“An' Dick Travis has loved her from his youth,” went on the overseer, “an' he loves her now, an' he's a masterful man.”
“So is the Devil,” whispered Uncle Bisco, “an' didn't he battle with the angels of the Lord an' mighty nigh hurled 'em from the crystal battlements.”
“Bisco, I know him—I've knowed him from youth. He's a conjurin' man—a man who does things—he'll win her—he'll marry her yet. She'll not love him as she did Cap'n Tom. No—she'll never love again. But life is one thing an' love is another, an' it ain't often they meet in the same person. Youth mus' live even if it don't love, an' the law of nature is the law of life.”
“I'm afeered so,” said the old negro, shaking his head, “I'm afeered it'll be that way—but—I'd ruther see her die to-night.”
“If God lets it be,” said the preacher, “Bisco, if God lets it be—” he said excitedly, “if he'll let Cap'n Tom die an' suffer the martyrdom he suffered for conscience sake an' be robbed, as he was robbed, of his home, an' of his love—if God'll do that, then all I can say is, that after a long life walkin' with God, it'll be the fus' time I've ever knowed Him to let the wrong win out in the end. An' that ain't the kind of God I'm lookin' fur.”
“Do you say that, Marse Hillyard?” asked the old negro quickly—his eyes taking on the light of hope as one who, weak, comes under the influence of a stronger mind. “Marse Hillyard, do you believe it? Praise God.”
“Bisco—I'm—I'm ashamed—why should I doubt Him—He's told me a thousand truths an' never a lie.”
“Praise God,” replied the old man softly.
And so the two old men talked on, and their talk was of Captain Tom. No wonder when the old preacher mounted his horse to go back to his little cabin, all of his thoughts were of Captain Tom. No wonder Uncle Bisco, who had raised him, went to bed and dreamed of Captain Tom—dreamed and saw again the bloody Franklin fight.