The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a well-dressed gentleman with a coloured servant.
The newcomer was very tall, with a dark Spanish complexion, fine expressive black eyes, and curly hair, also black.
He walked up to the bar, and gave his name as Henry Butler [´bAtlq], Oaklands [´qVklqndz], Shelby County [´SelbI ´kaVntI]. Turning with an indifferent air to the advertisement, he read it trough.
Mr Wilson looked at the newcomer. It seemed to him he had met the man somewhere. And then he suddenly remembered...
He stared at the stranger with such an air of surprise that the latter walked up to him.
"Mr Wilson, I think," he said in a quiet voice. "I beg your pardon. I hardly recognized you. I see you remember me - Mr Butler of Oaklands, Shelby County."
"Ye - yes - yes, sir" said Mr Wilson, like one speaking in a dream.
"I should like to have a few moments' conversation with you on business, in private, in my room, if you please," added the newcomer.
When they entered the room upstairs, the young man locked the door, put the key into his pocket, and looked Mr Wilson straight in the face.
"George!" said Mr Wilson.
"Yes, George," said the young man. "I am fairly well disguised, it seems. I've dyed my hair black, so you see I don't answer to the advertisement at all."
For a few minutes Mr Wilson could not say a word. When he began to speak at last, his voice was trembling. "Well, George, I see you're running away - leaving your lawful master, George, - I think it's my duty to tell you so. I am sorry to see you in opposition to the laws of your country."
"My country!" said George with bitterness, "I have no country."