what answer? anna e. dickinson what answer? chapter i "_in flower of youth and beauty's pride._" dryden a crowded new york street,--fifth avenue at the height of the afternoon; a gallant and brilliant throng. looking over the glittering array, the purple and fine linen, the sweeping robes, the exquisite equipages, the stately houses; the faces, delicate and refined, proud, self-satisfied, that gazed out from their windows on the street, or that glanced from the street to the windows, or at one another,--looking over all this, being a part of it, one might well say, "this is existence, and beside it there is none other. let us dress, dine, and be merry! life is good, and love is sweet, and both shall endure! let us forget that hunger and sin, sorrow and self-sacrifice, want, struggle, and pain, have place in the world." yet, even with the words, "poverty, frost-nipped in a summer suit," here and there hurried by; and once and again through the restless tide the sorrowful procession of the tomb made way. more than one eye was lifted, and many a pleasant greeting passed between these selected few who filled the street and a young man who lounged by one of the overlooking windows; and many a comment was uttered upon him when the greeting was made:-- "a most eligible _parti_!" "handsome as a god!" "o, immensely rich, i assure you!" "_isn't_ he a beauty!" "pity he wasn't born poor!" "why?" "o, because they say he carried off all the honors at college and law-school, and is altogether overstocked with brains for a man who has no need to use them." "will he practise?" "doubtful. why should he?" "ambition, power,--gratify one, gain the other." "nonsense! he'll probably go abroad and travel for a while, come back, marry, and enjoy life." "he does that now, i fancy." "looks so." and indeed he did. there was not only vigor and manly beauty, splendid in its present, but the "possibility of more to be in the full process of his ripening days,"--a form alert and elegant, which had not yet all of a man's muscle and strength; a face delicate, yet strong,--refined, yet full of latent power; a mass of rippling hair like burnished gold, flung back on the one side, sweeping low across brow and cheek on the other; eyes "of a deep, soft, lucent hue,-- eyes too expressive to be blue, too lovely to be gray." people involuntarily thought of the pink and flower of chivalry as they looked at him, or imagined, in some indistinct fashion, that they heard the old songs of percy and douglas, or the later lays of the cavaliers, as they heard his voice,--a voice that was just now humming one of these same lays:-- "then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants, all, and don your helmes amaine; death's couriers, fame and honor, call us to the field againe." "stuff!" he cried impatiently, looking wistfully at the men's faces going by,--"stuff! _we_ look like gallants to ride a tilt at the world, and die for honor and fame,--we!" "i thank god, willie, you are not called upon for any such sacrifice." "ah, little mother, well you may!" he answered, smiling, and taking her hand,--"well you may, for i am afraid i should fall dreadfully short when the time came; and then how ashamed you'd be of your big boy, who took his ease at home, with the great drums beating and the trumpets blowing outside. and yet--i should like to be tried!" "see, mother!" he broke out again,--"see what a life it is, getting and spending, living handsomely and doing the proper thing towards society, and all that,--rubbing through the world in the old hereditary way; though i needn't growl at it, for i enjoy it enough, and find it a pleasant enough way, heaven knows. lazy idler! enjoying the sunshine with the rest. heigh-ho!" "you have your profession, willie. there's work there, and opportunity sufficient to help others and do for yourself." "ay, and i'll _do_ it! but there is so much that is poor and mean, and base and tricky, in it all,--so much to disgust and tire one,--all the time, day after day, for years. now if it were only a huge giant that stands in your way, you could out rapier and have at him at once, and there an end,--laid out or triumphant. that's worth while!" "o youth, eager and beautiful," thought the mother who listened, "that in this phase is so alike the world over,--so impatient to do, so ready to brave encounters, so willing to dare and die! may the doing be faithful, and the encounters be patiently as well as bravely fought, and the fancy of heroic death be a reality of noble and earnest life. god grant it! amen." "meanwhile," said the gay voice,--"meanwhile it's a pleasant world; let us enjoy it! and as to do this is within the compass of a man's wit, therefore will i attempt the doing." while he was talking he had once more come to the window, and, looking out, fastened his eyes unconsciously but intently upon the face of a young girl who was slowly passing by,--unconsciously, yet so intently that, as if suddenly magnetized, a flicker of feeling went over it; the mouth, set with a steady sweetness, quivered a little; the eyes--dark, beautiful eyes--were lifted to his an instant, that was all. the mother beside him did not see; but she heard a long breath, almost a sigh, break from him as he started, then flashed out of the room, snatching his hat in the hall, and so on to the street, and away. away after her, through block after block, across the crowded avenue to broadway. "who is she? where did she come from? _i_ never saw her before. i wonder if mrs. russell knows her, or clara, or anybody! i will know where she lives, or where she is going at least,--that will be some clew! there! she is stopping that stage. i'll help her in! no, i won't,--she will think i am chasing her. nonsense! do you suppose she saw you at the window? of course! no, she didn't; don't be a fool! there! i'll get into the next stage. now i'll keep watch of that, and she'll not know. so--all right! go ahead, driver." and happy with some new happiness, eager, bright, the handsome young fellow sat watching that other stage, and the stylish little lace bonnet that was all he could see of his magnet, through the interminable journey down broadway. how clear the air seemed! and the sun, how splendidly it shone! and what a glad look was upon all the people's faces! he felt like breaking out into gay little snatches of song, and moved his foot to the waltz measure that beat time in his brain till the irate old gentleman opposite, whom nature had made of a sour complexion and art assisted to corns, broke out with an angry exclamation. that drew his attention for a moment. a slackening of speed, a halt, and the stage was wedged in one of the inextricable "jams" on broadway. vain the search for _her_ stage then; looking over the backs of the poor, tired horses, or from the sidewalk,--here, there, at this one and that one,--all for naught! stage and passenger, eyes, little lace bonnet, and all, had vanished away, as william surrey confessed, and confessed with reluctance and discontent. "no matter!" he said presently,--"no matter! i shall see her again. i know it! i feel it! it is written in the book of the fates! so now i shall content me with something"--that looks like her he did not say definitely, but felt it none the less, as, going over to the flower-basket near by, he picked out a little nosegay of mignonette and geranium, with a tea-rosebud in its centre, and pinned it at his button-hole. "delicate and fine!" he thought,--"delicate and fine!" and with the repetition he looked from it down the long street after the interminable line of stages; and somehow the faint, sweet perfume, and the fair flower, and the dainty lace bonnet, were mingled in wild and charming confusion in his brain, till he shook himself, and laughed at himself, and quoted shakespeare to excuse himself,--"a mad world, my masters!"--seeing this poor old earth of ours, as people always do, through their own eyes. "god bless ye! and long life to yer honor! and may the blessed virgin give ye the desire of yer heart!" called the irishwoman after him, as he put back the change in her hand and went gayly up the street. "sure, he's somebody's darlint, the beauty! the saints preserve him!" she said, as she looked from the gold piece in her palm to the fair, sunny head, watching it till it was lost in the crowd from her grateful eyes. evidently this young man was a favorite, for, as he passed along, many a face, worn by business and care, brightened as he smiled and spoke; many a countenance stamped with the trade-mark, preoccupied and hard, relaxed in a kindly recognition as he bowed and went by; and more than one found time, even in that busy whirl, to glance for a moment after him, or to remember him with a pleasant feeling, at least till the pavement had been crossed on which they met,--a long space at that hour of the day, and with so much more important matters--bull and bear, rise and fall, stock and account--claiming their attention. evidently a favorite, for, turning off into one of the side streets, coming into his father's huge foundry, faces heated and dusty, tired, stained, and smoke-begrimed, glanced up from their work, from forge and fire and engine, with an expression that invited a look or word,--and look and word were both ready. "the boss is out, sir," said one of the foremen, "and if you please, and have got the time to spare, i'd like to have a word with you before he comes in." "all right, jim! say your say." "well, sir, you'll likely think i'm sticking my nose into what doesn't concern me. 'tain't a very nice thing i've got to say, but if i don't say it i don't know who in thunder will; and, as it's my private opinion that somebody ought to, i'll just pitch in." "very good; pitch in." "very good it is then. only it ain't. very bad, more like. it's a nasty mess, and no mistake! and there's the cause of it!" pointing his brawny hand towards the door, upon which was marked, "office. private," and sniffing as though he smelt something bad in the air. "you don't mean my father!" flame shooting from the clear eyes. "be damned if i do. beg pardon. of course i don't. i mean the fellow as is perched up on a high stool in that there office, this very minute, poking into his books." "franklin?" "you've hit it. franklin,--abe franklin,--that's the ticket." "what's the matter with him? what has he done?" "done? nothing! not as i know of, anyway, except what's right and proper. 'tain't what he's done or's like to do. it's what he is." "and what may that be?" "well, he's a nigger! there's the long and short of it. nobody here'd object to his working in this place, providing he was a runner, or an errand-boy, or anything that it's right and proper for a nigger to be; but to have him sitting in that office, writing letters for the boss, and going over the books, and superintending the accounts of the fellows, so that he knows just what they get on saturday nights, and being as fine as a fiddle, is what the boys won't stand; and they swear they'll leave, every man of 'em, unless he has his walking papers,--double-quick too." "very well; let them. there are other workmen, good as they, in this city of new york." "hold on, sir! let me say my say first. there are seven hundred men working in this place: the most of 'em have worked here a long while. good work, good pay. there ain't a man of 'em but likes mr. surrey, and would be sorry to lose the place; so, if they won't bear it, there ain't any that will. wait a bit! i ain't through yet." "go on,"--quietly enough spoken, but the mouth shook under its silky fringe, and a fiery spot burned on either cheek. "all right. well, sir, i know all about franklin. he's a bright one, smart enough to stock a lot of us with brains and have some to spare; he don't interfere with us, and does his work well, too, i reckon,--though that's neither here nor there, nor none of our business if the boss is satisfied; and he looks like a gentleman, and acts like one, there's no denying that! and as for his skin,--well!" a smile breaking over his good-looking face, "his skin's quite as white as mine now, anyway," smearing his red-flannel arm over his grimy phiz; "but then, sir, it won't rub off. he's a nigger, and there's no getting round it. "all right, sir! give you your chance directly. don't speak yet,--ain't through, if _you_ please. well, sir, it's agen nature,--you may talk agen it, and work agen it, and fight agen it till all's blue, and what good'll it do? you can't get an irishman, and, what's more, a free-born american citizen, to put himself on a level with a nigger,--not by no manner of means. no, sir; you can turn out the whole lot, and get another after it, and another after that, and so on to the end of the chapter, and you can't find men among 'em all that'll stay and have him strutting through 'em, up to his stool and his books, grand as a peacock." "would they work _with_ him?" "at the same engines, and the like, do you mean?" "yes." "nary time, so 'tain't likely they'll work under him. now, sir, you see i know what i'm saying, and i'm saying it to _you_, mr. surrey, and not to your father, because he won't take a word from me nor nobody else,--and here's just the case. now i ain't bullying, you understand, and i say it because somebody else'd say it, if i didn't, uglier and rougher. abe franklin'll have to go out of this shop in precious short order, or every man here'll bolt next saturday night. there! now i've done, sir, and you can fire away." but as he showed no signs of "firing away," and stood still, pondering, jim broke out again:-- "beg pardon, sir. if i've said anything you don't like, sorry for it. it's because mr. surrey is so good an employer, and, if you'll let me say so, because i like you so well," glancing over him admiringly,--"for, you see, a good engineer takes to a clean-built machine wherever he sees it,--it's just because of this i thought it was better to tell you, and get you to tell the boss, and to save any row; for i'd hate mortally to have it in this shop where i've worked, man and boy, so many years. will you please to speak to him, sir? and i hope you understand." "thank you, jim. yes, i understand; and i'll speak to him." was it that the sun was going down, or that some clouds were in the sky, or had the air of the shop oppressed him? whatever it was, as he came out he walked with a slower step from which some of the spring had gone, and the people's faces looked not so happy; and, glancing down at his rosebud, he saw that its fair petals had been soiled by the smoke and grime in which he had been standing; and, while he looked a dead march came solemnly sounding up the street, and a soldier's funeral went by,--rare enough, in that autumn of , to draw a curious crowd on either side; rare enough to make him pause and survey it; and as the line turned into another street, and the music came softened to his ear, he once more hummed the words of the song which had been haunting him all the day:-- "then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants, all, and don your helmes amaine; death's couriers, fame and honor, call us to the field againe,"-- sang them to himself, but not with the gay, bright spirit of the morning. then he seemed to see the cavaliers, brilliant and brave, riding out to the encounter. now, in the same dim and fanciful way, he beheld them stretched, still and dead, upon the plain. chapter ii "_thou--drugging pain by patience._" arnold "laces cleaned, and fluting and ruffling done here,"--that was what the little sign swinging outside the little green door said. and, coming under it into the cosey little rooms, you felt this was just the place in which to leave things soiled and torn, and come back to find them, by some mysterious process, immaculate and whole. two rooms, with folding-doors between, in which through the day stood a counter, cut up on the one side into divers pigeon-holes rilled with small boxes and bundles, carefully pinned and labelled,--owner's name, time left, time to be called for, money due; neat and nice as a new pin, as every one said who had any dealings there. the counter was pushed back now, as always after seven o'clock, for the people who came in the evening were few; and then, when that was out of the way, it seemed more home-like and less shoppy, as mrs. franklin said every night, as she straightened things out, and peered through the window or looked from the front door, and wondered if "abram weren't later than usual," though she knew right well he was punctual as clock-work,--good clock-work too,--when he was going to his toil or hurrying back to his home. pleasant little rooms, with the cleanest and brightest of rag carpets on the floor; a paper on the walls, cheap enough, but gay with scarlet rosebuds and green leaves, rivalled by the vines and berries on the pretty chintz curtains; chairs of a dozen ages and patterns, but all of them with open, inviting countenances and a hospitable air; a wood fire that _looked_ like a wood fire crackling and sparkling on the hearth, shining and dancing over the ceiling and the floor and the walls, cutting queer capers with the big rocking-chair,--which turned into a giant with long arms,--and with the little figures on the mantel-shelf, and the books in their cases, softening and glorifying the two grand faces hanging in their frames opposite, and giving just light enough below them to let you read "john brown" and "phillips," if you had any occasion to read, and did not know those whom the world knows; and first and last, and through all, as if it loved her, and was loath to part with her for a moment, whether she poked the flame, or straightened a chair, or went out towards the little kitchen to lift a lid and smell a most savory stew, or came back to the supper-table to arrange and rearrange what was already faultless in its cleanliness and simplicity, wherever she went and whatever she did, this firelight fell warm about a woman, large and comfortable and handsome, with a motherly look to her person, and an expression that was all kindness in her comely face and dark, soft eyes,--eyes and face and form, though, that might as well have had "pariah" written all over them, and "leper" stamped on their front, for any good, or beauty, or grace, that people could find in them; for the comely face was a dark face, and the voice, singing an old methodist hymn, was no anglo-saxon treble, but an anglo-african voice, rich and mellow, with the touch of pathos or sorrow always heard in these tones. "there!" she said, "there he is!" as a step, hasty yet halting, was heard on the pavement; and, turning up the light, she ran quickly to open the door, which, to be sure, was unfastened, and to give the greeting to her "boy," which, through many a year, had never been omitted. _her_ boy,--you would have known that as soon as you saw him,--the same eyes, same face, the same kindly look; but the face was thinner and finer, and the brow was a student's brow, full of thought and speculation; and, looking from her hearty, vigorous form, you saw that his was slight to attenuation. "sit down, sonny, sit down and rest. there! how tired you look!" bustling round him, smoothing his thin face and rough hair. "now don't do that! let your old mother do it!" it pleased her to call herself old, though she was but just in her prime. "you've done enough for one day, i'm sure, waiting on other people, and walking with your poor lame foot till you're all but beat out. you be quiet now, and let somebody else wait on you." and, going down on her knees, she took up the lame foot, and began to unlace the cork-soled, high-cut shoe, and, drawing it out, you saw that it was shrunken and small, and that the leg was shorter than its fellow. "poor little foot!" rubbing it tenderly, smoothing the stocking over it, and chafing it to bring warmth and life to its surface. her "baby," she called it, for it was no bigger than when he was a little fellow. "poor, tired foot! ain't it a dreadful long walk, sonny?" "pretty long, mother; but i'd take twice that to do such work at the end." "yes, indeed, it's good work, and mr. surrey's a good man, and a kind one, that's sure! i only wish some others had a little of his spirit. such a shame to have you dragging all the way up here, when any dirty fellow that wants to can ride. i don't mind for myself so much, for i can walk about spry enough yet, and don't thank them for their old omnibuses nor cars; but it's too bad for you, so it is,--too bad!" "never mind, mother! keep a brave heart. 'there's a good time coming soon, a good time coming!' as i heard mr. hutchinson sing the other night,--and it's true as gospel." "maybe it is, sonny!" dubiously, "but i don't see it,--not a sign of it,--no indeed, not one! it gets worse and worse all the time, and it takes a deal of faith to hold on; but the good lord knows best, and it'll be right after a while, anyhow! and now _that's_ straight!" pulling a soft slipper on the lame foot, and putting its mate by his side; then going off to pour out the tea, and dish up the stew, and add a touch or two to the appetizing supper-table. "it's as good as a feast,"--taking a bite out of her nice home-made bread,--"better'n a feast, to think of you in that place; and i can't scarcely realize it yet. it seems too fine to be true." "that's the way i've felt all the month, mother! it has been just like a dream to me, and i keep thinking surely i'm asleep and will waken to find this is just an air-castle i've been building, or 'a vision of the night,' as the good book says." "well, it's a blessed vision, sure enough! and i hope to the good lord it'll last;--but you won't if you make a vision of your supper in that way. you just eat, abram! and have done your talking till you're through, if you can't do both at once. talking's good, but eating's better when you're hungry; and it's my opinion you ought to be hungry, if you ain't." so the teacups were filled and emptied, and the spoons clattered, and the stew was eaten, and the baked potatoes devoured, and the bread-and-butter assaulted vigorously, and general havoc made with the good things and substantial things before and between them; and then, this duty faithfully performed, the wreck speedily vanished away; and cups and forks, spoons and plates, knives and dishes, cleaned and cupboarded, mrs. franklin came, and, drawing away the book over which he was poring, said, while she smoothed face and hair once more, "come, abram, what is it?" "what's what, mother?" with a little laugh. "something ails you, sonny. that's plain enough. i know when anything's gone wrong with ye, sure, and something's gone wrong to-day." "o mother! you worry about me too much, indeed you do. if i'm a little tired or out of sorts,--which i haven't any right to be, not here,--or quiet, or anything, you think somebody's been hurting me, or abusing me, or that everything's gone wrong with me, when i do well enough all the time." "now, abram, you can't deceive me,--not that way. my eyes is mother's eyes, and they see plain enough, where you're concerned, without spectacles. who's been putting on you to-day? somebody. you don't carry that down look in your face and your eyes for nothing, i found that out long ago, and you've got it on to-night." "o mother!" "don't you 'o mother' me! i ain't going to be put off in that way, abram, an' you needn't think it. has mr. surrey been saying anything hard to you?" "no, indeed, mother; you needn't ask that." "nor none of the foremen?" "none." "has snipe been round?" "hasn't been near the office since mr. surrey dismissed him." "met him anywhere?" "nein!" laughing, "i haven't laid eyes on him." "well, the men have been saying or doing something then." "n-no; why, what an inquisitor it is!" "'n-no.' you don't say that full and plain, abram. something _has_ been going wrong with the men. now what is it? come, out with it." "well, mother, if you _will_ know, you will, i suppose; and, as you never get tired of the story, i'll go over the whole tale. "so long as i was mr. surrey's office-boy, to make his fires, and sweep and dust, and keep things in order, the men were all good enough to me after their fashion; and if some of them growled because they thought he favored me, mr. given, or some one said, 'o, you know his mother was a servant of mrs. surrey for no end of years, and of course mr. surrey has a kind of interest in him'; and that put everything straight again. "well! you know how good mr. willie has been to me ever since we were little boys in the same house,--he in the parlor and i in the kitchen; the books he's given me, and the chances he's made me, and the way he's put me in of learning and knowing. and he's been twice as kind to me ever since i refused that offer of his." "yes, i know, but tell me about it again." "well, mr. surrey sent me up to the house one day, just while mr. willie was at home from college, and he stopped me and had a talk with me, and asked me in his pleasant way, not as if i were a 'nigger,' but just as he'd talk to one of his mates, ever so many questions about myself and my studies and my plans; and i told him what i wanted,--how hard you worked, and how i hoped to fit myself to go into some little business of my own, not a barber-shop, or any such thing, but something that'd support you and keep you like a lady after while, and that would help me and my people at the same time. for, of course," i said, "every one of us that does anything more than the world expects us to do, or better, makes the world think so much the more and better of us all." "what did he say to that?" "i wish you'd seen him! he pushed back that beautiful hair of his, and his eyes shone, and his mouth trembled, though i could see he tried hard to hold it still, and put up his hand to cover it; and he said, in a solemn sort of way, 'franklin, you've opened a window for me, and i sha'n't forget what i see through it to-day.' and then he offered to set me up in some business at once, and urged hard when i declined." "say it all over again, sonny; what was it you told him?" "i said that would do well enough for a white man; that he could help, and the white man be helped, just as people were being and doing all the time, and no one would think a thought about it. but, sir," i said, "everybody says we can do nothing alone; that we're a poor, shiftless set; and it will be just one of the master race helping a nigger to climb and to stand where he couldn't climb or stand alone, and i'd rather fight my battle alone." "yes, yes! well, go on, go on. i like to hear what followed." "well, there was just a word or two more, and then he put out his hand and shook mine, and said good by. it was the first time i ever shook hands with a white _gentleman_. some white hands have shaken mine, but they always made me feel that they _were_ white and that mine was black, and that it was a condescension. i felt that, when they didn't mean i should. but there was nothing between us. i didn't think of his skin, and, for once in my life, i quite forgot i was black, and didn't remember it again till i got out on the street and heard a dirty little ragamuffin cry, 'hi! hi! don't that nagur think himself foine?' i suspect, in spite of my lameness, i had been holding up my head and walking like a man." in spite of his lameness he was holding up his head and walking like a man now; up and down and across the little room, trembling, excited, the words rushing in an eager flow from his mouth. his mother sat quietly rocking herself and knitting. she knew in this mood there was nothing to be said to him; and, indeed, what had she to say save that which would add fuel to the flame? "well!"