'That is the issue exactly.'
'Then if I were to hang Hagthorpe…'
'There would be a yard–arm for your cousin.'
'Only one decision, of course, is possible.'
Her ladyship's gasp of relief from her mounting fears was clearly audible. 'You prevail, sir,' she cried. 'We must let Hagthorpe go.'
'On the contrary,' said Sir James. 'I must hang him.'
'You must…' She choked as she stared at him, open–mouthed, the horror back again in her wide blue eyes.
'I have a clear duty, madam, as you reminded me. As you said, I dare not be a party to Hagthorpe's leaving the plantations. He must hang. Fiat justitia, ruat coelum. I think that's how it runs. What happens afterwards will not be on my conscience.'
'Not on your conscience!' She was distraught. 'But Geoffrey!' She wrung her hands. 'Geoffrey!' Her tone had become a wail. Then, rallying, she turned in fury on her husband. 'You're mad. Mad! You can't do this. You can't. Hagthorpe must go. What does he matter, after all? What's a slave more or less? In God's name, let him go.'
'And my duty, then? My clear duty?'