Mr. Hopper filled out his check, and presently departed. It was the signal for the little force which remained to leave. Outside, in the store; Ephum paced uneasily, wondering why his master did not come out. Presently he crept to the door of the office, pushed it open, and beheld Mr. Carvel with his head bowed, down in his hands.
“Marse Comyn!” he cried, “Marse Comyn!”
The Colonel looked up. His face was haggard.
“Marse Comyn, you know what I done promise young MISS long time ago, befo'—befo' she done left us?”
“Yes, Ephum.”
He saw the faithful old negro but dimly. Faintly he heard the pleading voice.
“Marse Comyn, won' you give Ephum a pass down, river, ter fotch Cap'n Lige?”
“Ephum,” said the Colonel, sadly, “I had a letter from the Captain yesterday. He is at Cairo. His boat is a Federal transport, and he is in Yankee pay.”
Ephum took a step forward, appealingly, “But de Cap'n's yo' friend, Marse Comyn. He ain't never fo'get what you done fo' him, Marse Comyn. He ain't in de army, suh.”
“And I am the Captain's friend, Ephum,” answered the Colonel, quietly. “But I will not ask aid from any man employed by the Yankee Government. No—not from my own brother, who is in a Pennsylvania regiments.”