--a long sigh,--"after that mr. surrey doubled my wages, and was kinder to me than ever, and watched me, as i saw, quite closely; and that was the way he found out about mr. snipe. "you see mr. snipe had been very careless about keeping the books; would come down late in the mornings, just before mr. surrey came in, and go away early in the afternoons, as soon as he had left. of course, the books got behindhand every month, and mr. snipe didn't want to stay and work overhours to make them up. one day he found out, by something i said, that i understood bookkeeping, and tried me, and then got me to take them home at night and go over them. i didn't know then how bad he was doing, and that i had no business to shield him, and all went smooth enough till the day i was too sick to get down to the office, and two of the books were at home. then mr. surrey discovered the whole thing. there was a great row, it seems; and mr. surrey examined the books, and found, as he was pleased to say, that i'd kept them in first-rate style; so he dismissed mr. snipe on the spot, with six months' pay,--for you know he never does anything by halves,--and put me in his place. "the men don't like it, i know, and haven't liked it, but of course they can't say anything to him, and they haven't said anything to me; but i've seen all along that they looked at me with no friendly eyes, and for the last day or two i've heard a word here and there which makes me think there's trouble brewing,--bad enough, i'm afraid; maybe to the losing of my place, though mr. surrey has said nothing about it to me." just here the little green door opened, and the foreman whom we have before seen--james given as the register had him entered, jim given as every one knew him--came in; no longer with grimy face and flannel sleeves, but brave in all his sunday finery, and as handsome a b'hoy, they said, at his engine-house, as any that ran with the machine; having on his arm a young lady whom he apostrophized as sallie, as handsome and brave as he. "evening,"--a nod of the head accompanying. "miss howard's traps done?" "i wish you wouldn't say 'traps,' jim," corrected sallie, _sotto voce_: "it's not proper. it's for a collar and pair of cuffs, mrs. franklin," she added aloud, putting down a little check. "not proper! goodness gracious me! there spoke snipe! come, sallie, you've pranced round with that stuck-up jackanapes till you're getting spoiled entirely, so you are, and i scarcely know you. not proper,--o my!" "spoiled, am i? thank you, sir, for the compliment! and you don't know me at all,--don't you? very well, then i'll say good night, and leave; for it wouldn't be proper to take a young lady you don't know to the theatre,--now, would it? good by!"--making for the door. "now don't, sallie, please." "don't what?" "don't talk that way." "don't yourself, more like. you're just as cross as cross can be, and disagreeable, and hateful,--all because i happen to know there's some other man in the world besides yourself, and smile at him now and then. 'don't,' indeed!" "come, sallie, you're too hard on a fellow. it's your own fault, you know well enough, if you will be so handsome. now, if you were an ugly old girl, or i was certain of you, i shouldn't feel so bad, nor act so neither. but when there's a lot of hungry chaps round, all gaping to gobble you up, and even poor little snipes trying to peck and bite at you, and you won't say 'yes' nor 'no' to me, how do you expect a man to keep cool? can't do it, nohow, and you needn't ask it. human nature's human nature, i suppose, and mine ain't a quiet nor a patient one, not by no manner of means. come, sallie, own up; you wouldn't like me so well as i hope you do if it was,--now, would you?" mrs. franklin smiled, though she had heard not a word of the lovers' quarrel, as she put a pin in the back of the ruffled collar which sallie had come to reclaim. a quarrel it had evidently been, and as evidently the lady was mollified, for she said, "don't be absurd, jim!" and jim laughed and responded, "all right, sallie, you're an angel! but come, we must hurry, or the curtain'll be up,"--and away went the dashing and handsome couple. abram, shutting in the shutters, and fastening the door, sat down to a quiet evening's reading, while his mother knitted and sewed,--an evening the likeness of a thousand others of which they never tired; for this mother and son, to whom fate had dealt so hard a measure, upon whom the world had so persistently frowned, were more to each other than most mothers and sons whose lines had fallen in pleasanter places,--compensation, as mr. emerson says, being the law of existence the world over. chapter iii "_every one has his day, from which he dates._" old proverb you see, surrey, the school is something extra, and the performances, and it will please clara no end; so i thought i'd run over, and inveigled you into going along for fear it should be stupid, and i would need some recreation." "which i am to afford?" "verily." "as clown or grindstone?--to make laugh, or sharpen your wits upon?" "far be it from me to dictate. whichever suits our character best. on the whole, i think the last would be the most appropriate; the first i can swear wouldn't!" "_pourquoi_?" "o, a woman's reason,--because!" "because why? am i cross?" "not exactly." "rough?" "as usual,--like a may breeze." "cynical?" "as epicurus." "irritable?" "'a countenance [and manner] more in sorrow than in anger.' something's wrong with you; who is she?" "she!" "ay,--she. that was a wise eastern king who put at the bottom of every trouble and mischief a woman." "fine estimate." "correct one. evidently he had studied the genus thoroughly, and had a poor opinion of it." "no wonder." "amazing! _you_ say 'no wonder'! astounding words! speak them again." "no wonder,--seeing that he had a mother, and that she had such a son. he must needs have been a bad fellow or a fool to have originated so base a philosophy, and how then could he respect the source of such a stream as himself?" "sir launcelot,--squire of dames!" "not sir launcelot, but squire of dames, i hope." "there you go again! now i shall query once more, who is she?" "no woman." "no?" "no, though by your smiling you would seem to say so!" "nay, i believe you, and am vastly relieved in the believing. take advice from ten years of superior age, and fifty of experience, and have naught to do with them. dost hear?" "i do." "and will heed?" "which?--the words or the acts of my counsellor? who, of a surety, preaches wisely and does foolishly, or who does wisely and preaches foolishly; for preaching and practice do not agree." "nay, man, thou art unreasonable; to perform either well is beyond the capacity of most humans, and i desire not to be blessed above my betters. then let my rash deeds and my prudent words both be teachers unto thee. but if it be true that no woman is responsible for your grave countenance this morning, then am i wasting words, and will return to our muttons. what ails you?" "i am belligerent." "i see,--that means quarrelsome." "and hopeless." "bad,--very! belligerent and hopeless! when you go into a fight always expect to win; the thought is half the victory." "suppose you are an atom against the universe?" "don't fight, succumb. there's a proverb,--a wise one,--napoleon's, 'god is on the side of the strongest battalions.'" "a lie,--exploded at waterloo. there's another proverb, 'one on the side of god is a majority.' how about that?" "transcendental humbug." "a truth demonstrated at wittenberg." "are you aching for the martyr's palm?" "i am afraid not. on the whole, i think i'd rather enjoy life than quarrel with it. but"--with a sudden blaze--"i feel to-day like fighting the world." "hey, presto! what now, young'un?" "i don't wonder you stare"--a little laugh. "i'm talking like a fool, and, for aught i know, feeling like one, aching to fight, and knowing that i might as well quarrel with the winds, or stab that water as it flows by." "as with what?" "the fellow i've just been getting a good look at." "what manner of fellow?" "ignorant, selfish, brutal, devilish." "tremendous! why don't you bind him over to keep the peace?" "because he is like the judge of old time, neither fears god nor respects his image,--when his image is carved in ebony, and not ivory." "what do you call this fellow?" "public opinion." "this big fellow is abusing and devouring a poor little chap, eh? and the chap's black?" "true." "and sometimes the giant is a gentleman in purple and fine linen, otherwise broadcloth; and sometimes in hodden gray, otherwise homespun or slop-shop; and sometimes he cuts the poor little chap with a silver knife, which is rhetoric, and sometimes with a wooden spoon, which is raw-hide. am i stating it all correctly?" "all correctly." "and you've been watching this operation when you had better have been minding your own business, and getting excited when you had better have kept cool, and now want to rush into the fight, drums beating and colors flying, to the rescue of the small one. don't deny it,--it's all written out in your eyes." "i sha'n't deny it, except about the business and the keeping cool. it's any gentleman's business to interfere between a bully and a weakling that he's abusing; and his blood must be water that does not boil while he 'watches the operation' as you say, and goes in." "to get well pommelled for his pains, and do no good to any one, himself included. let the weakling alone. a fellow that can't save himself is not worth saving. if he can't swim nor walk, let him drop under or go to the wall; that's my theory." "anglo-saxon theory--and practice." "good theory, excellent practice,--in the main. what special phase of it has been disturbing your equanimity?" "you know the franklins?" "of course: aunt mina's son--what's his name?--is a sort of _protégé_ of yours, i believe: what of him?" "he is cleanly?" "a nice question. doubtless." "respectable?" "what are you driving at?" "intelligent?" "most true." "ambitious?" "or his looks belie him." "faithful, trusty, active, helpful, in every way devoted to my father's service and his work." "with sancho, i believe it all because your worship says so." "well, this man has just been discharged from my father's employ because seven hundred and forty-two other men gave notice to quit if he remained." "the reason?" "his skin." "the reason is not 'so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door, but it is enough.' of course they wouldn't work with him, and my uncle surrey, begging your pardon, should not have attempted anything so quixotic." "his skin covering so many excellent qualities, and these qualities gaining recognition,--that was the cause. they worked with him so long as he was a servant of servants: so soon as he demonstrated that he could strike out strongly and swim, they knocked him under; and, proving that he could walk alone, they ran hastily to shove him to the wall." "what! quoting my own words against me?" "anglo-saxon says we are the masters: we monopolize the strength and courage, the beauty, intelligence, power. these creatures,--what are they? poor, worthless, lazy, ignorant, good for nothing but to be used as machines, to obey. when lo! one of these dumb machines suddenly starts forth with a man's face; this creature no longer obeys, but evinces a right to command; and anglo-saxon speedily breaks him in pieces." "come, willie, i hope you're not going to assert these people our equals,--that would be too much." "they have no intelligence, anglo-saxon declares,--then refuses them schools, while he takes of their money to help educate his own sons. they have no ambition,--then closes upon them every door of honorable advancement, and cries through the key-hole, serve, or starve. they cannot stand alone, they have no faculty for rising,--then, if one of them finds foothold, the ground is undermined beneath him. if a head is seen above the crowd, the ladder is jerked away, and he is trampled into the dust where he is fallen. if he stays in the position to which anglo-saxon assigns him, he is a worthless nigger; if he protests against it, he is an insolent nigger; if he rises above it, he is a nigger not to be tolerated at all,--to be crushed and buried speedily." "now, willie, 'no more of this, an thou lovest me.' i came not out to-day to listen to an abolition harangue, nor a moral homily, but to have a good time, to be civil and merry withal, if you will allow it. of course you don't like franklin's discharge, and of course you have done something to compensate him. i know--you have found him another place. no,--you couldn't do that? "no, i couldn't." "well, you've settled him somewhere,--confess." "he has some work for the present; some copying for me, and translating, for this unfortunate is a scholar, you know." "very good; then let it rest. granted the poor devils have a bad time of it, you're not bound to sacrifice yourself for them. if you go on at this pace, you'll bring up with the long-haired, bloomer reformers, and then--god help you. no, you needn't say another word,--i sha'n't listen,--not one; so. here we are! school yonder,--well situated?" "capitally." "fine day." "very." "clara will be charmed to see you." "you flatter me. i hope so." "there, now you talk rationally. don't relapse. we will go up and hear the pretty creatures read their little pieces, and sing their little songs, and see them take their nice blue-ribboned diplomas, and fall in love with their dear little faces, and flirt a bit this evening, and to-morrow i shall take ma'm'selle clara home to mamma russell, and you may go your ways." "the programme is satisfactory." "good. come on then." all commencement days, at college or young ladies' school, if not twin brothers and sisters, are at least first cousins, with a strong family likeness. who that has passed through one, or witnessed one, needs any description thereof to furbish up its memories. this of professor hale's belonged to the great tribe, and its form and features were of the old established type. the young ladies were charming; plenty of white gowns, plenty of flowers, plenty of smiles, blushes, tremors, hopes, and fears; little songs, little pieces, little addresses, to be sung, to be played, to be read, just as tom russell had foreshadowed, and proving to be-- "just the least of a bore!" as he added after listening awhile; "don't you think so, surrey?" "hush! don't talk." tom stared; then followed his cousin's eye, fixed immovably upon one little spot on the platform. "by jove!" he cried, "what a beauty! as father dryden would say, 'this is the porcelain clay of humankind.' no wonder you look. who is she,--do you know?" "no." "no! short, clear, and decisive. don't devour her, will. remember the sermon i preached you an hour ago. come, look at this,"--thrusting a programme into his face,--"and stop staring. why, boy, she has bewitched you,--or inspired you,"--surveying him sharply. and indeed it would seem so. eyes, mouth, face, instinct with some subtle and thrilling emotion. as gay tom russell looked, he involuntarily stretched out his hand, as one would put it between another and some danger of which that other is unaware, and remembered what he had once said in talking of him,--"if will surrey's time does come, i hope the girl will be all right in every way, for he'll plunge headlong, and love like distraction itself,--no half-way; it will be a life-and-death affair for him." "come, i must break in on this." "surrey!" "yes." "there's a pretty girl." no answer. "there! over yonder. third seat, second row. see her? pretty?" "very pretty." "miss--miss--what's her name? o, miss perry played that last thing very well for a school-girl, eh?" "very well." "admirable room this, for hearing; rare quality with chapels and halls; architects in planning generally tax ingenuity how to confuse sound. now these girls don't make a great noise, yet you can distinguish every word,--can't you?" no response. "i say, can't you?" "every word." tom drew a long breath. "professor hale's a sensible old fellow; i like the way he conducts this school." (mem. tom didn't know a thing about it.) "carries it on excellently." a pause. silence. "fine-looking, too. a man's physique has a deal to do with his success in the world. if he carries a letter of recommendation in his face, people take him on trust to begin with; and if he's a big fellow, like the professor yonder, he imposes on folks awfully; they pop down on their knees to him, and clear the track for him, as if he had a right to it all. bless me! i never thought of that before,--it's the reason you and i have got on so swimmingly,--is it not, now? certainly. you think so? of course." "of course,"--sedately and gravely spoken. tom groaned, for, with a face kind and bright, he was yet no beauty; while if surrey had one crowning gift in this day of fast youths and self-satisfied young america, it was that of modesty with regard to himself and any gifts and graces nature had blessed him withal. "clara has a nice voice." "very nice." "she is to sing, do you know?" "i know." "do you know when?" no reply. "she sings the next piece. are you ready to listen?" "ready." "good lord!" cried tom, in despair, "the fellow has lost his wits. he has turned parrot; he has done nothing but repeat my words for me since he sat here. he's an echo." "echo of nothingness?" queried the parrot, smilingly. "ah, you've come to yourself, have you? capital! now stay awake. there's clara to sing directly, and you are to cheer her, and look as if you enjoyed it, and throw her that bouquet when i tell you, and let her think it's a fine thing she has been doing; for this is a tremendous affair to her, poor child, of course." "how bright and happy she is! you will laugh at me, tom, and indeed i don't know what has come over me, but somehow i feel quite sad, looking at those girls, and wondering what fate and time have in store for them." "sunshine and bright hours." "the day cometh, and also the night,"--broke in the clear voice that was reading a selection from the scriptures. tom started, and willie took from his button-hole just such a little nosegay as that he had bought on broadway a fortnight before,--a geranium leaf, a bit of mignonette, and a delicate tea-rosebud, and, seeing it was drooping, laid it carefully upon the programme on his knee. "i don't want that to fade," he thought as he put it down, while he looked across the platform at the same face which he had so eagerly pursued through a labyrinth of carriages, stages, and people, and lost at last. "there! clara is talking to your beauty. i wonder if she is to sing, or do anything. if she does, it will be something dainty and fine, i'll wager. helloa! there's clara up,--now for it." clara's bright little voice suited her bright little face,--like her brother's, only a great deal prettier,--and the young men enjoyed both, aside from brotherly and cousinly feeling, cheered her "to the echo" as willie said, threw their bouquets,--great, gorgeous things they had brought from the city to please her,--and wished there was more of it all when it was through. "what next?" said willie. "heaven preserve us! your favorite subject. who would expect to tumble on such a theme here?--'slavery; by francesca ercildoune.' odd name,--and, by jove! it's the beauty herself." they both leaned forward eagerly as she came from her seat; slender, shapely, every fibre fine and exquisite, no coarse graining from the dainty head to the dainty foot; the face, clear olive, delicate and beautiful,-- "the mouth with steady sweetness set, and eyes conveying unaware the distant hint of some regret that harbored there,"-- eyes deep, tender, and pathetic. "what's this?" said tom. "queer. it gives me a heartache to look at her." "a woman for whom to fight the world, or lose the world, and be compensated a million-fold if you died at her feet," thought surrey, and said nothing. "what a strange subject for her to select!" broke in tom. it was a strange one for the time and place, and she had been besought to drop it, and take another; but it should be that or nothing, she asserted,--so she was left to her own device. oddly treated, too. tom thought it would be a pretty lady-like essay, and said so; then sat astounded at what he saw and heard. her face--this schoolgirl's face--grew pallid, her eyes mournful, her voice and manner sublime, as she summoned this monster to the bar of god's justice and the humanity of the world; as she arraigned it; as she brought witness after witness to testify against it; as she proved its horrible atrocities and monstrous barbarities; as she went on to the close, and, lifting hand and face and voice together, thrilled out, "i look backward into the dim, distant past, but it is one night of oppression and despair; i turn to the present, but i hear naught save the mother's broken-hearted shriek, the infant's wail, the groan wrung from the strong man in agony; i look forward into the future, but the night grows darker, the shadows deeper and longer, the tempest wilder, and involuntarily i cry out, 'how long, o god, how long?'" "heavens! what an actress she would make!" said somebody before them. "that's genius," said somebody behind them; "but what a subject to waste it upon!" "very bad taste, i must say, to talk about such a thing here," said somebody beside them. "however, one can excuse a great deal to beauty like that." surrey sat still, and felt as though he were on fire, filled with an insane desire to seize her in one arm like a knight of old, and hew his way through these beings, and out of this place, into some solitary spot where he could seat her and kneel at her feet, and die there if she refused to take him up; filled with all the sweet, extravagant, delicious pain that thrills the heart, full of passion and purity, of a young man who begins to love the first, overwhelming, only love of a lifetime. chapter iv "_'tis an old tale, and often told._" sir walter scott that evening some people who were near them were talking about it, and that made tom ask clara if her friend was in the habit of doing startling things. "should you think so to look at her now?" queried clara, looking across the room to where miss ercildoune stood. "indeed i shouldn't," tom replied; and indeed no one would who saw her then. "she's as sweet as a sugar-plum," he added, as he continued to look. "what does she mean by getting off such rampant discourses? she never wrote them herself,--don't tell _me_; at least somebody else put her up to it,--that strong-minded-looking teacher over yonder, for instance. _she_ looks capable of anything, and something worse, in the denouncing way; poor little beauty was her cat's-paw this morning." "o tom, how you talk! she is nobody's cat's-paw. i can tell you she does her own thinking and acting too. if you'd just go and do something hateful, or impose on somebody,--one of the waiters, for instance,--you'd see her blaze up, fast enough." "ah! philanthropic?" clara looked puzzled. "i don't know; we have some girls here who are all the time talking about benevolence, and charity, and the like, and they have a little sewing-circle to make up things to be sold for the church mission, or something,--i don't know just what; but francesca won't go near it." "democratic, then, maybe." "no, she isn't, not a bit. she's a thorough little aristocrat: so exclusive she has nothing to say to the most of us. i wonder she ever took me for a friend, though i do love her dearly." tom looked down at his bright little sister, and thought the wonder was not a very great one, but didn't say so; reserving his gallantries for somebody else's sister. "you seem greatly taken with her, tom." "i own the soft impeachment." "well, you'll have a fair chance, for she's coming home with me. i wrote to mamma, and she says, bring her by all means,--and mr. ercildoune gives his consent; so it is all settled." "mr. ercildoune! is there no mrs. e.?" "none,--her mother died long ago; and her father has not been here, so i can't tell you anything about him. there: do you see that elegant-looking lady talking with professor hale? that is her aunt, mrs. lancaster. she is english, and is here only on a visit. she wants to take francesca home with her in the spring, but i hope she won't." "why, what is it to you?" "i