one or two exceptions, so well fitted for the task as himself---- Ah! my good friend Captain Brooks, how do you do? I have much wished to see you lately, and to hear of your plans."
"I am as well as may be, my lord," replied Woodchuck, wringing in his heavy grasp the hand which Lord H---- extended to him. "As for my plans, they are the same as ever; you did not doubt me, I am sure."
"I did not," replied Lord H----, gravely, and looking down, he fell into a fit of thought. At length, looking up, he added: "And yet, my good friend, I am glad you have had time for reflection, for since we last met I have somewhat reproached myself for at least tacit encouragement of an act, in the approval of which so many personal motives mingle that one may well doubt one's self. Forgive me, Edith--forgive me, Mr. Prevost, if I ask our friend here if he has well considered, and weighed in his own mind, calmly and reasonably, without bias, nay, without enthusiasm, whether there be any moral obligation on him to perform an act which I suppose he has told you he contemplated."
"There is no forgiveness needed, my lord," said Mr. Prevost. "I would have put the same question to him if he would have let me. Nay, more; I would have told him, whatever I might suffer by the result, that in my judgment there was no moral obligation. Because he did a justifiable act these Indians commit one that is unjustifiable, upon an innocent man. That can be no reason why he should sacrifice his life to save the other. God forbid, that even for the love of my own child, I should deal in such a matter unjustly. I am no Roman father--I pretend not to be such. If my own death will satisfy them, let them take the old tree, withered at the root, and spare the sapling, full of strength and promise; but let me not doom--let me not advise a noble and an honest man to sacrifice himself from a too generous impulse."
"I do not know much of moral obligations," replied Woodchuck, gravely, "but I guess I have thought over the thing as much as e'er one of you. I have made up my mind, and just on one principle, and there let it rest, in God's name! I say to myself, 'Woodchuck, it's not right, is it, that anyone should suffer for what you ha' done?' 'No, it's not.' 'Well, is there any use talking of whether they've a right to make him suffer for your act or not? They'll do it.' 'No, there's no use a-talking, because they'll do it. It's only shuffling off the consequences of what you did upon another man's shoulders. You never did that, Woodchuck; don't do it now. Man might say, it's all fair; God might pardon it, but your own heart would never forgive it!'"
Edith sprang forward and took both his hands, with her beautiful eyes full of tears. "God will prevent it!" she said, earnestly. "I have faith in Him. He will deliver in our utmost need! He provided the Patriarch with an offering, and spared his son. He will find us a means of escape if we but trust in Him."
"Miss Edith," replied Woodchuck, gravely, "He may or He may not, according to His own good pleasure; but of this I am sure, that though Christ died for our transgressions, we have no right to see anyone else suffer for our doings. I have read my Bible a great deal up there on the hillside lately--more than I ever did before since I was a little boy--and I am quite certain of what I'm about. It has been a comfort and a strength to me. It's all so clear--so very clear. Other books one may not understand--one can't misunderstand that unless one tries very hard. And now, pray, let's have an end on't here. My mind is quite made up. There's no use of saying a word more."
All the rest were silent, and Edith left the room with the large tears rolling over her cheeks.
CHAPTER XXIV
When Edith rose on the day following the visit of poor Captain Brooks, somewhat later than was her custom--for the first half of the watches of the night had known no comfort--Woodchuck was gone. He had waited for no leave-taking, and was on his way toward the mountains before the dawn of day.