am afraid she will stay, and then i shall never see her any more." "and why stay? do you fancy england so very fascinating?" "no, it is not that; but francesca don't like america; she's forever saying something witty and sharp about our 'democratic institutions,' as she calls them; and, if you had looked this morning, you'd have seen that she didn't sing the star-spangled banner with the rest of us. her voice is splendid, and professor hale wanted her to lead, as she often does, but she wouldn't sing that, she said,--no, not for anything; and though we all begged, she refused,--flat." "shocking! what total depravity! i wonder is she converting surrey to her heresies." no, she wasn't; not unless silence is more potent than words; for after they had danced together surrey brought her to one of the great windows facing towards the sea, and, leaning over her chair, there was stillness between them as their eyes went out into the night. a wild night! great clouds drifted across the moon, which shone out anon, with light intensified, defining the stripped trees and desolate landscape, and then the beach, and "marked with spray the sunken reefs, and far away the unquiet, bright atlantic plain," while through all sounded incessantly the mournful roar of buffeting wind and surging tide; and whether it was the scene, or the solemn undertone of the sea, the dance music, which a little while before had been so gay, sounded like a wail. how could it be otherwise? passion is akin to pain. love never yet penetrated an intense nature and made the heart light; sentiment has its smiles, its blushes, its brightness, its words of fancy and feeling, readily and at will; but when the internal sub-soiling is broken up, the heart swells with a steady and tremendous pressure till the breast feels like bursting; the lips are dumb, or open only to speak upon indifferent themes. flowers may be played with, but one never yet cared to toy with flame. there are souls that are created for one another in the eternities, hearts that are predestined each to each, from the absolute necessities of their nature; and when this man and this woman come face to face, these hearts throb and are one; these souls recognize "my master!" "my mistress!" at the first glance, without words uttered or vows pronounced. these two young lives, so fresh, so beautiful; these beings, in many things such antipodes, so utterly dissimilar in person, so unlike, yet like; their whole acquaintance a glance on a crowded street and these few hours of meeting,--looked into one another's eyes, and felt their whole nature set each to each, as the vast tide "of the bright, rocking ocean sets to shore at the full moon." these things are possible. friendship is excellent, and friendship may be called love; but it is not love. it may be more enduring and placidly satisfying in the end; it may be better, and wiser, and more prudent, for acquaintance to beget esteem, and esteem regard, and regard affection, and affection an interchange of peaceful vows: the result, a well-ordered life and home. all this is admirable, no doubt; an owl is a bird when you can get no other; but the love born of a moment, yet born of eternity, which comes but once in a lifetime, and to not one in a thousand lives, unquestioning, unthinking, investigating nothing, proving nothing, sufficient unto itself,--ah, that is divine; and this divine ecstasy filled these two souls. unconsciously. they did not define nor comprehend. they listened to the sea where they sat, and felt tears start to their eyes, yet knew not why. they were silent, and thought they talked; or spoke, and said nothing. they danced; and as he held her hand and uttered a few words, almost whispered, the words sounded to the listening ear like a part of the music to which they kept time. they saw a multitude of people, and exchanged the compliments of the evening, yet these people made no more impression upon their thoughts than gossamer would have made upon their hands. "come, francesca!" said clara russell, breaking in upon this, "it is not fair for you to monopolize my cousin will, who is the handsomest man in the room; and it isn't fair for will to keep you all to himself in this fashion. here is tom, ready to scratch out his eyes with vexation because you won't dance with him; and here am i, dying to waltz with somebody who knows my step,--to say nothing of innumerable young ladies and gentlemen who have been casting indignant and beseeching glances this way: so, sir, face about, march!" and away the gay girl went with her prize, leaving francesca to the tender mercies of half a dozen young men who crowded eagerly round her, and from whom tom carried her off with triumph and rejoicing. the evening was over at last, and they were going away. tom had said good night. "you are to be in new york, at my uncle's, clara tells me." "it is true." "i may see you there?" for answer she put out her hand. he took it as he would have taken a delicate flower, laid his other hand softly, yet closely, over it, and, without any adieu spoken, went away. "tom always declared willie was a little queer, and i'm sure i begin to think so," said clara, as she kissed her friend and departed to her room. chapter v "_a breathing sigh, a sigh for answer, a little talking of outward things._" jean ingelow ah, the weeks that followed! people ate and drank and slept, lived and loved and hated, were born and died,--the same world that it had been a little while before, yet not the same to them,--never to seem quite the same again. a little cloud had fallen between them and it, and changed to their eyes all its proportions and hues. they were incessantly together, riding, or driving, or walking, looking at pictures, dancing at parties, listening to opera or play. "it seems to me will is going it at a pretty tremendous pace somewhere," said mr. surrey to his wife, one morning, after this had endured for a space. "it would be well to look into it, and to know something of this girl." "you are right," she replied. "yet i have such absolute faith in willie's fine taste and sense that i feel no anxiety." "nor i; yet i shall investigate a bit to-night at augusta's." "clara tells me that when miss ercildoune understood it was to be a great party, she insisted on ending her visit, or, at least, staying for a while with her aunt, but they would not hear of it." "mrs. lancaster goes back to england soon?" "very soon." "does any one know aught of miss ercildoune's family save that mrs. lancaster is her aunt?" "if 'any one' means me, i understand her father to be a gentleman of elegant leisure,--his home near philadelphia; a widower, with one other child,--a son, i believe; that his wife was english, married abroad; that mrs. lancaster comes here with the best of letters, and, for herself, is most evidently a lady." "good. now i shall take a survey of the young lady herself." when night came, and with it a crowd to mrs. russell's rooms, the opportunity offered for the survey, and it was made scrutinizingly. surrey was an only son, a well-beloved one, and what concerned him was investigated with utmost care. scrutinizingly and satisfactorily. they were dancing, his sunny head bent till it almost touched the silky blackness of her hair. "saxon and norman," said somebody near who was watching them; "what a delicious contrast!" "they make an exquisite picture," thought the mother, as she looked with delight and dread: delight at the beauty; dread that fills the soul of any mother when she feels that she no longer holds her boy,--that his life has another keeper,--and queries, "what of the keeper?" "well?" she said, looking up at her husband. "well," he answered, with a tone that meant, well. "she's thorough-bred. democratic or not, i will always insist, blood tells. look at her: no one needs to ask _who_ she is. i'd take her on trust without a word." "so, then, you are not her critic, but her admirer." "ah, my dear, criticism is lost in admiration, and i am glad to find it so." "and i. willie saw with our eyes, as a boy; it is fortunate that we can see with his eyes, as a man." so, without any words spoken, after that night, both mr. and mrs. surrey took this young girl into their hearts as they hoped soon to take her into their lives, and called her "daughter" in their thought, as a pleasant preparation for the uttered word by and by. thus the weeks fled. no word had passed between these two to which the world might not have listened. whatever language their hearts and their eyes spoke had not been interpreted by their lips. he had not yet touched her hand save as it met his, gloved or formal, or as it rested on his arm; and yet, as one walking through the dusk and stillness of a summer night feels a flower or falling leaf brush his check, and starts, shivering as from the touch of a disembodied soul, so this slight outward touch thrilled his inmost being; this hand, meeting his for an instant, shook his soul. indefinite and undefined,--there was no thought beyond the moment; no wish to take this young girl into his arms and to call her "wife" had shaped itself in his brain. it was enough for both that they were in one another's presence, that they breathed the same air, that they could see each other as they raised their eyes, and exchange a word, a look, a smile. whatever storm of emotion the future might hold for them was not manifest in this sunny and delightful present. upon one subject alone did they disagree with feeling,--in other matters their very dissimilarity proving an added charm. this was a curious question to come between lovers. all his life surrey had been a devotee of his country and its flag. while he was a boy kossuth had come to these shores, and he yet remembered how he had cheered himself hoarse with pride and delight, as the eloquent voice and impassioned lips of the great magyar sounded the praise of america, as the "refuge of the oppressed and the hope of the world." he yet remembered how when the hand, every gesture of which was instinct with power, was lifted to the flag,--the flag, stainless, spotless, without blemish or flaw; the flag which was "fair as the sun, clear as the moon," and to the oppressors of the earth "terrible as an army with banners,"--he yet remembered how, as this emblem of liberty was thus apostrophized and saluted, the tears had rushed to his boyish eyes, and his voice had said, for his heart, "thank god, i am an american!" one day he made some such remark to her. she answered, "i, too, am an american, but i do not thank god for it." at another time he said, as some emigrants passed them in the street, "what a sense of pride it gives one in one's country, to see her so stretch out her arms to help and embrace the outcast and suffering of the whole world!" she smiled--bitterly, he thought; and replied, "o just and magnanimous country, to feed and clothe the stranger from without, while she outrages and destroys her children within!" "you do not love america," he said. "i do not love america," she responded. "and yet it is a wonderful country." "ay," briefly, almost satirically, "a wonderful country, indeed!" "still you stay here, live here." "yes, it is my country. whatever i think of it, i will not be driven away from it; it is my right to remain." "her right to remain?" he thought; "what does she mean by that? she speaks as though conscience were involved in the thing. no matter; let us talk of something pleasanter." one day she gave him a clew. they were looking at the picture of a great statesman,--a man as famous for the grandeur of face and form as for the power and splendor of his intellect. "unequalled! unapproachable!" exclaimed surrey, at last. "i have seen its equal," she answered, very quietly, yet with a shiver of excitement in the tones. "when? where? how? i will take a journey to look at him. who is he? where did he grow?" for response she put her hand into the pocket of her gown, and took out a velvet case. what could there be in that little blue thing to cause such emotion? as surrey saw it in her hand, he grew hot, then cold, then fiery hot again. in an instant by this chill, this heat, this pain, his heart was laid bare to his own inspection. in an instant he knew that his arms would be empty did they hold a universe in which francesca ercildoune had no part, and that with her head on his heart the world might lapse from him unheeded; and, with this knowledge, she held tenderly and caressingly, as he saw, another man's picture in her hand. his own so shook that he could scarcely take the case from her, to open it; but, opened, his eyes devoured what was under them. a half-length,--the face and physique superb. of what color were the hair and eyes the neutral tints of the picture gave no hint; the brow princely, breaking the perfect oval of the face; eyes piercing and full; the features rounded, yet clearly cut; the mouth with a curious combination of sadness and disdain. the face was not young, yet it was so instinct with magnificent vitality that even the picture impressed one more powerfully than most living men, and one involuntarily exclaimed on beholding it, "this man can never grow old, and death must here forego its claim!" looking up from it with no admiration to express for the face, he saw francesca's smiling on it with a sort of adoration, as she, reclaiming her property, said,-- "my father's old friends have a great deal of enjoyment, and amusement too, from his beauty. one of them was the other day telling me of the excessive admiration people had always shown, and laughingly insisted that when papa was a young man, and appeared in public, in london or paris, it was between two police officers to keep off the admiring crowd; and," laughing a gay little laugh herself, "of course i believed him! why shouldn't i?" he was looking at the picture again. "what an air of command he has!" "yes. i remember hearing that when daniel webster was in london, and walked unattended through the streets, the coal-heavers and workmen took off their hats and stood bareheaded till he had gone by, thinking it was royalty that passed. i think they would do the same for papa." "if he looks like a king, i know somebody who looks like a princess," thought the happy young fellow, gazing down upon the proud, dainty figure by his side; but he smiled as he said, "what a little aristocrat you are, miss ercildoune! what a pity you were born a yankee!" "i am not a yankee, mr. surrey," replied the little aristocrat, "if to be a yankee is to be a native of america. i was born on the sea." "and your mother, i know, was english." "yes, she was english." "is it rude to ask if your father was the same? "no!" she answered emphatically, "my papa is a virginian,--a virginia gentleman,"--the last word spoken with an untransferable accent,--"there are few enough of them." "so, so!" thought willie, "here my riddle is read. southern--virginia--gentleman. no wonder she has no love to spend on country or flag; no wonder we couldn't agree. and yet it can't be that,--what were the first words i ever heard from her mouth?" and, remembering that terrible denunciation of the "peculiar institution" of virginia and of the south, he found himself puzzled the more. just then there came into the picture-gallery, where they were wasting a pleasant morning, a young man to whom surrey gave the slightest of recognitions,--well-dressed, booted, and gloved, yet lacking the nameless something which marks the gentleman. his glance, as it rested on surrey, held no love, and, indeed, was rather malignant. "that fellow," said surrey, indicating him, "has a queer story connected with him. he was discharged from my father's employ to give place to a man who could do his work better; and the strange part of it"--he watched her with an amused smile to see what effect the announcement would have upon her virginia ladyship--"is that number two is a black man." a sudden heat flushed her cheeks: "do you tell me your father made room for a black man in his employ, and at the expense of a white one?" "it is even so." "is he there now?" surrey's beautiful saxon face crimsoned. "no: he is not," he said reluctantly. "ah! did he, this black man,--did he not do his work well?" "admirably." "is it allowable, then, to ask why he was discarded?" "it is allowable, surely. he was dismissed because the choice lay between him and seven hundred men." "and you"--her face was very pale now, the flush all gone out of it--"you have nothing to do with your father's works, but you are his son,--did you do naught? protest, for instance?" "i protested--and yielded. the contest would have been not merely with seven hundred men, but with every machinist in the city. justice _versus_ prejudice, and prejudice had it; as, indeed, i suppose it will for a good many generations to come: invincible it appears to be in the american mind." "invincible! is it so?" she paused over the words, scrutinizing him meanwhile with an unconscious intensity. "and this black man,--what of him? he was flung out to starve and die; a proper fate, surely, for his presumption. poor fool! how did he dare to think he could compete with his masters! you know nothing of _him _?" surely he must be mistaken. what could this black man, or this matter, be to her? yet as he listened her voice sounded to his ear like that of one in mortal pain. what held him silent? why did he not tell her, why did he not in some way make her comprehend, that he, delicate exclusive, and patrician, as the people of his set thought him, had gone to this man, had lifted him from his sorrow and despondency to courage and hope once more; had found him work; would see that the place he strove to fill in the world should be filled, could any help of his secure that end. why did the modesty which was a part of him, and the high-bred reserve which shrank from letting his own mother know of the good deeds his life wrought, hold him silent now? in that silence something fell between them. what was it? but a moment, yet in that little space it seemed to him as though continents divided them, and seas rolled between. "francesca!" he cried, under his breath,--he had never before called her by her christian name,--"francesca!" and stretched out his hand towards her, as a drowning man stretches forth his hand to life. "this room is stifling!" she said for answer; and her voice, dulled and unnatural, seemed to his strangely confused senses as though it came from a far distance,--"i am suffering: shall we go out to the air?" chapter vi "_but more than loss about me clings._" jean ingelow "no! no, i am mad to think it! i must have been dreaming! what could there have been in that talk to have such an effect as i have conjured up? she pitied franklin! yes, she pities every one whom she thinks suffering or wronged. dear little tender heart! of course it was the room,--didn't she say she was ill? it must have been awful; the heat and the closeness got into my head,--that's it. bad air is as bad as whiskey on a man's brain. what a fool i made of myself! not even answering her questions. what did she think of me? well." surrey in despair pushed away the book over which he had been bending all the afternoon, seeing for every word francesca, and on every page an image of her face. "i'll smoke myself into some sort of decent quiet, before i go up town, at least"; and taking his huge meerschaum, settling himself sedately, began his quieting operation with appalling energy. the soft rings, gray and delicate, taking curious and airy shapes, floated out and filled the room; but they were not soothing shapes, nor ministering spirits of comfort. they seemed filmy garments, and from their midst faces beautiful, yet faint and dim, looked at him, all of them like unto her face; but when he dropped his pipe and bent forward, the wreaths of smoke fell into lines that made the faces appear sad and bathed in tears, and the images faded from his sight. as the last one, with its visionary arms outstretched towards him, receded from him, and disappeared, he thought, "that is francesca's spirit, bidding me an eternal adieu"--and, with the foolish thought, in spite of its foolishness, he shivered and stretched out his arms in return. "of a verity," he then cried, "if nature failed to make me an idiot, i am doing my best to consummate that end, and become one of free choice. what folly possesses me? i will dissipate it at once,--i will see her in bodily shape,--that will put an end to such fancies,"--starting up, and beginning to pull on his gloves. "no! no, that will not do,"--pulling them off again. "she will think i am an uneasy ghost that pursues her. i must wait till this evening, but ah, what an age till evening!" fortunately, all ages, even lovers' ages, have an end. the evening came; he was at the fifth avenue,--his card sent up,--his feet impatiently travelling to and fro upon the parlor carpet,--his heart beating with happiness and expectancy. a shadow darkened the door; he flew to meet the substance,--not a sweet face and graceful form, but a servant, big and commonplace, bringing him his own card and the announcement, "the ladies is both out, sir." "impossible! take it up again." he said "impossible" because francesca had that morning told him she would be at home in the evening. "all right, sir; but it's no use, for there's nobody there, i know"; and he vanished for a second attempt, unsuccessful as the first. surrey went to the office, still determinedly incredulous. "are mrs. lancaster and miss ercildoune not in?" "no, sir; both out. keys here,"--showing them. "left for one of the five-o'clock trains; rooms not given up; said they would be back in a few days." "from what depot did they leave?" "don't know, sir. they didn't go in the coach; had a carriage, or i could tell you." "but they left a note, perhaps,--or some message?" "nothing at all, sir; not a word, nor a scrap. can i serve you in any way further?" "thanks! not at all. good evening." "good evening, sir." that was all. what did it mean?--to vanish without a sign! an engagement for the evening, and not a line left in explanation or excuse! it was not like her. there must be something wrong, some mystery. he tormented himself with a thousand fancies and fears over what, he confessed, was probably a mere accident; wisely determined to do so no longer,--but did, spite of such excellent resolutions and intent. this took place on the evening of saturday, the th of april, . the events of the next few days doubtless augmented his anxiety and unhappiness. sunday followed,--a day filled not with a sabbath calm, but with the stillness felt in nature before some awful convulsion; the silence preceding earthquake, volcano, or blasting storm; a quiet broken from maine to the pacific slope when the next day shone, and men roused themselves from the sleep of a night to the duty of a day, from the sleep of generations, fast merging into death, at the trumpet-call to arms,--a cry which sounded through every state and every household in the land, which, more powerful than the old songs of percy and douglas, "brought children from their play, and old men from their chimney-corners," to emulate humanity in its strength and prime, and contest with it the opportunity to fight and die in a deathless cause. a cry which said, "there are wrongs to be redressed already long enough endured,--wrongs against the flag of the nation, against the integrity of the union, against the life of the republic; wrongs against the cause of order, of law, of good government, against right, and justice, and liberty, against humanity and the world; not merely in the present, but in the great future, its countless ages and its generations yet unborn." to this cry there sounded one universal response, as men dropped their work at loom, or forge, or wheel, in counting-room, bank, and merchant's store, in pulpit, office, or platform, and with one accord rushed to arms, to save these rights so frightfully and arrogantly assailed. one voice that went to swell this chorus was surrey's; one hand quick to grasp rifle and cartridge-box, one soul eager to fling its body into the breach at this majestic call, was his. he felt to the full all the divine frenzy and passion of those first days of the war, days unequalled in the history of nations and of the world. all the elegant dilettanteism, the delicious idleness, the luxurious ease, fell away, and were as though they had never been. all the airy dreams of a renewed chivalrous age, of courage, of heroism, of sublime daring and self-sacrifice, took substance and shape, and were for him no longer visions of the night, but realities of the day. still, while flags waved, drums beat, and cannon thundered; while friends said, "go!" the world stood ready to cheer him on, and fame and honor and greater things than these beckoned him to come; while he felt the whirl and excitement of it all,--his heart cried ceaselessly, "only let me see her--once--if but for a moment, before i go!" it was so little he asked of fate, yet too much to be granted. in vain he went every day, and many times a day, in the brief space left him, to her hotel. in vain he once more questioned clerk and servants; in vain haunted the house of his aunt, with the dim hope that clara might hear from her, or that in some undefined way he might learn of her whereabouts, and so accomplish his desire. but the days passed, too slowly for the ardent young patriot, all too rapidly for the unhappy lover. friday came. early in the day multitudes of people began to collect in the street, growing in numbers and enthusiasm as the hours wore on, till, in the afternoon, the splendid thoroughfare of new york from fourth street down to the cortlandt ferry--a stretch of miles--was a solid mass of humanity; thousands and tens of thousands, doubled, quadrupled, and multiplied again. through the morning this crowd in squads and companies traversed the streets, collected on the corners, congregating chiefly about the armory of their pet regiment, the seventh, on lafayette square,--one great mass gazing unweariedly at its windows and walls, then moving on to be replaced by another of the like kind, which, having gone through the same performance, gave way in turn to yet others, eager to take its place. so the fever burned; the excitement continued and augmented till, towards three o'clock in the afternoon, the mighty throng stood still, and waited. it was no ordinary multitude; the wealth, refinement, fashion, the greatness and goodness of a vast city were there, pressed close against its coarser and darker and homelier elements. men and women stood alike in the crowd, dainty patrician and toil-stained laborer, all thrilled by a common emotion, all vivified--if in unequal degree--by the same sublime enthusiasm. overhead, from every window and doorway and housetop, in every space and spot that could sustain one, on ropes, on staffs, in human hands, waved, and curled, and floated, flags that were in multitude like the swells of the sea; silk, and bunting, and painted calico, from the great banner spreading its folds with an indescribable majesty, to the tiny toy shaken in a baby hand. under all this glad and gay and splendid show, the faces seemed, perhaps by contrast, not sad, but grave; not sorrowful, but intense, and luminously solemn. gradually the men of the seventh marched out of their armory. hands had been wrung, adieus said, last fond embraces and farewells given. the regiment formed in the open square, the crowd about it so dense as to seem stifling, the windows of its building rilled with the sweetest and finest and fairest of faces,--the mothers, wives, and sweethearts of these young splendid fellows just ready to march away. surrey from his station gazed and gazed at the window where stood his mother, so well beloved, his relations and friends, many of them near and dear to him,--some of them with clear, bright eyes that turned from the forms of brothers in the ranks to seek his, and linger upon it wistfully and tenderly; yet looking at all these, even his mother, he looked beyond, as though in the empty space a face would appear, eyes would meet his, arms be stretched towards him, lips whisper a fond adieu, as he, breaking from the ranks, would take her to his embrace, and speak, at the same time, his love and farewell. a fruitless longing. four o'clock struck over the great city, and the line moved out of the square, through fourth street, to broadway. then began a march, which whoso witnessed, though but a little child, will remember to his dying day, the story of which he will repeat to his children, and his children's children, and, these dead, it will be read by eyes that shall shine centuries hence, as one of the most memorable scenes in the great struggle for freedom. hands were stretched forth to touch the cloth of their uniforms, and kissed when they were drawn back. mothers held up their little children to gain inspiration for a lifetime. a roar of voices, continuous, unbroken, rent the skies; while, through the deafening cheers, men and women, with eyes blinded by tears, repeated, a million times, "god bless--god bless and keep them!" and so, down the magnificent avenue, through the countless, shouting multitude, through the whirlwind of enthusiasm and adoration, under the glorious sweep of flags, the grand regiment moved from the beginning of its march to its close,--till it was swept away towards the capital, around which were soon to roll such bloody waves of death. meanwhile, where was miss ercildoune? surrey had thought her behavior strange the last morning they spent together. how much stranger, how unaccountable, indeed, would it have seemed to him, could he have seen her through the afternoon following! "what is wrong with you? are you ill, francesca?" her aunt had inquired as she came in, pulling off her hat with the air of one stifling, and throwing herself into a chair. "ill! o no!"--with a quick laugh,--"what could have made you think so? i am quite well, thank you; but i will go to my room for a little while and rest. i think i am tired." "do, dear, for i want you to take a trip up the hudson this afternoon. i have to see some english people who are living at a little village a score of miles out of town, and then i must go on to albany before i take you home. it will be pleasant at tanglewood over the sabbath,--unless you have some engagements to keep you here?" "o aunt alice, how glad i am! i was going home this afternoon without you. i thought you would come when you were ready; but this will do just as well,--anything to get out of town." "anything to get out of town? why, francesca, is it so hateful to you? 'going home! and this do almost as well!'--what does the child mean? is she the least little bit mad? i'm afraid so. she evidently needs some fresh country air, and rest from excitement. go, dear, and take your nap, and refresh yourself before five o'clock; that is the time we leave." as the door closed between them, she shook her head dubiously. '"going home this afternoon!' what does that signify? has she been quarrelling with that young lover of hers, or refusing him? i should not care to ask any questions till she herself speaks; but i fear me something is wrong." she would not have feared, but been certain, could she have looked then and there into the next room. she would have seen that the trouble was something deeper than she dreamed. francesca was sitting, her hands supporting an aching head, her large eyes fixed mournfully and immovably upon something which she seemed to contemplate with a relentless earnestness, as though forcing herself to a distressing task. what was this something? an image, a shadow in the air, which she had not evoked from the empty atmosphere, but from the depths of her own nature and soul,--the life and fate of a young girl. herself! what cause, then, for mournful scrutiny? she, so young, so brilliant, so beautiful, upon whom fate had so kindly smiled, admired by many, tenderly and passionately loved by at least one heart,--surely it was a delightful picture to contemplate,--this life and its future; a picture to bring smiles to the lips, rather than tears to the eyes. though, in fact, there were none dimming hers,--hot, dry eyes, full of fever and pain. what visions passed before them? what shadows of the life she inspected darkened them? what sunshine now and then fell upon it, reflecting itself in them, as she leaned forward to scan these bright spots, holding them in her gaze after other and gloomier ones had taken their places, as one leans forth from window or doorway to behold, long as possible, the vanishing form of some dear friend. looking at these, she cried out, "fool! to have been so happy, and not to have known what the happiness meant, and that it was not for me,--never for me! to have walked to the verge of an abyss,--to have plunged in, thinking the path led to heaven. heaven for me! ah,--i forgot,--i forgot. i let an unconscious bliss seize me, possess me, exclude memory and thought,--lived in it as though it would endure forever." she got up and moved restlessly to and fro across the room, but presently came back to the seat she had abandoned, and to the inspection which, while it tortured her, she yet evidently compelled herself to pursue. "come," she then said, "let us ask ourself some questions, constitute ourself confessor and penitent, and see what the result will prove." "did you think fate would be more merciful to you than to others?" "no, i thought nothing about fate." "did you suppose that he loved you sufficiently to destroy 'an invincible barrier?'" "i did not think of his love. i remembered no barrier. i only knew i was in heaven, and cared for naught beyond." "do you see the barrier now?" "i do--i do." "did _he_ help you to behold it; to discover, or to remember it? did he, or did he not?" "he did. too true,--he did." "does he love you?" "i--how should i know? his looks, his acts--i never thought--o willie, willie!"--her voice going out in a little gasping sob. "come,--none of that. no sentiment,--face the facts. think over all that was said, every word. have you done so?" "i have,--every word." "well?" "ah, stop torturing me. do not ask me any more questions. i am going away,--flying like a coward. i will not tempt further suffering. and yet--once more--only once? could that do harm? ah, god, my god, be merciful!" she cried, clasping her hands and lifting them above her bowed head. then remembering, in the midst of her anguish, some words she had been reading that morning, she repeated them with a bitter emphasis,--"what can wringing of the hands do, that which is ordained to alter?" as she did so she tore asunder her clasped hands, to drop them clinched by her side,--the gesture of despair substituted for that of hope. "it is not heaven i am to besiege!" she exclaimed. "will i never learn that? its justice cannot overcome the injustice of man. my god!" she cried then, with a sudden, terrible energy, "our punishment should be light, our rest sure, our paradise safe, at the end, since we have to make now such awful atonement; since men compel us to endure the pangs of purgatory, the tortures of hell, here upon earth." after that she sat for a long while silent, evidently revolving a thousand thoughts of every shape and hue, judging from the myriads of lights and shadows that flitted over her face. at last, rousing herself, she perceived that she had no more time to spend in this sorrowful employment,--that she must prepare to go away from him, as her heart said, forever. "forever!" it repeated. "this, then, is the close of it all,--the miserable end!" with that thought she shut her slender hand, and struck it down hard, the blood almost starting from the driven nails and bruised flesh, unheeding; though a little space thereafter she smiled, beholding it, and muttered, "so--the drop of savage blood is telling at last!" presently she was gone. it was a pleasant spot to which her aunt took her,--one of the pretty little villages scattered up and down the long sweep of the hudson. pleasant people they were too,--these english friends of mrs. lancaster,--who made her welcome, but did not intrude upon the solitude which they saw she desired. sabbath morning they all went to the little chapel, and left her, as she wished, alone. being so alone, after hearing their adieus, she went up to her room and sat down to devote herself once again to sorrowful contemplation,--not because she would, but because she must. poor girl! the bright spring sunshine streamed over her where she sat;--not a cloud in the sky, not a dimming of mist or vapor on all the hills, and the broad river-sweep which, placid and beautiful, rolled along; the cattle far off on the brown fields rubbed their silky sides softly together, and gazed through the clear atmosphere with a lazy content, as though they saw the waving of green grass, and heard the rustle of wind in the thick boughs, so soon to bear their leafy burden. stillness everywhere,--the blessed calm that even nature seems to feel on a sunny sabbath morn. stillness scarcely broken by the voices, mellowed and softened ere they reached her ear, chanting in the village church, to some sweet and solemn music, words spoken in infinite tenderness long ago, and which, through all the centuries, come with healing balm to many a sore and saddened heart: "come unto me," the voices sang,--"come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest." "ah, rest," she murmured while she listened,--"rest"; and with the repetition of the word the fever died out of her eyes, leaving them filled with such a look, more pitiful than any tears, as would have made a kind heart ache even to look at them; while her figure, alert and proud no longer, bent on the window ledge in such lonely and weary fashion that a strong arm would have involuntarily stretched out to shield it from any hardness or blow that might threaten, though the owner thereof were a stranger. there was something indescribably appealing and pathetic in her whole look and air. outside the window stood a slender little bird which had fluttered there, spent and worn, and did not try to flit away any further. too early had it flown from its southern abode; too early abandoned the warm airs, the flowers and leafage, of a more hospitable region, to find its way to a northern home; too early ventured into a rigorous clime; and now, shivering, faint, near to death, drooped its wings and hung its weary head, waiting for the end of its brief life to come. francesca, looking up with woeful eyes, beheld it, and, opening the window, softly took it in. "poor birdie!" she whispered, striving to warm it in her gentle hand and against her delicate cheek,--"poor little wanderer!--didst thou think to find thy mate, and build thy tiny nest, and be a happy mother through the long bright summer-time? ah, my pet, what a sad close is this to all these pleasant dreams!" the frail little creature could not eat even the bits of crumbs which she put into its mouth, nor taste a drop of water. all her soothing presses failed to bring warmth and life to the tiny frame that presently stretched itself out, dead,--all its sweet songs sung, its brief, bright existence ended forever. "ah, my little birdie, it is all over," whispered francesca, as she laid it softly down, and unconsciously lifted her hand to her own head with a self-pitying gesture that was sorrowful to behold. "like me," she did not say; yet a penetrating eye looking at them--the slight bird lying dead, its brilliant plumage already dimmed, the young girl gazing at it--would perceive that alike these two were fitted for the warmth and sunshine, would perceive that both had been thwarted and defrauded of their fair inheritance, would perceive that one lay spent and dead in its early spring. what of the other? "aunt alice," said francesca a few days after that, "can you go to new york this afternoon or to-morrow morning?" "certainly, dear. i purposed returning to-day or early in the morning to see the seventh march away. of course you would like to be there." "yes." she spoke slowly, and with seeming indifference. it was because she could scarcely control her voice to speak at all. "i should like to be there." francesca knew, what her aunt did not, that surrey was a member of the seventh, and that he would march away with it to danger,--perhaps to death. so they were there, in a window overlooking the great avenue,--mrs. lancaster, foreigner though she was, thrilled to the heart's core by the magnificent pageant; francesca straining her eyes up the long street, through the vast sea of faces, to fasten them upon just one face that she knew would presently appear in the throng. "ah, heavens!" cried mrs. lancaster, "what a sight! look at those young men; they are the choice and fine of the city. see, see! there is hunter, and winthrop, and pursuivant, and mortimer, and shaw, and russell, and, yes--no--it is, over there--your friend, surrey, himself. did you know, francesca?" francesca did not reply. mrs. lancaster turned to see her lying white and cold in her chair. endurance had failed at last. chapter vii "_the plain, unvarnished tale of my whole course of love._" shakespeare "what a handsome girl that is who always waits on us!" francesca had once said to clara russell, as they came out of hyacinth's with some dainty laces in their hands. "very," clara had answered. the handsome girl was sallie. at another time francesca, admiring some particular specimen of the pomps and vanities with which the store was crowded, was about carrying it away, but first experimented as to its fit. "o dear!" she cried, in dismay, "it is too short, and"--rummaging through the box--"there is not another like it, and it is the only one i want." "how provoking!" sympathized clara. "i could very easily alter that," said sallie, who was behind the counter; "i make these up for the shop, and i'll be glad to fix this for you, if you like it so much." "thanks. you are very kind. can you send it up to-morrow?" "this evening, if you wish it." "very good; i shall be your debtor." "well!" exclaimed clara, as they turned away, this is the first time in all my shopping i ever found a girl ready to put herself out to serve one. they usually act as if they were conferring the most overwhelming favor by condescending to wait upon you at all." "why, clara, i'm sure i always find them civil." "i know they seem devoted to you. i wonder why. oh!"--laughing and looking at her friend with honest admiration,--"it must be because you are so pretty." "excellent,--how discerning you are!" smiled francesca, in return. if clara had had a little more discernment, she would have discovered that what wrought this miracle was a friendly courtesy, that never failed to either equal or subordinate. six weeks after the seventh had marched out of new york, francesca, sitting in her aunt's room, was roused from evidently painful thought by the entrance of a servant, who announced, "if you please, a young woman to see you." "name?" "she gave none, miss." "send her up." sallie came in. "bird of paradise" francesca had called her more than once, she was so dashing and handsome; but the title would scarcely fit now, for she looked poor, and sad, and woefully dispirited. "ah, miss sallie, is it you? good morning." "good morning, miss ercildoune." she stood, and looked as though she had something important to say. presently francesca had drawn it from her,--a little story of her own sorrows and troubles. "the reason i have come to you, miss ercildoune, when you are so nearly a stranger, is because you have always been so kind and pleasant to me when i waited on you at the store, and i thought you'd anyway listen to what i have to say." "speak on, sallie." "i've been at hyacinth's now, over four years, ever since i left school. it's a good place, and they paid me well, but i had to keep two people out of it, my little brother frank and myself; frank and i are orphans. and i'm very fond of dress; i may as well confess that at once. so the consequence is, i haven't saved a cent against a rainy day. well," blushing scarlet, "i had a lover,--the best heart that ever beat,--but i liked to flirt, and plague him a little, and make him jealous; and at last he got dreadfully so about a young gentleman,--a mr. snipe, who was very attentive to me,--and talked to me about it in a way i didn't like. that made me worse. i don't know what possessed me; but after that i went out with mr. snipe a great deal more, to the theatre and the like, and let him spend his money on me, and get things for me, as freely as he chose. i didn't mean any harm, indeed i didn't,--but i liked to go about and have a good time; and then it made jim show how much he cared for me, which, you see, was a great thing to me; and so this went on for a while, till jim gave me a real lecture, and i got angry and wouldn't listen to anything he had to say, and sent him away in a huff"--here she choked--"to fight; to the war; and o dear! o dear!" breaking down utterly, and hiding her face in her shawl, "he'll be killed,--i know he will; and oh! what shall i do? my heart will break, i am sure." francesca came and stood by her side, put her hand gently on her shoulder, and stroked her beautiful hair. "poor girl!" she said, softly, "poor girl!" and then, so low that even sallie could not hear, "you suffer, too: do we all suffer, then?" presently sallie looked up, and continued: "up to that time, mr. snipe hadn't said anything to me, except that he admired me very much, and that i was pretty, too pretty to work so hard, and that i ought to live like a lady, and a good deal more of that kind of talk that i was silly enough to listen to; but when he found jim was gone, first, he made fun of him for 'being such a great fool as to go and be shot at for nothing,' and then he--o miss ercildoune, i can't tell you what he said; it makes me choke just to think of it. how dared he? what had i done that he should believe me such a thing as that? i don't know what words i used when i did find them, and i don't care, but they must have stung. i can't tell you how he looked, but it was dreadful; and he said, 'i'll bring down that proud spirit of yours yet, my lady. i'm not through with you,--don't think it,--not by a good deal'; and then he made me a fine bow, and laughed, and went out of the room. "the next day mr. dodd--that's one of our firm--gave me a week's notice to quit: 'work was slack,' he said, 'and they didn't want so many girls.' but i'm just as sure as sure can be that mr. snipe's at the bottom of it, for i've been at the store, as i told you, four years and more, and they always reckoned me one of their best hands, and mr. dodd and mr. snipe are great friends. since then i've done nothing but try to get work. i must have been into a thousand stores, but it's true work is slack; there's not a thing been doing since the war commenced, and i can't get any place. i've been to miss russell and some of the ladies who used to come to the store, to see if they'd give me some fine sewing; but they hadn't any for me, and i don't know what in the world to do, for i understand nothing very well but to sew, and to stand in a store. i've spent all my money, what little i had, and--and--i've even sold some of my clothes, and i can't go on this way much longer. i haven't a relative in the world; nor a home, except in a boarding-house; and the girls i know all treat me cool, as though i had done something bad, because i've lost my place, i suppose, and am poor. "all along, at times, mr. snipe has been sending me things,--bouquets, and baskets of fruit, and sometimes a note, and, though i won't speak to him when i meet him on the street, he always smiles and bows as if he were intimate; and last night, when i was coming home, tired enough from my long search, he passed me and said, with such a look, 'you've gone down a peg or two, haven't you, sallie? come, i guess we'll be friends again before long.' you think it's queer i'm telling you all this. i can't help it; there's something about you that draws it all out of me. i came to ask you for work, and here i've been talking all this while about myself. you must excuse me; i don't think i would have said so much, if you hadn't looked so kind and so interested"; and so she had,--kind as kind could be, and interested as though the girl who talked had been her own sister. "i am glad you came, sallie, and glad that you told me all this, if it has been any relief to you. you may be sure i will do what i can for you, but i am afraid that will not be a great deal, here; for i am a stranger in new york, and know very few people. perhaps--would you go away from here?" "would i?--o wouldn't i? and be glad of the chance. i'd give anything to go where i couldn't get sight or sound of that horrid snipe. can't i go with you, miss ercildoune?" "i have no counter behind which to station you," said francesca, smiling. "no, i know,--of course; but"--looking at the daintily arrayed figure--"you have plenty of elegant things to make, and i can do pretty much anything with my needle, if you'd like to trust me with some work. and then--i'm ashamed to ask so much of you, but a few words from you to your friends, i'm sure, would send me all that i could do, and more." "you think so?" miss ercildoune inquired, with a curious intonation to her voice, and the strangest expression darkening her face. "very well, it shall be tried." sallie was nonplussed by the tone and look, but she comprehended the closing words fully and with delight. "you will take me with you," she cried. "o, how good, how kind you are! how shall i ever be able to thank you?" "don't thank me at all," said miss ercildoune, "at least not now. wait till i have done something to deserve your gratitude." but sallie was not to be silenced in any such fashion, and said her say with warmth and meaning; then, after some further talk about time and plans, went away carrying a bit of work which miss ercildoune had found, or made, for her, and for which she had paid in advance. "god bless her!" thought sallie; "how nice and how thoughtful she is! most ladies, if they'd done anything for me, would have given me some money and made a beggar of me, and i should have felt as mean as dish-water. but now"--she patted her little bundle and walked down the street, elated and happy. francesca watched her out of the door with eyes that presently filled with tears. "poor girl!" she whispered; "poor sallie! her lover has gone to the wars with a shadow between them. ah, that must not be; i must try to bring them together again, if he loves her dearly and truly. he might die,"--she shuddered at that,--"die, as other men die, in the heat and flame of battle. my god! my god! how shall i bear it? dead! and without a word! gone, and he will never know how well i love him! o willie, willie! my life, my love, my darling, come back, come back to me." vain cry!--he cannot hear. vain lifting of an agonized face, beautiful in its agony!--he cannot see. vain stretching forth of longing hands and empty arms!--he is not there to take them to his embrace. carry thy burden as others have carried it before thee, and learn what multitudes, in times past and in time present, have learned,--the lesson of endurance when happiness is denied, and of patience and silence when joy has been withheld. go thou thy way, sorrowful and suffering soul, alone; and if thy own heart bleeds, strive thou to soothe its pangs, by medicining the wounds and healing the hurts of another. a few days thereafter, when miss ercildoune went over to philadelphia, sallie and frank bore her company. she had become as thoroughly interested in them as though she had known and cared for them for a long while; and as she was one who was incapable of doing in an imperfect or partial way aught she attempted, and whose friendship never stopped short with pleasant sounding words, this interest had already bloomed beautifully, and was fast ripening into solid fruit. she had written in advance to desire that certain preparations should be made for her _protégés_,--preparations which had been faithfully attended to; and thus, reaching a strange city, they felt themselves not strangers, since they had a home ready to receive them, and this excellent friend by their side. the home consisted of two rooms, neat, cheerful, high up,--"the airier and healthier for that," as sallie decided when she saw them. "i believe everything is in order," said the good-natured-looking old lady, the mistress of the establishment. "my lodgers are all gentlemen who take their meals out, and i shall be glad of some company. any one whom friend comstock recommends will be all right, i know." as mrs. healey's style of designation indicated, friend comstock was a quakeress, well known, greatly esteemed, an old friend of miss ercildoune, and of miss ercildoune's father. she it was to whom francesca had written, and who had found this domicile for the wanderers, and who at the outset furnished sallie with an abundance of fine and dainty sewing. indeed, without giving the matter special thought, she was surprised to discover that, with one or two exceptions, the people miss ercildoune sent her were of the peaceful and quiet sect. this bird of brilliant plumage seemed ill assorted with the sober-hued flock. she found in this same bird a helper in more ways than one. it was not alone that she gave her employment and paid her well, nor that she sent her others able and willing to do the same. she found frankie a good school, and saw him properly installed. she never came to them empty-handed; through the long, hot summer-time she brought them fruit and flowers from her home out of town; and when she came not herself, if the carriage was in the city it stopped with these same delightful burdens. sallie declared her an angel, and frank, with his mouth stuffed full, stood ready to echo the assertion. so the heated term wore away,--before it ended, telling heavily on sallie. her anxiety about jim, her close confinement and constant work, the fever everywhere in the spiritual air through that first terrible summer of the war, bore her down. "you need rest," said miss ercildoune to her one day, looking at her with kindly solicitude,--"rest, and change, and fresh air, and freedom from care. i can't give you the last, but i can the first if you will accept them. you need some country living." "o miss ercildoune, will you let me do your work at your own home? i know it would do me good just to be under the same roof with you, and then i should have all the things you speak of combined and another one added. if you only will!" this was not the plan francesca had proposed to herself. she had intended sending sallie away to some pleasant country or seaside place, till she was refreshed and ready to come to her work once more. sallie did not know what to make of the expression of the face that watched her, nor of the exclamation, "why not? let me try her." but she had not long to consider, for miss ercildoune added, "be it so. i will send in for you to-morrow, and you shall stay till you are better and stronger, or--till you please to come home,"--the last words spoken in a bitter and sorrowful tone. the next day sallie found her way to the superb home of her employer. superb it was, in every sense. never before had she been in such a delightful region, never before realized how absolutely perfect breeding sets at ease all who come within the charm of its magic sphere,--employed, acquaintance, or friend. there was a shadow, however, in this house,--a shadow, the premonition of which she had seen more than once on the face of its mistress ere she ever beheld her home; a shadow to which, for a few days, she had no clew, but which was suddenly explained by the arrival of the master of this beautiful habitation; a shadow from which most people would have fled as from the breath of a pestilence, or the shade of the tomb; nay, one from which, but a few short months before, sallie herself would have sped with feet from which she would have shaken the very dust of the threshold when she was beyond its doors,--but not now. now, as she beheld it, she sat still to survey it, with surprise that deepened into indignation and compassion, that many a time filled her eyes with tears, and brought an added expression of respect to her voice when she spoke to these people who seemed to have all the good things that this world can offer, upon whom fortune had expended her treasures, yet-- whatever it was, sallie came from that home with many an old senseless prejudice destroyed forever, with a new thought implanted in her soul, the blossoming of which was a noxious vapor in the nostrils of some who were compelled to inhale it, but as a sweet-smelling savor to more than one weary wayfarer, and to that god to whom the darkness and the light are alike, and who, we are told by his own word, is no respecter of persons. "poor, dear miss ercildoune!" half sobbed, half scolded sallie, as she sat at her work, blooming and, fresh, the day after her return. "what a tangled thread it is, to be sure," jerking at her knotty needleful. "well, i know what i'll do,--i'll treat her as if she was a queen born and crowned, just so long as i have anything to do with her,--so i will." and she did. chapter viii "_for hearts of truest mettle absence doth join, and time doth settle._" anonymous it were a vain endeavor to attempt the telling of what filled the heart and soul of surrey, as he marched away that day from new york, and through the days and weeks and months that followed. fired by a sublime enthusiasm for his country; thirsting to drink of any cup her hand might present, that thus he might display his absolute devotion to her cause; burning with indignation at the wrongs she had suffered; thrilled with an adoring love for the idea she embodied; eager to make manifest this love at whatever cost of pain and sorrow and suffering to himself,--through all this the man never once was steeped in forgetfulness in the soldier; the divine passion of patriotism never once dulled the ache, or satisfied the desire, or answered the prayer, or filled the longing heart, that through the day marches and the night watches cried, and would not be appeased, for his darling. "surely," he thought as he went down broadway, as he reflected, as he considered the matter a thousand times thereafter,--"surely i was a fool not to have spoken to her then; not to have seen her, have devised, have forced some way to reach her, not to have met her face to face, and told her all the love with which she had filled my heart and possessed my soul. and then to have been such a coward when i did write to her, to have so said a say which was nothing"; and he groaned impatiently as he thought of the scene in his room and the letter which was its final result. how he had written once, and again, and yet again, letters short and long, letters short and burning, or lengthy and filled almost to the final line with delicate fancies and airy sentiment, ere he ventured to tell that of which all this was but the prelude; how, at the conclusion of each attempt, he had watched these luminous effusions blaze and burn as he regularly committed them to the flames; how he found it difficult to decide which he enjoyed the most,--writing them out, or seeing them burn; how at last he had put upon paper some such words as these:-- "after these delightful weeks and months of intercourse, i am to go away from you, then, without a single word of parting, or a solitary sentence of adieu. need i tell you how this pains me? i have in vain besieged the house that has held you; in vain made a thousand inquiries, a thousand efforts to discover your retreat and to reach your side, that i might once more see your face and take your hand ere i went from the sight and touch of both, perchance forever. this i find may not be. the hour strikes, and in a little space i shall march away from the city to which my heart clings with infinite fondness, since it is filled with associations of you. i have again and again striven to write that which will be worthy the eyes that are to read, and striven in vain. 'tis a fine art to which i do not pretend. then, in homely phrase, good by. give me thy spiritual hand, and keep me, if thou wilt, in thy gentle remembrance. adieu! a kind adieu, my friend; may the brighter stars smile on thee, and the better angels guard thy footsteps wherever thou mayst wander, keep thy heart and spirit bright, and let thy thoughts turn kindly back to me, i pray very, very often. and so, once more, farewell." remembering all this, thinking what he would do and say were the doing and saying yet possible in an untried future, the time sped by. he waited and waited in vain. he looked, yet was gratified by no sight for which his eyes longed. he hoped, till hope gave place to despondency and almost despair: not a word came to him, not a line of answer or remembrance. this long silence was all the more intolerable, since the time that intervened did but the more vividly stamp upon his memory the delights of the past, and color with softer and more exquisite tints the recollection of vanished hours,--hours spent in galloping gayly by her side in the early morning, or idly and deliciously lounged away in picture-galleries or concert-rooms, or in a conversation carried on in some curious and subtle shape between two hearts and spirits with the help of very few uttered words; hours in which he had whirled her through many a fairy maze and turn of captivating dance-music, or in some less heated and crowded room, or cool conservatory, listened to the voice of the siren who walked by his side, "while the sweet wind did gently kiss the flowers and make no noise," and the strains of "flute, violin, bassoon," and the sounds of the "dancers dancing in tune," coming to them on the still air of night, seemed like the sounds from another and a far-off world,--listened, listened, listened, while his silver-tongued enchantress builded castles in the air, or beguiled his thought, enthralled his heart, his soul and fancy, through many a golden hour. thinking of all this, his heart well found expression for its feelings in the half-pleasing, half-sorrowful lines which almost unconsciously repeated themselves again and again in his brain:-- "still o'er those scenes my memory wakes, and fondly broods with miser care; time but the impression deeper makes, as streams their channels deeper wear." thinking of all this, he took comfort in spite of his trouble. "perhaps," he said to himself, "he was mistaken. perhaps"--o happy thought!--it was but make-believe displeasure which had so tortured him. perhaps--yes, he would believe it--she had never received his letter; they had been careless, they had failed to give it her or to send it aright. he would write her once again, in language which would relieve his heart, and which she must comprehend. he loved her; perhaps, ah, perhaps she loved him a little in return: he would believe so till he was undeceived, and be infinitely happy in the belief. is it not wondrous how even the tiniest grain of love will permeate the saddest and sorest recesses of the heart, and instantly cause it to pulsate with thoughts and emotions the sweetest and dearest in life? o love, thou sweet, thou young and rose lipped cherubim, how does thy smile illuminate the universe! how does thy slightest touch electrify the soul! how gently and tenderly dost thou lead us up to heaven! with surrey, to decide was to act. the second letter, full of sweetest yet intensest love,--his heart laid bare to her,--was written; was sent, enclosed in one to his aunt. tom was away in another section, fighting manfully for the dear old flag, or the precious missive would have been intrusted to his care. he sent it thus that it might reach her sooner. now that he had a fresh hope, he could not wait to write for her address, and forward it himself to her hands; he must adopt the speediest method of putting it in her possession. in a little space came answer from mrs. russell, enclosing the letter he had sent: a kindly epistle it was. he was a sort of idol with this same aunt, so she had put many things on paper that were steeped in gentleness and affection ere she said at the end, "i re-enclose your letter. i have seen miss ercildoune. she restores it to you; she implores you never to write her again,--to forget her. i add my entreaties to hers. she begs of me to beseech you not to try her by any further appeals, as she will but return them unopened." that was all. what could it mean? he loved her so absolutely, he had such exalted faith in her kindness, her gentleness, her fairness and superiority,--in _her_,--that he could not believe she would so thrust back his love, purely and chivalrously offered, with something that seemed like ignominy, unless she had a sufficient reason--or one she deemed such--for treating so cruelly him and the offering he laid at her feet. but she had spoken. it was for him, then, when she bade silence, to keep it; when she refused his gift, to refrain from thrusting it upon her attention and heart. but ah, the silence and the refraining! ah, the time--the weary, sore, intolerable time--that followed! summer, and autumn, and winter, and the seasons repeated once again, he tramped across the soil of virginia, already wet with rebel and patriot blood; he felt the shame and agony of bull run; he was in the night struggle at ball's bluff, where those wondrous harvard boys found it "sweet to die for their country," and discovered, for them, "death to be but one step onward in life." he lay in camp, chafing with impatience and indignation as the long months wore away, and the thousands of graves about washington, filled by disease and inaction, made "all quiet along the potomac." he went down to yorktown; was in the sweat and fury of the seven days' fight; away in the far south, where fever and pestilence stood guard to seize those who were spared by the bullet and bayonet; and on many a field well lost or won. through it all marching or fighting, sick, wounded thrice and again; praised, admired, heroic, promoted,--from private soldier to general,--through two years and more of such fiery experience, no part of the tender love was burned away, tarnished, or dimmed. sometimes, indeed, he even smiled at himself for the constant thought, and felt that he must certainly be demented on this one point at least, since it colored every impression of his life, and, in some shape, thrust itself upon him at the most unseemly and foreign times. one evening, when the mail for the division came in, looking over the pile of letters, his eye was caught by one addressed to james given. the name was familiar,--that of his father's old foreman, whom he knew to be somewhere in the army; doubtless the same man. unquestionably, he thought, that was the reason he was so attracted to it; but why he should take up the delicate little missive, scan it again and again, hold it in his hand with the same touch with which he would have pressed a rare flower, and lay it down as reluctantly as he would have yielded a known and visible treasure,--that was the mystery. he had never seen francesca's writing, but he stood possessed, almost assured, of the belief that this letter was penned by her hand; and at last parted with it slowly and unwillingly, as though it were the dear hand of which he mused; then took himself to task for this boyish weakness and folly. nevertheless, he went in pursuit of jim, not to question him,--he was too thorough a gentleman for that,--but led on partly by his desire to see a familiar face, partly by this folly, as he called it with a sort of amused disdain. folly, however, it was not, save in such measure as the subtle telegraphings between spirit and spirit can be thus called. unjustly so called they are, constantly; it being the habit of most people to denounce as heresy or ridicule as madness things too high for their sight or too deep for their comprehension. as these people would say, "oddly enough," or "by an extraordinary coincidence," this very letter was from miss ercildoune,--a letter which she wrote as she purposed, and as she well knew how to write, in behalf of sallie. it was ostensibly on quite another theme; asking some information in regard to a comrade, but so cunningly devised and executed as to tell him in few words, and unsuspiciously, some news of sallie,--news which she knew would delight his heart, and overthrow the little barrier which had stood between them, making both miserable, but which he would not, and she could not, clamber over or destroy. it did its work effectually, and made two hearts thoroughly happy,--this letter which had so strangely bewitched surrey; which, in his heart, spite of the ridicule of his reason, he was so sure was hers; and which, indeed, was hers, though he knew not that till long afterward. "so," he thought, as he went through the camp, "given is here, and near. i shall be glad to see a face from home, whatever kind of a face it may be, and given's is a good one; it will be a pleasant rememberance." "whither away?" called a voice behind him. "to the th," he answered the questioner, one of his officers and friends, who, coming up, took his arm,--"in pursuit of a man." "what's his name?" "given,--christened james. what are you laughing at? do you know him?" "no, i don't know him, but i've heard some funny stories about him; he's a queer stick, i should think." "something in that way.--helloa! brooks, back again?" to a fine, frank-looking young fellow,--"and were you successful?" "yes, to both your questions. in addition i'll say, for your rejoicing, that i give in, cave, subside, have nothing more to say against your pet theory,--from this moment swear myself a rank abolitionist, or anything else you please, now and forever,--so help me all ye black gods and goddesses!" "phew! what's all this?" cried whittlesly, from the other side of his colonel; "what are you driving at? i'll defy anybody to make head or tail of that answer." "surrey understands." "not i; your riddle's too much for me." "didn't you go in pursuit of a dead man?" queried whittlesly. "just that." "did the dead man convert you?" "no, colonel, not precisely. and yet yes, too; that is, i suppose i shouldn't have been converted if he hadn't died, and i gone in search of him." "i believe it; you're such an obstinate case that you need one raised from the dead to have any effect on you." "obstinate! o, hear the pig-headed fellow talk! you're a beauty to discourse on that point, aren't you!" "surrey laughed, and stopped at the call of one of his men, who hailed him as he went by. evidently a favorite here as in new york, in camp as at home; for in a moment he was surrounded by the men, who crowded about him, each with a question, or remark, to draw special attention to himself, and a word or smile from his commander. whatever complaint they had to enter, or petition to make, or favor to beg, or wish to urge, whatever help they wanted or information they desired, was brought to him to solve or to grant, and--never being repulsed by their officer--they speedily knew and loved their friend. thus it was that the two men standing at a little distance, watching the proceeding, were greatly amused at the motley drafts made upon his attention in the shape of tents, shoes, coats, letters to be sent or received, books borrowed and lent, a man sick, or a chicken captured. they brought their interests and cares to him,--these big, brown fellows,--as though they were children, and he a parent well beloved. "one might think him the father of the regiment," said brooks, with a smile. "the mother, more like: it must be the woman element in him these fellows feel and love so." "perhaps; but it would have another effect on them, if, for instance, he didn't carry that sabre-slash on his hand. they've seen him under steel and fire, and know where he's led them." "what is this you were joking about with him, a while ago?" "what! about turning abolitionist?" "precisely." "o, you know he's rampant on the slavery question. i believe it's the only thing he ever loses his temper over, and he has lost it with me more than once. i've always been a rank heretic with regard to cuffee, and the result was, we disagreed." "yes, i know. but what connection has that with your expedition?" "just what i want to know," added surrey, coming up at the moment. "ah! you're in time to hear the confession, are you?" "'an honest confession--'you know what the wise man says." "come, don't flatter yourself we will think you so because you quote him. be quiet, both of you, and let me go on to tell my tale." "attention!" "proceed!" "thus, then. you understand what my errand was?" "not exactly; lieutenant hunt was drowned somewhere, wasn't he?" "yes: fell overboard from a tug; the men on board tried to save him, and then to recover his body, and couldn't do either. some of his people came down here in pursuit of it, and i was detailed with a squad to help them in their search. "well, the naval officers gave us every facility in their power; the river was dragged twice over, and the woods along-shore ransacked, hoping it might have been washed in and, maybe, buried; but there wasn't sight or trace of it. while we were hunting round we stumbled on a couple of darkies, who told us, after a bit of questioning, that darky number three, somewhere about, had found the body of a federal officer on the river bank, and buried it. on that hint we acted, posted over to the fellow's shanty, and found, not him, but his wife, who was ready enough to tell us all she knew. she showed us some traps of the buried officer, among them a pair of spurs, which his brother recognized directly. when she was quite sure that we were all correct, and that the thing had fallen into the right hands, she fished out of some safe corner his wallet, with fifty-seven dollars in it. i confess i stared, for they were slaves, both of them, and evidently poor as job's turkey, and it has always been one of my theories that a nigger invariably steals when he gets a chance. however, i wasn't going to give in at that." "of course you weren't," said the colonel. "did you ever read about the man who was told that the facts did not sustain his theory, and of his sublime answer? 'very well,' said he, 'so much the worse for the facts!'" "come, colonel, you talk too much. how am i ever to get on with my narrative, if you keep interrupting me in this style? be quiet." "word of command. quiet. quiet it is. continue." "no, i said, of course they expect some reward,--that's it." "what an ass you must be!" broke in whittlesly. "hadn't you sense enough to see they could keep the whole of it, and nobody the wiser? and of course they couldn't have supposed any one was coming after it,--could they? "how am i to know what they thought? if you don't stop your comments, i'll stop the story; take your choice." "all right: go ahead." "while i was considering the case, in came the master of the mansion,--a thin, stooped, tired-looking little fellow,--'sam,' he told us, was his name; then proceeded to narrate how he had found the body, and knew the uniform, and was kind and tender with it because of its dress, 'for you see, sah, we darkies is all union folks'; how he had brought it up in the night, for fear of his secesh master, and made a coffin for it, and buried it decently. after that he took us out to a little spot of fresh earth, covered with leaves and twigs, and, digging down, we came to a rough pine box made as well as the poor fellow knew how to put it together. opening it, we found all that was left of poor hunt, respectably clad in a coarse, clean white garment which sam's wife had made as nicely as she could out of her one pair of sheets. 'it wa'n't much,' said the good soul, with tears in her eyes, 'it wa'n't much we's could do for him, but i washed him, and dressed him, peart as i could, and sam and me, we buried him. we wished, both on us, that we could have done heaps more for him, but we did all that we could,'--which, indeed, was plain enough to be seen. "before we went away, sam brought from a little hole, which he burrowed in the floor of his cabin, a something, done up in dirty old rags; and when we opened it, what under the heavens do you suppose we found? you'll never guess. three hundred dollars in bank-bills, and some important papers, which he had taken and hid,--concealed them even from his wife, because, he said, the guerillas often came round, and they might frighten her into giving them up if she knew they were there. "i collapsed at that, and stood with open mouth, watching for the next proceeding. i knew there was to be some more of it, and there was. hunt's brother offered back half the money; _offered_ it! why, he tried to force it on the fellow, and couldn't. his master wouldn't let him buy himself and his wife,--i suspect, out of sheer cussedness,--and he hadn't any other use for money, he said. besides, he didn't want to take, and wouldn't take, anything that looked like pay for doing aught for a 'linkum sojer,' alive or dead. "'they'se going to make us all free, sometime,' he said, 'that's enough. don't look like it, jest yet, i knows; but i lives in faith; it'll come byumby' when the fellow said that, i declare to you, surrey, i felt like hiding my face. at last i began to comprehend what your indignation meant against the order forbidding slaves coming into our lines, and commanding their return when they succeed in entering. just then we all seemed to me meaner than dirt." "as we are; and, as dirt, deserve to be trampled underfoot, beaten, defeated, till we're ready to stand up and fight like men in this struggle." "amen to that, colonel," added whittlesly. "well, i'm pretty nearly ready to say so myself," finished brooks, half reluctantly. chapter ix "_the best-laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft agley._" burns they didn't find jim in the camp of his regiment, so went up to head-quarters to institute inquiries. "given?" a little thought and investigation. "oh! given is out on picket duty." "whereabouts?" the direction indicated. "thanks! we'll find him." having commenced the search, surrey was determined to end it ere he turned back, and his two friends bore him company. as they came down the road, they saw in the distance a great stalwart fellow, red-shirted and conspicuous, evidently absorbed in some singular task,--what they did not perceive, till, coming to closer quarters, they discovered, perched by his side, a tin cup filled with soap-suds, a pipe in his mouth, and that by the help of the two he was regaling himself with the pastime of blowing bubbles. "i'll wager that's jim," said surrey, before he saw his face. "it's like him, certainly: from what i've heard of him, i think he would die outright if he couldn't amuse himself in some shape." "why, the fellow must be a curiosity worth coming here to see." "pretty nearly." surrey walked on a little in advance, and tapped him on the shoulder. down came the pipe, up went the hand in a respectful military salute, but before it was finished he saw who was before him. "wow!" he exclaimed, "if it ain't mr. willie surrey. my! ain't i glad to see you? how _do_ you do? the sight of you is as good as a month's pay." "come, given, don't stun me with compliments," cried surrey, laughing and putting out his hand to grasp the big, red paw that came to meet it, and shake it heartily. "if i'd known you were over here, i'd have found you before, though my regiment hasn't been down here long." jim at that looked sharply at the "eagles," and then over the alert, graceful person, finishing his inspection with an approving nod, and the emphatic declaration, "well, if i know what's what, and i rayther reckon i do, you're about the right figger for an officer, and on the whole i'd sooner pull off my cap to you than any other fellow i've seen round,"--bringing his hand once more to the salute. "why, jim, you have turned courtier; army life is spoiling you," protested the inspected one; protesting,--yet pleased, as any one might have been, at the evidently sincere admiration. "nary time," jim strenuously denied; and, these little courtesies being ended, they talked about enlistment, and home, and camp, and a score of things that interested officer and man alike. in the midst of the confab a dust was seen up the road, coming nearer, and presently out of it appeared a family carriage somewhat dilapidated and worse for wear, but still quite magnificent; enthroned on the back seat a fullblown f.f.v. with rather more than the ordinary measure of superciliousness belonging to his race; driven, of course, by his colored servant. jim made for the middle of the road, and, holding his bayonet in such wise as to threaten at one charge horse, negro, and chivalry, roared out, "tickets!" at such an extraordinary and unceremonious demand the knight flushed angrily, frowned, made an expressive gesture with his lips and his nose which suggestively indicated that there was something offensive in the air between the wind and his gentility, ending the pantomime by finding a pass and handing it over to his "nigger," then--not deigning to speak--motioned him and it to the threatening figure. as this black man came forward, brooks, looking at him a moment, cried excitedly, "by jove! it's sam." "no? hunt's sam?" "yes, the very same; and i suppose that's his cantankerous old master." surrey ran forward to jim, for the three had fallen back when the carriage came near, and said a few sentences to him quickly and earnestly. "all right, colonel! just as you please," he replied. "you leave it to me; i'll fix him." then, turning to sam, who stood waiting, demanded, "well, have you got it?" "yes, massa." "fork over,"--and looking at it a moment pronounced "all right! move on!" elucidating the remark by a jerk at the coat-collar of the unsuspecting sam, which sent him whirling up the road at a fine but uncomfortable rate of speed. "now, sir, what do you want?" addressing the astounded chevalier, who sat speechlessly observant of this unlooked-for proceeding. "want?" cried the irate virginian, his anger loosening his tongue, "want? i want to go on, of course; that was my pass." "was it now? i want to know! that's singular! why didn't you offer it yourself then?" "because i thought my nigger a fitter person to parley with a lincoln vandal," loftily responded his eminence. "that's kind of you, i'm sure. sorry i can't oblige you in return,--very; but you'll just have to turn tail and drive back again. that bit of paper says 'pass the bearer,' and the bearer's already passed. you can't get two men through this picket on one man's pass, not if one is a nigger and t'other a skunk; so, sir, face about, march!" this was an unprepared-for dilemma. mr. v. looked at the face of the "lincoln vandal," but saw there no sign of relenting; then into the distance whither he was anxiously desirous to tend; glanced reflectively at the bayonet in the centre and the narrow space on either side the road; and finally called to his black man to come back. sam approached with reluctance, and fell back with alacrity when the glittering steel was brandished towards his own breast. "where's your pass, sirrah?" demanded jim, with asperity. "here, massa," said the chattel, presenting the same one which had already been examined. "won't do," said jim. "can't come that game over this child. that passes you to fairfax,--can't get any one from fairfax on that ticket. come," flourishing the shooting-stick once more, "move along"; which sam proceeded to do with extraordinary readiness. "now, sir," turning to the again speechless chevalier, "if you stay here any longer, i shall take you under arrest to head-quarters: consequently, you'd better accept the advice of a disinterested friend, and make tracks, lively." by this time the scion of a latter-day chivalry seemed to comprehend the situation, seized his lines, wheeled about, and went off at a spanking trot over the "sacred soil,"--jim shouting after him, "i say, mr. f.f.v. if you meet any 'lincoln vandals,' just give them my respects, will you?" to which as the knight gave no answer, we are left in doubt to this day whether given's commission was ever executed. "there! my mind's relieved on that point," announced jim, wiping his face with one hand and shaking the other after the retreating dust. "mean old scoot! i'll teach him to insult one of our boys,--'lincoln vandals' indeed! i'd like to have whanged him!" with a final shake and a final explosion, cooling off as rapidly as he had heated, and continuing the interrupted conversation with recovered temper and _sangfroid_. he was delighted at meeting surrey, and surrey was equally glad to see once more his old favorite, for jim and he had been great friends when he was a little boy and had watched the big boy at work in his father's foundry,--a favoritism which, spite of years and changes, and wide distinctions of social position, had never altered nor cooled, and which showed itself now in many a pleasant shape and fashion so long as they were near together. they aided and abetted one another in more ways than one. jim at surrey's request, and by a plan of his proposing, succeeded in getting sam's wife away from her home,--not from any liking for the expedition, or interest in either of the "niggers," as he stoutly asserted, but solely to please the colonel. if that, indeed, were his only purpose, he succeeded to a charm, for when surrey saw the two reunited, safe from the awful clutch of slavery, supplied with ample means for the journey and the settlement thereafter, and on their way to a good northern home, he was more than pleased,--he was rejoiced, and said, "thank god!" with all his heart, and reverently, as he watched them away. before the summer ended jim was down with what he called "a scratch"; a pretty ugly wound, the surgeon thought it, and the colonel remembered and looked after him with unflagging interest and zeal. many a book and paper, many a cooling drink and bit of fruit delicious to the parched throat and fevered lips, found their way to the little table by his side. surrey was never too busy by reason of his duties, or among his own sick and wounded men, to find time for a chat, or a scrap of reading, or to write a letter for the prostrate and helpless fellow, who suffered without complaining, as, indeed, they did all about him, only relieving himself now and then by a suppressed growl. and so, with occasional episodes of individual interest, with marches and fightings, with extremes of heat and cold, of triumph and defeat, the long months wore away. these men were soldiers, each in his place in the great war with the record of which all the world is familiar, a tale written in blood, and flame, and tears,--terrible, yet heroic; ghastly, yet sublime. as soldiers in such a conflict, they did their duty and noble endeavor,--jim, a nameless private in the ranks,--surrey, not braver perchance, but so conspicuous with all the elements which fit for splendid command, so fortunate in opportunities for their display, so eminent in seizing them and using them to their fullest extent, regardless of danger and death, as to make his name known and honored by all who watched the progress of the fight, read its record with interest, and knew its heroes and leaders with pride and love. in the winter of ' jim's regiment was ordered away to south carolina; and he who at parting looked with keen regret on the face of the man who had been so faithful and well tried a friend, would have looked upon it with something deeper and sadder, could he at the same time have gazed a little way into the future, and seen what it held in store for him. four months after he marched away, surrey's brigade was in that awful fight and carnage of chancellorsville, where men fought like gods to counteract the blunders, and retrieve the disaster, induced by a stunned and helpless brain. there was he stricken down, at the head of his command, covered with dust and smoke; twice wounded, yet refusing to leave the field,--his head bound with a handkerchief, his eyes blazing like stars beneath its stained folds, his voice cheering on his men; three horses shot under him; on foot then; contending for every inch of the ground he was compelled to yield; giving way only as he was forced at the point of the bayonet; his men eager to emulate him, to follow him into the jaws of death, to fall by his side,--thus was he prostrated; not dead, as they thought and feared when they seized him and bore him at last from the field, but insensible, bleeding with frightful abundance, his right arm shattered to fragments; not dead, yet at death's door--and looking in. may blossoms had dropped, and june harvests were ripe on all the fields, ere he could take advantage of the unsolicited leave, and go home. home--for which his heart longed! he was not, however, in too great haste to stop by the way, to pause in washington, and do what he had sooner intended to accomplish,--solicit, as a special favor to himself, as an honor justly won by the man for whom he entreated it, a promotion for jim. "it is impossible now," he was informed, "but the case should be noted and remembered. if anything could certainly secure the man an advance, it was the advocacy of general surrey"; and so, not quite content, but still satisfied that jim's time was in the near future, he went on his way. as the cars approached philadelphia his heart beat so fast that it almost stifled him, and he leaned against the window heavily for air and support. it was useless to reason with himself, vain to call good judgment to his counsels and summon wisdom to his aid. this was her home. somewhere in this city to which he was so rapidly hastening, she was moving up and down, had her being, was living and loving. after these long years his eyes so ached to see her, his heart was so hungry for her presence, that it seemed to him as though the sheer longing would call her out of her retreat, on to the streets through which he must pass, across his path, into the sight of his eyes and reach of his hand. he had thought that he felt all this before. he found, as the space diminished between them,--as, perchance, she was but a stone's throw from his side,--that the pain, and the longing, and the intolerable desire to behold her once again, increased a hundred-fold. eager as he had been a little while before to reach his home, he was content to remain quietly here now. he laughed at himself as he stepped into a carriage, and, tired as he was,--for his amputated arm, not yet thoroughly healed, made him weak and worn,--drove through all the afternoon and evening, across miles and miles of heated, wearisome stones, possessed by the idea that somewhere, somehow, he should see her, he would find her before his quest was done. after that last painful rebuff, he did not dare to go to her home, could he find it, till he had secured from her, in some fashion, a word or sign. "this," he said, "is certainly doubly absurd, since she does not live in the city; but she is here to-day, i know,--she must be here"; and persisted in his endeavor,--persisted, naturally, in vain; and went to bed, at last, exhausted; determined that to-morrow should find him on his journey farther north, whatever wish might plead for delay, yet with a final cry for her from the depths of his soul, as he stretched out his solitary arm, ere sinking to restless sleep, and dreams of battle and death--sleep unrefreshing, and dreams ill-omened; as he thought, again and again, rousing himself from their hold, and looking out to the night, impatient for the break of day. when day broke he was unable to rise with its dawn. the effect of all this tension on his already overtaxed nerves was to induce a fever in the unhealed arm, which, though not painful, was yet sufficient to hold him close prisoner for several days; a delay which chafed him, and which filled his family at home with an intolerable anxiety, not that they knew its cause,--_that_ would have been a relief,--but that they conjectured another, to them infinitely worse than sickness or suffering, bad and sorrowful as were these. chapter x "_gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you._" izaak walton car no. , fifth street line, philadelphia, was crowded. travelling bags, shawls, and dusters marked that people were making for the a.m. new york train, kensington depot. one pleasant-looking old gentleman whose face shone under a broad brim, and whose cleanly drabs were brought into distasteful proximity with the garments of a drunken coal-heaver, after a vain effort to edge away, relieved his mind by turning to his neighbor with the statement, "consistency is a jewel." "undoubtedly true, mr. greenleaf," answered the neighbor, "but what caused the remark?" "that,"--looking with mild disgust at the dirty and ragged leg sitting by his own. "here's this filthy fellow, a nuisance to everybody near him, can ride in these cars, and a nice, respectable colored person can't. so i couldn't help thinking, and saying, that consistency is a jewel." "well, it's a shame,--that's a fact; but of course nobody can interfere if the companies don't choose to let them ride; it's their concern, not ours." "there's a fine specimen now, out there on the sidewalk." the fine specimen was a large, powerfully made man, black as ebony, dressed in army blouse and trousers, one leg gone,--evidently very tired, for he leaned heavily on his crutches. the conductor, a kindly-faced young fellow, pulled the strap, and helped him on to the platform with a peremptory "move up front, there!" to the people standing inside. "why!" exclaimed the old friend,--"do my eyes deceive me?" then getting up, and taking the man by the arm, he seated him in his own place: "thou art less able to stand than i." tears rushed to his eyes as he said, "thank you, sir! you are too kind." evidently he was weak, and as evidently unaccustomed to find any one "too kind." "thee has on the army blue; has thee been fighting any?" "yes, sir!" he answered, promptly. "i didn't know black men were in the army; yet thee has lost a leg. where did that go?" "at newbern, sir." "at newbern,--ah! long ago? and how did it happen?" "fourteenth of march, sir. there was a land fight, and the gunboats came up to the rescue. some of us black men were upon board a little schooner that carried one gun. 'twasn't a great deal we could do with that, but we did the best we could; and got well peppered in return. this is what it did for me,"--looking down at the stump. "i guess thee is sorry now that thee didn't keep out of it, isn't thee?" "no, sir; no indeed, sir. if i had five hundred legs and fifty lives, i'd be glad to give them all in such a war as this." here somebody got out; the old friend sat down; and the coal-heaver, roused by the stir, lifted himself from his drunken sleep, and, looking round, saw who was beside him. a vile oath, an angry stare from his bloodshot eyes. "ye ----, what are ye doin' here? out wid ye, quick!" "what's the matter?" queried the conductor, who was collecting somebody's fare. "the matther, is it? matther enough! what's this nasty nagur doin' here? put him out, can't ye?" the conductor took no notice. "conductor!" spoke up a well-dressed man, with the air and manner of a gentleman, "what does that card say?" the conductor looked at the card indicated, upon which was printed "colored people not allowed in this car," legible enough to require less study than he saw fit to give it. "well!" he said. "well," was the answer,--"your duty is plain. put that fellow out." the conductor hesitated,--looked round the car. nobody spoke. "i'm sorry, my man! i hoped there would be no objection when i let you in; but our orders are strict, and, as the passengers ain't willing, you'll have to get off,"--jerking angrily at the bell. as the car slackened speed, a young officer, whom nobody noticed, got on. there was a moment's pause as the black man gathered up his crutches, and raised himself painfully. "stop!" cried a thrilling and passionate voice,--"stand still! of what stuff are you made to sit here and see a man, mangled and maimed in _your_ cause and for _your_ defence, insulted and outraged at the bidding of a drunken boor and a cowardly traitor?" the voice, the beautiful face, the intensity burning through both, electrified every soul to which she appealed. hands were stretched out to draw back the crippled soldier; eyes that a moment before were turned away looked kindly at him; a babel of voices broke out, "no, no," "let him stay," "it's a shame," "let him alone, conductor," "we ain't so bad as that," with more of the same kind; those who chose not to join in the chorus discreetly held their peace, and made no attempt to sing out of time and tune. the car started again. the _gentleman_, furious at the turn of the tide, cried out, "ho, ho! here's a pretty preacher of the gospel of equality! why, ladies and gentlemen, this high-flyer, who presumes to lecture us, is nothing but a"-- the sentence was cut short in mid-career, the insolent sneer dashed out of his face,--face and form prone on the floor of the car,--while over him bent and blazed the young officer, whose entrance, a little while before, nobody had heeded. spurning the prostrate body at his feet, he turned to francesca, for it was she, and stretched out his hand,--his left hand,--his only one. it was time; all the heat, and passion, and color, had died out, and she stood there shivering, a look of suffering in her face. "miss ercildoune! you are ill,--you need the air,--allow me!" drawing her hand through his arm, and taking her out with infinite deference and care. "thank you! a moment's faintness,--it is over now," as they reached the sidewalk. "no, no, you are too ill to walk,--let me get you a carriage." hailing one that was passing by, he put her in, his hand lingering on hers, lingering on the folds of her dress as he bent to arrange it; his eyes clinging to her face with a passionate, woeful tenderness. "it is two years since i saw you, since i have heard from you," he said, his voice hoarse with the effort to speak quietly. "yes," she answered, "it is two years." stooping her head to write upon a card, her lips moved as if they said something,--something that seemed like "i must! only once!" but of course that could not be. "it is my address," she then said, putting the card in his hand. "i shall be happy to see you in my own home." "this afternoon?" eagerly. she hesitated. "whenever you may call. i thank you again,--and good morning." meanwhile the car had moved on its course: outwardly, peaceful enough; inwardly, full of commotion. the conservative gentleman, gathering himself up from his prone estate, white with passion and chagrin, saw about him everywhere looks of scorn, and smiles of derision and contempt, and fled incontinently from the sight. his coal-heaving _confrère_, left to do battle alone, came to the charge valiant and unterrified. another outbreak of blasphemy and obscenity were the weapons of assault; the ladies looked shocked, the gentlemen indignant and disgusted. "friend," called the non-resistant broad-brim, beckoning peremptorily to the conductor,--"friend, come here." the conductor came. "if colored persons are not permitted to ride, i suppose it is equally against the rules of the company to allow nuisances in their cars. isn't it?" "you are right, sir," assented the conductor, upon whose face a smile of comprehension began to beam. "well, i don't know what thee thinks, or what these other people think, but i know of no worse nuisance than a filthy, blasphemous drunkard. there he sits,--remove him." there was a perfect shout of laughter and delight; and before the irate "citizen" comprehended what was intended, or could throw himself into a pugilistic attitude, he was seized, _sans_ ceremony, and ignominiously pushed and hustled from the car; the people therein, black soldier and all, drawing a long breath of relief, and going on their way rejoicing. everybody's eyes were brighter; hearts beat faster, blood moved more quickly; everybody felt a sense of elation, and a kindness towards their neighbor and all the world. a cruel and senseless prejudice had been lost in an impulse, generous and just; and for a moment the sentiment which exalted their humanity, vivified and gladdened their souls. chapter xi "_the future seemed barred by the corpse of a dead hope._" owen meredith so, then, after these long years he had seen her again. having seen her, he wondered how he had lived without her. if the wearisome months seemed endless in passing, the morning hours were an eternity. "this afternoon?" he had said. "be it so," she had answered. he did not dare to go till then. thinking over the scene of the morning, he scarcely dared go at all. she had not offered her hand; she had expressed no pleasure, either by look or word, at meeting him again. he had forced her to say, "come": she could do no less when he had just interfered to save her insult, and had begged the boon. "insult!" his arm ached to strike another blow, as he remembered the sentence it had cut short. of course the fellow had been drinking, but outrage of her was intolerable, whatever madness prompted it. the very sun must shine more brightly, and the wind blow softly, when she passed by. ah me! were the whole world what an ardent lover prays for his mistress, there were no need of death to enjoy the bliss of heaven. what could he say? what do? how find words to speak the measured feelings of a friend? how control the beatings of his heart, the passion of his soul, that no sign should escape to wound or offend her? she had bade him to silence: was he sufficiently master of himself to strike the lighter keys without sounding some deep chords that would jar upon her ear? he tried to picture the scene of their second meeting. he repeated again and again her formal title, miss ercildoune, that he might familiarize his tongue and his ear to the sound, and not be on the instant betrayed into calling the name which he so often uttered in his thoughts. he said over some civil, kindly words of greeting, and endeavored to call up, and arrange in order, a theme upon which he should converse. "i shall not dare to be silent," he thought, "for if i am, my silence will tell the tale; and if that do not, she will hear it from the throbbings of my heart. i don't know though,"--he laughed a little, as he spoke aloud,--bitterly it would have been, had his voice been capable of bitterness,--"perhaps she will think the organism of the poor thing has become diseased in camp and fightings,"--putting his hand up to his throat and holding the swollen veins, where the blood was beating furiously. presently he went down stairs and out to the street, in pursuit of some cut flowers which he found in a little cellar, a stone's throw from his hotel,--a fresh, damp little cellar, which smelt, he could not help thinking, like a grave. coming out to the sunshine, he shook himself with disgust. "faugh!" he thought, "what sick fancies and sentimental nonsense possess me? i am growing unwholesome. my dreams of the other night have come back to torment me in the day. these must put them to flight." the fancy which had sent him in pursuit of these flowers he confessed to be a childish one, but none the less soothing for that. he had remembered that the first day he beheld her a nosegay had decorated his button-hole; a fair, sweet-scented thing which seemed, in some subtle way, like her. he wanted now just such another,--some mignonette, and geranium, and a single tea-rosebud. here they were,--the very counterparts of those which he had worn on a brighter and happier day. how like they were! how changed was he! in some moods he would have smiled at this bit of girlish folly as he fastened the little thing over his heart; now, something sounded in his throat that was pitifully like a sob. don't smile at him! he was so young; so impassioned, yet gentle; and then he loved so utterly with the whole of his great, sore heart. by and by the time came to go, and eager, yet fearful, he went. it was a fresh, beautiful day in early june; and when the city, with its heat, and dust, and noise, was left behind, and all the leafy greenness--the soothing quiet of country sights and country sounds--met his ear and eye, a curious peace took possession of his soul. it was less the whisper of hope than the calm of assured reality. for the moment, unreasonable as it seemed, something made him blissfully sure of her love, spite of the rebuffs and coldness she had compelled him to endure. "this is the place, sir!" suddenly called his driver, stopping the horses in front of a stately avenue of trees, and jumping down to open the gates. "you need not drive in; you may wait here." this, then, was her home. he took in the exquisite beauty of the place with a keen pleasure. it was right that all things sweet and fine should be about her; he had before known that they were, but it delighted him to see them with his own eyes. walking slowly towards the house,--slowly, for he was both impelled and retarded by the conflicting feelings that mastered him,--he heard her voice at a little distance, singing; and directly she came out of a by-path, and faced him. he need not have feared the meeting; at least, any display of emotion; she gave no opportunity for any such thing. a frankly extended hand,--an easy "good afternoon, mr. surrey!" that was all. it was a cool, beautiful room into which she ushered him; a room filled with an atmosphere of peace, but which was anything but peaceful to him. he was restless, nervous; eager and excited, or absent and still. he determined to master his emotion, and give no outward sign of the tempest raging within. at the instant of this conclusion his eye was caught by an exquisite portrait miniature upon an easel near him. bending over it, taking it into his hands, his eyes went to and fro from the pictured face to the human one, tracing the likeness in each. marking his interest, francesca said, "it is my mother." "if the eyes were dark, this would be your veritable image." "or, if mine were blue, i should be a portrait of mamma, which would be better." "better?" "yes." she was looking at the picture with weary eyes, which he could not see. "i had rather be the shadow of her than the reality of myself: an absurd fancy!" she added, with a smile, suddenly remembering herself. "i would it were true!" he exclaimed. she looked a surprised inquiry. his thought was, "for then i should steal you, and wear you always on my heart." but of course he could speak no such lover's nonsense; so he said, "because of the fitness of things; you wished to be a shadow, which is immaterial, and hence of the substance of angels." truly he was improving. his effort to betray no love had led him into a ridiculous compliment. "what an idiot she will think me to say anything so silly!" he reflected; while francesca was thinking, "he has ceased to love me, or he would not resort to flattery. it is well!" but the pang that shot through her heart belied the closing thought, and, glancing at him, the first was denied by the unconscious expression of his eyes. seeing that, she directly took alarm, and commenced to talk upon a score of indifferent themes. he had never seen her in such a mood: gay, witty, brilliant,--full of a restless sparkle and fire; she would not speak an earnest word, nor hear one. she flung about bonmots, and chatted airy persiflage till his heart ached. at another time, in another condition, he would have been delighted, dazzled, at this strange display; but not now. in some careless fashion the war had been alluded to, and she spoke of chancellorsville. "it was there you were last wounded?" "yes," he answered, not even looking down at the empty sleeve. "it was there you lost your arm?" "yes," he answered again, "i am sorry it was my sword-arm." "it was frightful,"--holding her breath. "do you know you were reported mortally wounded? worse?" "i have heard that i was sent up with the slain," he replied, half-smiling. "it is true. i looked for your name in the columns of 'wounded' and 'missing,' and read it at last in the list of 'killed.'" "for the sake of old times, i trust you were a little sorry to so read it," he said, sadly, for the tone hurt him. "sorry? yes, i was sorry. who, indeed, of your friends would not be?" "who, indeed?" he repeated: "i am afraid the one whose regret i should most desire would sorrow the least." "it is very like," she answered, with seeming carelessness,--"disappointment is the rule of life." this would not do. he was getting upon dangerous ground. he would change the theme, and prevent any farther speech till he was better master of it. he begged for some music. she sat down at once and played for him; then sang at his desire. rich as she was in the gifts of nature, her voice was the chief,--thrilling, flexible, with a sympathetic quality that in singing pathetic music brought tears, though the hearer understood not a word of the language in which she sang. in the old time he had never wearied listening, and now he besought her to repeat for him some of the dear, familiar songs. if these held for her any associations, he did not know it; she gave no outward sign,--sang to him as sweetly and calmly as to the veriest stranger. what else had he expected? nothing; yet, with the unreasonableness of a lover, was disappointed that nothing appeared. taking up a piece at random, without pausing to remember the words, he said, spreading it before her, "may i tax you a little farther? i am greedy, i know, but then how can i help it?" it was the song of the princess. she hesitated a moment, and half closed the book. had he been standing where he could see her face, he would have been shocked by its pallor. it was over directly: she recovered herself, and, opening the music with a resolute air, began to sing:-- "ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; the cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, with fold to fold, of mountain and of cape; but, o too fond, when have i answered thee? ask me no more. "ask me no more: what answer should i give? i love not hollow cheek or faded eye; yet, o my friend, i will not have thee die! ask me no more, lest i should bid thee live: ask me no more." she sang thus far with a clear, untrembling voice,--so clear and untrembling as to be almost metallic,--the restraint she had put upon herself making it unnatural. at the commencement she had estimated her strength, and said, "it is sufficient!" but she had overtaxed it, as she found in singing the last verse:-- "ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed; i strove against the stream and all in vain; let the great river take me to the main; no more, dear love, for at a touch i yield: ask me no more." all the longing, the passion, the prayer of which a human soul is capable found expression in her voice. it broke through the affected coldness and calm, as the ocean breaks through its puny barriers when, after wind and tempest, all its mighty floods are out. surrey had changed his place, and stood fronting her. as the last word fell, she looked at him, and the two faces saw in each but a reflection of the same passion and pain: pallid, with eyes burning from an inward fire,--swayed by the same emotion,--she bent forward as he, stretching forth his arms, in a stifling voice cried, "come!" bent, but for an instant; then, by a superhuman effort, turned from him, and put out her hand with a gesture of dissent, though she could not control her voice to speak a word. at that he came close to her, not touching her hand or even her dress, but looking into her face with imploring eyes, and whispering, "francesca, my darling, speak to me! say that you love me! one word! you are breaking my heart!" not a word. "francesca!" she had mastered her voice. "go!" she then said, beseechingly. "oh, why did you ask me? why did i let you come?" "no, no," he answered. "i cannot go,--not till you answer me." "ah!" she entreated, "do not ask! i can give no such answer as you desire. it is all wrong,--all a mistake. you do not comprehend." "make me, then." she was silent. "forgive me. i am rude: i cannot help it. i will not go unless you say, 'i do not love you.' nothing but this shall drive me away." francesca's training in her childhood had been by a catholic governess; she never quite lost its effect. now she raised her hand to a little gold cross that hung at her neck, her fingers closing on it with a despairing clasp. "ah, christ, have pity!" her heart cried. "blessed mother of god, forgive me! have mercy upon me!" her face was frightfully pale, but her voice did not tremble as she gave him her hand, and said gently, "go, then, my friend. i do not love you." he took her hand, held it close for a moment, and then, without another look or word, put it tenderly down, and was gone. so absorbed was he in painful thought that, passing down the long avenue with bent head, he did not notice, nor even see, a gentleman who, coming from the opposite direction, looked at him at first carelessly, and then searchingly, as he went by. this gentleman, a man in the prime of life, handsome, stately, and evidently at home here, scrutinized the stranger with a singular intensity,--made a movement as though he would speak to him,--and then, drawing back, went with hasty steps towards the house. had willie looked up, beheld this face and its expression, returned the scrutiny of the one, and comprehended the meaning of the other, while memory recalled a picture once held in his hands, some things now obscured would have been revealed to him, and a problem been solved. as it was, he saw nothing, moved mechanically onward to the carriage, seated himself and said, "home!" this young man was neither presumptuous nor vain. he had been once repulsed and but now utterly rejected. he had no reason to hope, and yet--perhaps it was his poetical and imaginative temperament--he could not resign himself to despair. suddenly he started with an exclamation that was almost a cry. what was it? he remembered that, more than two years ago, on the last day he had been with her, he had begged the copy of a duet which they sometimes sang. it was in manuscript, and he desired to have it written out by her own hand. he had before petitioned, and she promised it; and when he thus again spoke of it, she laughed, and said, "what a memory it is, to be sure! i shall have to tie a bit of string on my finger to refresh it." "is that efficacious?" he had asked. "doubtless," she had replied, searching in her pocket for a scrap of anything that would serve. "will this do?" he then queried, bringing forth a coil of gold wire which he had been commissioned to buy for some fanciful work of his mother. "finely," she declared; "it is durable, it will give me a wide margin, it will be long in wearing out." "nay, then, you must have something more fragile," he had objected. at that they both laughed, as he twisted a fragment of it on the little finger of her right hand. "there it is to stay," he asserted, "till your promise is redeemed." that was the last time he had seen her till to-day. now, sitting, thinking of the interview just passed, suddenly he remembered, as one often recalls the vision of something seemingly unnoticed at the time, that, upon her right hand, the little finger of the right hand, there was a delicate ring,--a mere thread,--in fact, a wire of gold; the very one himself had tied there two years ago. in an instant, by one of those inexplicable connections of the brain or soul, he found himself living over an experience of his college youth. he had been spending the day in boston with a dear friend, some score of years his senior; a man of the rarest culture, and of a most sweet and gentle nature withal; and when evening came they had drifted naturally to the theatre,--the fool's paradise it may be sometimes, but to them on that occasion a real paradise. he remembered well the play. it was scott's _bride of lammermoor_. he had never read it, but, before the curtain rose, his friend had unfolded the story in so kind and skilful a manner as to have imbued him as fully with the spirit of the tale as though he had studied the book. what he chiefly recalled in the play was the scene in which ravenswood comes back to emily long after they had been plighted,--long after he had supposed her faithless,--long after he had been tossed on a sea of troubles, touching the seeming decay in her affections. just as she is about to be enveloped in the toils which were spread for her,--just as she is about to surrender herself to the hated nuptials, and submit to the embrace of one whom she loathed more than she dreaded death,--ravenswood, the man whom heaven had made for her, presents himself. what followed was quiet, yet intensely dramatic. ravenswood, wrought to the verge of despair, bursts upon the scene at the critical moment, detaches emily from her party, and leads her slowly forward. he is unutterably sad. he questions her very tenderly; asks her whether she is not enforced; whether she is taking this step of her own free will and accord; whether she has indeed dismissed the dear, old fond love for him from her heart forever? he must hear it from her own lips. when timidly and feebly informed that such is indeed the case, he requests her to return a certain memento,--a silver trinket which had been given her as the symbol of his love on the occasion of their betrothal. raising her hand to her throat she essays to draw it from her bosom. her fingers rest upon the chain which binds it to her neck, but the o'erfraught heart is still,--the troubled, but unconscious head droops upon his shoulder,--he lifts the chain from its resting-place, and withdraws the token from her heart. supporting her with one hand and holding this badge of a lost love with the other, he says, looking down upon her with a face of anguish, and in a voice of despair, "_and she could wear it thus!_" as this scene rose and lived before him, surrey exclaimed, "surely that must have been the perfection of art, to have produced an effect so lasting and profound,--'and she could wear it thus!'--ah," he said, as in response to some unexpressed thought, "but emily loved ravenswood. why--?" evidently he was endeavoring to answer a question that baffled him. chapter xii "_and down on aching heart and brain blow after blow unbroken falls._" boker "a letter for you, sir," said the clerk, as surrey stopped at the desk for his key. it was a bulky epistle, addressed in his aunt russell's hand, and he carried it off, wondering what she could have to say at such length. he was in no mood to read or to enjoy; but, nevertheless, tore open the cover, finding within it a double letter. taking the envelope of one from the folds of the other, his eye fell first upon his mother's writing; a short note and a puzzling one. * * * * * "my dear willie:-- "i have tried to write you a letter, but cannot. i never wounded you if i could avoid it, and i do not wish to begin now. augusta and i had a talk about you yesterday which crazed me with anxiety. she told me it was my place to write you what ought to be said under these trying circumstances, for we are sure you have remained in philadelphia to see miss ercildoune. at first i said i would, and then my heart failed me. i was sure, too, that she could write, as she always does, much better than i; so i begged her to say all that was necessary, and i would send her this note to enclose with her letter. read it, i entreat you, and then hasten, i pray you, hasten to us at once. "take care of your arm, do not hurt yourself by any excitement; and, with dear love from your father, which he would send did he know i was writing, believe me always your devoted "mother." * * * * * "'trying circumstances!'--'miss ercildoune!'--what does it mean?" he cried, bewildered. "come, let us see." the letter which he now opened was an old and much-fingered one, written--as he saw at the first glance--by his aunt to his mother. why it was sent to him he could not conjecture; and, without attempting to so do, at once plunged into its pages:-- * * * * * "continental hotel, philadelphia, june , "my dear laura:-- "i can readily understand with what astonishment you will read this letter, from the amazement i have experienced in collecting its details. i will not weary you with any personal narration, but tell my tale at once. "miss ercildoune, as you know, was my daughter's intimate at school,--a school, the admittance to which was of itself a guarantee of respectability. of course i knew nothing of her family, nor of her,--save as clara wrote me of her beauty and her accomplishments, and, above all, of her style,--till i met mrs. lancaster. of her it is needless for me to speak. as you know, she is irreproachable, and her position is of the best. consequently when clara wrote me that her friend was to come to new york to her aunt, and begged to entertain her for a while, i added my request to her entreaty, and miss ercildoune came. ill-fated visit! would it had never been made! "it is useless now to deny her gifts and graces. they are, reluctantly i confess, so rare and so conspicuous--have so many times been seen, and known, and praised by us all,--that it would put me in the most foolish of attitudes should i attempt to reconsider a verdict so frequently pronounced, or to eat my own words, uttered a thousand times. "it is also, i presume, useless to deny that we were well pleased--nay, delighted--with willie's evident sentiment for her. indeed, so thoroughly did she charm me, that, had i not seen how absolutely his heart was enlisted in her pursuit, she is the very girl whom i should have selected, could i have so done, as a wife for tom and a daughter for myself. "i knew full well how deep was this feeling for her when he marched away, on that day so full of supreme splendor and pain, unable to see her and to say adieu. his eyes, his face, his manner, his very voice, marked his restlessness, his longing, and disappointment. i was positively angry with the girl for thwarting and hurting him so, and, whatever her excuse might be, for her absence at such a time. how constantly are we quarrelling with our best fates! "she remained in new york, as you know, for some weeks after the th; in fact, has been at home but for a little while. once or twice, so provoked with her was i for disappointing our pet, i could not resist the temptation of saying some words about him which, if she cared for him, i knew would wound her: and, indeed, they did,--wounded her so deeply, as was manifest in her manner and her face, that i had not the heart to repeat the experiment. "one week ago i had a letter from willie, enclosing another to her, and an entreaty, as he had written one which he was sure had miscarried, that i would see that this reached her hands in safety. so anxious was i to fulfil his request in its word and its spirit, and so certain that i could further his cause,--for i was sure this letter was a love-letter,--that i did not forward it by post, but, being compelled to come to burlington, i determined to go on to philadelphia, drive out to her home, and myself deliver the missive into her very hands. a most fortunate conclusion, as you will presently decide. "last evening i reached the city,--rested, slept here,--and this morning was driven to her father's place. for all our sakes, i was somewhat anxious, under the circumstances, that this should be quite the thing; and i confess myself, on the instant of its sight, more than satisfied. it is really superb!--the grounds extensive, and laid out with the most absolute taste. the house, large and substantial, looks very like an english mansion; with a certain quaint style and antique elegance, refreshing to contemplate, after the crude newness and ostentatious vulgarity of almost everything one sees here in america. it is within as it is without. although a great many lovely things are scattered about of recent make, the wood-work and the heavy furniture are aristocratic from their very age, and in their way, literally perfection. "miss ercildoune met me with not quite her usual grace and ease. she was, no doubt, surprised at my unexpected appearance, and--i then thought, as a consequence--slightly embarrassed. i soon afterwards discovered the constraint in her manner sprang from another cause. "i had reached the house just at lunch-time, and she would take me out to the table to eat something with her. i had hoped to see her father, and was disappointed when she informed me he was in the city. all i saw charmed me. the appointments of the table were like those of the house: everything exquisitely fine, and the silver massive and old,--not a new piece among it,--and marked with a monogram and crest. "i write you all this that you may the more thoroughly appreciate my absolute horror at the final _denouement_, and share my astonishment at the presumption of these people in daring to maintain such style. "i had given her willie's letter before we left the parlor, with a significant word and smile, and was piqued to see that she did not blush,--in fact, became excessively white as she glanced at the writing, and with an unsteady hand put it into her pocket. after lunch she made no motion to look at it, and as i had my own reasons for desiring her to peruse it, i said, 'miss francesca, will you not read your letter? that i may know if there is any later news from our soldier.' "she hesitated a moment, and then said, with what i thought an unnatural manner, 'certainly, if you so desire,' and, taking it out, broke the seal. 'allow me,' she added, going towards a window,--as though she desired more light, but in reality, i knew, to turn her back upon me,--forgetting that a mirror, hanging opposite, would reveal her face with distinctness to my gaze. "it was pale to ghastliness, with a drawn, haggard look about the mouth and eyes that shocked as much as it amazed me; and before commencing to read she crushed the letter in her hands, pressing it to her heart with a gesture which was less of a caress than of a spasm. "however, as she read, all this changed; and before she finished said, 'ah, willie, it is clear your cause needs no advocate.' positively, i did not know a human countenance could express such happiness; there was something in it absolutely dazzling. and evidently entirely forgetful of me, she raised the paper to her mouth, and kissed it again and again, pressing her lips upon it with such clinging and passionate fondness as would have imbued it with life were that possible." here willie flung down his aunt's epistle and tore from his pocket this self-same letter. he had kept it,--carried it about with him,--for two reasons: because it was _hers_, he said,--this avowal of his love was hers, whether she refused it or no, and he had no right to destroy her property; and because, as he had nothing else she had worn or touched, he cherished this sacredly since it had been in her dear hands. now he took it into his clasp as tenderly as though it were francesca's face, and kissed it with the self-same clinging and passionate fondness as this of which he had just read. here had her lips rested,--here; he felt their fragrance and softness thrilling him under the cold, dead paper, and pressed it to his heart while he continued to read:-- "before she turned, i walked to another window,--wishing to give her time to recover calmness, or at least self-control, and was at once absorbed in contemplating a gentleman whom i felt assured to be mr. ercildoune. he stood with his back to me, apparently giving some order to the coachman: thus i could not see his face, but i never before was so impressed with, so to speak, the personality of a man. his physique was grand, and his air and bearing magnificent, and i watched him with admiration as he walked slowly away. i presume he passed the window at which she was standing, for she called, 'papa!' 'in a moment, dear,' he answered, and in a moment entered, and was presented; and i, raising my eyes to his face,--ah, how can i tell you what sight they beheld! "self-possessed as i think i am, and as i certainly ought to be, i started back with an involuntary exclamation, a mingling doubtless of incredulity and disgust. this man, who stood before me with all the ease and self-assertion of a gentleman, was--you will never believe it, i fear--_a mulatto_! "whatever effect my manner had on him was not perceptible. he had not seated himself, and, with a smile that was actually satirical, he bowed, uttered a few words of greeting, and went out of the room. "'how dared you?' i then cried, for astonishment had given place to rage, 'how dared you deceive me--deceive us all--so? how dared you palm yourself off as white and respectable, and thus be admitted to mr. hale's school and to the society and companionship of his pupils?' i could scarcely control myself when i thought of how shamefully we had all been cozened. "'pardon me, madam,' she answered with effrontery,--effrontery under the circumstances,--'you forget yourself, and what is due from one lady to another.' (did you ever hear of such presumption!) 'i practised no deceit upon professor hale. he knew papa well,--was his intimate friend at college, in england,--and was perfectly aware who was mr. ercildoune's daughter when she was admitted to his school. for myself, i had no confessions to make, and made none. i was your daughter's friend; as such, went to her house, and invited her here. i trust you have seen in me nothing unbecoming a gentlewoman, as, _up to this time_, i have beheld in you naught save the attributes of a lady. if we are to have any farther conversation, it must be conducted on the old plan, and not the extraordinary one you have just adopted; else i shall be compelled, in self-respect, to leave you alone in my own parlor.' "imagine if you can the effect of this speech upon me. i assure you i was composed enough outwardly, if not inwardly, ere she ended her sentence. having finished, i said, 'pardon me, miss ercildoune, for any words which may have offended your dignity. i will confine myself for the rest of our interview to your own rules!' "'it is well,' she responded. i had spoken satirically, and expected to see her shrink under it, but she answered with perfect coolness and _sang froid_. i continued, 'you will not deny that you are a negro, at least a mulatto.' "'pardon me, madam,' she replied; 'my father is a mulatto, my mother was an englishwoman. thus, to give you accurate information upon the subject, i am a quadroon.' "'quadroon be it!' i answered, angrily again, i fear. 'quadroon, mulatto, or negro, it is all one. i have no desire to split hairs of definition. you could not be more obnoxious were you black as erebus. i have no farther words to pass upon the past or the present, but something to say of the future. you hold in your hands a letter--a love-letter, i am sure--a declaration, as i fear--from my nephew, mr. surrey. you will oblige me by at once sitting down, writing a peremptory and unqualified refusal to his proposal, if he has made you one,--a refusal that will admit of no hope and no double interpretation,--and give it into my keeping before i leave this room.' "when i first alluded to willie's letter she had crimsoned, but before i closed she was so white i should have thought her fainting, but for the fire in her eyes. however, she spoke up clear enough when she said, 'and what, madam, if i deny your right to dictate any action whatever to me, however insignificant, and utterly refuse to obey your command?' "'at your peril do so,' i exclaimed. 'refuse, and i will write the whole shameful story, with my own comments; and you may judge for yourself of the effect it will produce.' "at that she smiled,--an indescribable sort of smile,--and shut her fingers on the letter she held,--i could not help thinking as though it were a human hand. 'very well, madam, write it. he has already told me'-- "'that he loves you,' i broke in. 'do you think he would continue to do so if he knew what you are?' "'he knows me as well now,' she answered, 'as he will after reading any letter of yours.' "'incredible!' i exclaimed. 'when he wrote you that, he did not know, he could not have known, your birth, your race, the taint in your blood. i will never believe it.' "'no,' she said, 'i did not say he did. i said he knew _me_; so well, i think, judging from this,'--clasping his letter with the same curious pressure i had before noticed,--'that you could scarcely enlighten him farther. he knows my heart, and soul, and brain,--as i said, he knows _me_.' "'o, yes,' i answered,--or rather sneered, for i was uncontrollably indignant through all this,--'if you mean _that_, very likely. i am not talking lovers' metaphysics, but practical common-sense. he does not know the one thing at present essential for him to know; and he will abandon you, spurn you,--his love turned to scorn, his passion to contempt,--when he reads what i shall write him if you refuse to do what i demand!' "i expected to see her cower before me. conceive, then, if you can, my sensations when she cried, 'stop, madam! say what you will to me; insult, outrage me, if you please, and have not the good breeding and dignity to forbear; but do not presume to so slander him. do not presume to accuse him, who is all nobility and greatness of soul, of a sentiment so base, a prejudice so infamous. study him, madam, know him better, ere you attempt to be his mouth-piece.' "as she uttered these words, a horrible foreboding seized me, or, to speak more truthfully, i so felt the certainty of what she spoke, that a shudder of terror ran over me. i thought of him, of his character, of his principles, of his insane sense of honor, of his terrible will under all that soft exterior,--the hand of steel under the silken glove; i saw that if i persisted and she still refused to yield i should lose all. on the instant i changed my attack. "'it is true,' i said, 'having asked you to become his wife, he will marry you; he will redeem his pledge though it ruin his life and blast his career, to say nothing of the effect an unending series of outrages and mortifications will have upon his temper and his heart. a pretty love, truly, yours must be,--whatever his is,--to condemn him to so terrible an ordeal, so frightful a fate.' "she shivered at that, and i went on,--blaming my folly in not remembering, being a woman, that it was with a woman and her weakness i had to deal. "'he is young,' i continued; 'he has probably a long life before him. rich, handsome, brilliant,--a magnificent career opening to him,--position, ease, troops of friends,--you will ruthlessly ruin all this. married to you, white as you are, the peculiarity of your birth would in some way be speedily known. his father would disinherit him (it was not necessary to tell her he has a fortune in his own right), his family disown him, his friends abandon him, society close its doors upon him, business refuse to seek him, honor and riches elude his grasp. if you do not know the strength of this prejudice, which you call infamous, pre-eminently in the circle to which he belongs, i cannot tell it you. taking all this from him, what will you give him in return? ruining his life, can your affection make amends? blasting his career, will your love fill the gap? do you flatter yourself by the supposition that you can be father, mother, relatives, friends, society, wealth, position, honor, career,--all,--to him? your people are cursed in america, and they transfer their curse to any one mad enough, or generous enough (that was a diplomatic turn), to connect his fate with yours.' "before i was through, i saw that i had carried my point. all the fine airs went out of my lady, and she looked broken and humbled enough. i might have said less, but i ached to say more to the insolent. "'enough, madam,' she gasped, 'stop.' and then said, more to herself than to me, 'i could give heaven for him,'--the rest i rather guessed from the motion of her lips than from any sound,--'but i cannot ask him to give the world for me.' "'will you write the letter?' i asked. "'no.'--she said the word with evident effort, and then, still more slowly, 'i will give you a message. say "i implore you never to write me again,--to forget me. i beseech of you not to try me by any farther appeals, as i shall but return them unopened."' i wrote down the words as she spoke them. 'this is well,' i said when she finished; 'but it is not enough. i must have the letter.' "'the letter?' she said. 'what need of a letter? surely that is sufficient.' "'i do not mean your letter. i mean his,--the one which you hold in your hands.' "'this?' she queried, looking down on it,--'this?' "i thought the repetition senseless and affected, but i answered, 'yes,--that. he will not believe you are in earnest if you keep his avowal of love. you must give him up entirely. if you let me send that back, with your words, he shall never--at least from me--have clew or reason for your conduct. that will close the whole affair.' "'close the whole affair,' she repeated after me, mechanically,--'close the whole affair.' "i was getting heartily tired of this, and had no desire to listen to an echo conversation; so, without answering, i stretched out my hand for it. she held it towards me, then drew it back and raised it to her heart with the same gesture i had marked when she first opened it,--a gesture as i said, of that, which was less of a caress than a spasm. indeed, i think now that it was wholly physical and involuntary. then she handed it to me, and, motioning towards the door, said, 'go!' "i rose, and, infamous as i thought her past deceit, wearied as i was with the interview, small claim as she had upon me for the slightest consideration, i said 'you have done well, miss ercildoune! i commend you for your sensible decision, and for your ability, if late, to appreciate the situation. i wish you all success in life, i am sure; and, permit me to add, a future union with one of your own race, if that will bring you happiness.' "heavens! what a face and what eyes she turned upon me as, rising, she once more pointed to the door, and cried, 'go!' and indeed i went,--the girl actually frightened me. "when i got on to the lawn, i missed my bag and parasol, and had to return for them. i opened the door with some slight trepidation, but had no need for fear. she was lying prostrate upon the floor, as i saw on coming near, in a dead faint. she had evidently fallen so suddenly and with such force as to have hurt herself; her head had struck against an ornament of the bookcase, near which she had been standing; and a little stream of blood was trickling from her temple. it made me sick to behold it. as i looked at her where she lay, i could not but pity her a little, and think what a merciful fate it would be for her, and such as she, if they could all die,--and so put an end to what, i presume, though i never before thought of it, is really a very hard existence. "it was no time, however, to sentimentalize. i rang for a servant, and, having waited till one came, took my leave. "of course all this is very shocking and painful, but i am glad i came. the matter is ended now in a satisfactory manner. i think it has been well done. let us both keep our counsel, and the affair will soon become a memory with us, as it is nothing with every one else. "always your loving sister, "augusta." * * * * * it is better to be silent upon some themes than to say too little. words would fail to express the emotions with which willie read this history: let silence and imagination tell the tale. flinging down the paper with a passionate cry, he saw yet another letter,--the one in which these had been enfolded,--a letter written to him, and by mrs. russell. as by a flash, he perceived that there had been some blunder here, by which he was the gainer; and, partly at least, comprehended it. these two, mother and aunt, fearing the old fire had not yet burned to ashes,--nay, from their knowledge of him, sure of it,--hearing naught of his illness, for he did not care to distress them by any account thereof, were satisfied that he had either met, or was remaining to compass a meeting, with miss ercildoune. his mother had not the courage, or the baseness, to write such a letter as that to which mrs. russell urged her,--a letter which should degrade his love in his own eyes, and recall him from an unworthy pursuit. "very well!" mrs. russell had then said, "it will be better from you; it will look more like unwarranted interference from me; but i will write, and you shall send an accompanying line. let me have it to-morrow." the next morning mrs. surrey was not well enough to drive out, and thus sent her note by a servant, enclosing with it the letter of june th,--thinking that her sister might want it for reference. when it reached mrs. russell, it was almost mail-time, and with the simple thought, "so,--laura has written it, after all," she enclosed it in her own, and sent it off, post-haste; not even looking at the unsealed envelope, as mrs. surrey had taken for granted she would, and thus failing to know of its double contents. thus the very letter which they would have compassed land and sea to have prevented coming under his eyes, unwisely yet most fortunately kept in existence, was sent by themselves to his hands. without pausing to read a line of that which his aunt had written him, he tore it into fragments, flung it into the empty grate; and, bounding down the stairs and on to the street, plunged into a carriage and was whirled away, all too slowly, to the home he had left but a little space before with such widely, such painfully different emotions. chapter xiii "_i could not love thee, dear, so much, loved i not honor more._" lovelace just after surrey, for the third time, had passed through the avenue of trees, two men appeared in it, earnestly conversing. one, the older, was the same who had met willie as he was going out, and had examined him with such curious interest. the other, in feature, form, and bearing, was so absolutely the counterpart of his companion that it was easy to recognize in them father and son,--a father and son whom it would be hard to match. "the finest type of the anglo-saxon race i have seen from america," was the verdict pronounced upon mr. ercildoune, when he was a young man studying abroad, by an enthusiastic and nationally ignorant englishman; "but then, sir," he added, "what very dark complexions you americans have! is it universal?" "by no means, sir," was mr. ercildoune's reply. "there are some exceedingly fine ones among my countrymen. i come from the south: that is a bad climate for the tint of the skin." "is it so?" exclaimed john bull,--"worse than the north?" "very much worse, sir, in more ways than one." perhaps robert ercildoune was a trifle fairer than his father, but there was still perceptible the shade which marked him as effectually an outcast from the freedom of american society, and the rights of american citizenship, as though it had been the badge of crime or the strait jacket of a madman. something of this was manifested in the conversation in which the two were engaged. "it is folly, robert, for you to carry your refinement and culture into the ranks as a common soldier, to fight and to die, without thanks. you are made of too good stuff to serve simply as food for powder." "better men than i, father, have gone there, and are there to-day; men in every way superior to me." "perhaps,--yes, if you will have it so. but what are they? white men, fighting for their own country and flag, for their own rights of manhood and citizenship, for a present for themselves and a future for their children, for honor and fame. what is there for you?" "for one thing, just that of which you spoke. perhaps not a present for me, but certainly a future for those that come after." "a future! how are you to know? what warrant or guarantee have you for any such future? do you judge by the past? by the signs of to-day? i tell you this american nation will resort to any means--will pledge anything, by word or implication--to secure the end for which it fights; and will break its pledges just so soon as it can, and with whomsoever it can with impunity. you, and your children, and your children's children after you, will go to the wall unless it has need of you in the arena." "i do not think so. this whole nation is learning, through pain and loss, the lesson of justice; of expediency, doubtless, but still of justice; and i do not think it will be forgotten when the war is ended. this is our time to wipe off a thousand stigmas of contempt and reproach: this"-- "who is responsible for them? ourselves? what cast them there? our own actions? i trow not. mark the facts. i pay taxes to support the public schools, and am compelled to have my children educated at home. i pay taxes to support the government, and am denied any representation or any voice in regard to the manner in which these taxes shall be expended. i hail a car on the street, and am laughed to scorn by the conductor,--or, admitted, at the order of the passengers am ignominiously expelled. i offer my money at the door of any place of public amusement, and it is flung back to me with an oath. i enter a train to new york, and am banished to the rear seat or the 'negro car.' i go to a hotel, open for the accommodation of the public, and am denied access; or am requested to keep my room, and not show myself in parlor, office, or at table. i come within a church, to worship the good god who is no respecter of persons, and am shown out of the door by one of his insolent creatures. i carry my intelligence to the polls on election morning, and am elbowed aside by an american boor or a foreign drunkard, and, with opprobrious epithets by law officers and rabble, am driven away. all this in the north; all this without excuse of slavery and of the feeling it engenders; all this from arrogant hatred and devilish malignity. at last, the country which has disowned me, the government which has never recognized save to outrage me, the flag which has refused to cover or to protect me, are in direct need and utmost extremity. then do they cry for me and mine to come up to their help ere they perish. at least, they hold forth a bribe to secure me? at least, if they make no apology for the past, they offer compensation for the future? at least, they bid high for the services they desire? not at all! "they say to one man, 'here is twelve hundred dollars bounty with which to begin; here is sixteen dollars a month for pay; here is the law passed, and the money pledged, to secure you in comfort for the rest of life, if wounded or disabled, or help for your family, if killed. here is every door set wide for you to rise, from post to post; money yours, advancement yours, honor, and fame, and glory yours; the love of a grateful country, the applause of an admiring world.' "they say to another man,--you, or me, or sam out there in the field,--'there is no bounty for you, not a cent; there is pay for you, twelve dollars a month, the hire of a servant; there is no pension for you, or your family, if you be sent back from the front, wounded or dead; if you are taken prisoner you can be murdered with impunity, or be sold as a slave, without interference on our part. fight like a lion! do acts of courage and splendor! and you shall never rise above the rank of a private soldier. for you there is neither money nor honor, rights secured, nor fame gained. dying, you fall into a nameless grave: living, you come back to your old estate of insult and wrong. if you refuse these tempting offers, we brand you cowards. if, under these infamous restraints and disadvantages, you fail to equal the white troops by your side, you are written down--inferiors. if you equal them, you are still inferiors. if you perform miracles, and surpass them, you are, in a measure, worthy commendation at last; we consent to see in you human beings, fit for mention and admiration,--not as types of your color and of what you intrinsically are, but as exceptions; made such by the habit of association, and the force of surrounding circumstances.' "these are the terms the american people offer you, these the terms which you stoop to accept, these the proofs that they are learning a lesson of justice! so be it! there is need. let them learn it to the full! let this war go on 'until the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses without man, and the land be utterly destroyed.' do not you interfere. leave them to the teachings and the judgments of god." ercildoune had spoken with such impassioned feeling, with such fire in his eyes, such terrible earnestness in his voice, that robert could not, if he would, interrupt him; and, in the silence, found no words for the instant at his command. ere he summoned them they saw some one approaching. "a fine looking fellow! fighting has been no child's play for him," said robert, looking, as he spoke, at the empty sleeve. mr. ercildoune advanced to meet the stranger, and surrey beheld the same face upon whose pictured semblance he had once gazed with such intense feelings, first of jealousy, and then of relief and admiration; the same splendor of life, and beauty, and vitality. surrey knew him at once, knew that it was francesca's father, and went up to him with extended hand. mr. ercildoune took the proffered hand, and shook it warmly. "i am happy to meet you, mr. surrey." "you know me?" said he with surprise. "i thought to present myself." "i have seen your picture." "and i yours. they must have held the mirror up to nature, for the originals to be so easily known. but may i ask where you saw mine? _yours_ was in miss ercildoune's possession." "as was yours," was answered after a moment's hesitation,--surrey thought, with visible reluctance. his heart flew into his throat. "she has my picture,--she has spoken of me," he said to himself. "i wonder what her father will think,--what he will do. come, i will to the point immediately." "mr. ercildoune," said he, aloud, "you know something of me? of my position and prospects?" "a great deal." "i trust, nothing disparaging or ignoble." "i know nothing for which any one could desire oblivion." "thanks. let me speak to you, then, of a matter which should have been long since proposed to you had i been permitted the opportunity. i love your daughter. i cannot speak about that, but you will understand all that i wish to say. i have twice--once by letter, once by speech--let her know this and my desire to call her wife. she has twice refused,--absolutely. you think this should cut off all hope?" ercildoune had been watching him closely. "if she does not love you," he answered, at the pause. "i do not know. i went away from here a little while ago with her peremptory command not to return. i should not have dared disobey it had i not learned--thought--in fact, but for some circumstances--i beg your pardon--i do not know what i am saying. i believed if i saw her once more i could change her determination,--could induce her to give me another response,--and came with that hope." "which has failed?" "which has thus far failed that she will not at all see me; will hold no communication with me. i should be a ruffian did i force myself on her thus without excuse or reason. my own love would be no apology did i not think, did i not dare to hope, that it is not aversion to me that induces her to act as she has done. believing so, may i beg a favor of you? may i entreat that you will induce her to see me, if only for a little while?" ercildoune smiled a sad, bitter smile, as he answered, "mr. surrey, if my daughter does not love you, it would be hopeless for you or for me to assail her refusal. if she does, she has doubtless rejected you for a reason which you can read by simply looking into my face. no words of mine can destroy or do that away." "there is nothing to destroy; there is nothing to do away. thank you for speaking of it, and making the way easy. there is nothing in all the wide world between us,--there can be nothing between us,--if she loves me; nothing to keep us apart save her indifference or lack of regard for me. i want to say so to her if she will give me the chance. will you not help me to it?" "you comprehend all that i mean?" "i do. it is, as i have said, nothing. that love would not be worth the telling that considered extraneous circumstances, and not the object itself." "you have counted all the consequences? i think not. how, indeed, should you be able? come with me a moment." the two went up to the house, across the wide veranda, into a room half library, half lounging-room, which, from a score of evidences strewn around, was plainly the special resort of the master. over the mantel hung the life-size portrait of an excessively beautiful woman. a fine, _spirituelle_ face, with proud lines around the mouth and delicate nostrils, but with a tender, appealing look in the eyes, that claimed gentle treatment. this face said, "i was made for sunshine and balmy airs, but, if darkness and storm assail, i can walk through them unflinching, though the progress be short; i can die, and give no sign." willie went hastily up to this, and stood, absorbed, before it. "francesca is very like her mother," said ercildoune, coming to his side. it was his own thought, but he made no answer. "i will tell you something of her and myself; a very little story; you can draw the moral. my father, who was a virginian, sent my brother and me to england when we were mere boys, to be trained and educated. after his fashion, doubtless, he loved us; for he saw that we had every advantage that wealth, and taste, and care could provide; and though he never sent for us, nor came to us, in all the years after we left his house,--and though we had no legal claim upon him,--he acknowledged us his children, and left us the entire proceeds of his immense estates, unincumbered. we were so young when we went abroad, had been so tenderly treated at home, had seen and known so absolutely nothing of the society about us, that we were ignorant as arabs of the state of feeling and prejudice in america against such as we, who carried any trace of negro blood. our treatment in england did but increase this oblivion. "we graduated at oxford; my brother, who was two years older than i, waiting upon me that we might go together through europe; and together we had three of the happiest years of life. on the continent i met _her_. you see what she is; you know francesca: it is useless for me to attempt to describe her. i loved her,--she loved me,--it was confessed. in a little while i called her wife; i would, if i could, tell you of the time that followed: i cannot. we had a beautiful home, youth, health, riches, friends, happiness, two noble boys. at last an evil fate brought us to america. i was to look after some business affairs which, my agent said, needed personal supervision. my brother, whose health had failed, was advised to try a sea-voyage, and change of scene and climate. my wife was enthusiastic about the glorious republic,--the great, free america,--the land of my birth. we came, carrying with us letters from friends in england, that were an open sesame to the most jealously barred doors. they flew wide at our approach, but to be shut with speed when my face was seen; hands were cordially extended, and drawn back as from a loathsome contact when mine went to meet them. in brief, we were outlawed, ostracised, sacrificed on the altar of this devilish american prejudice,--wholly american, for it is found nowhere else in the world,--i for my color, she for connecting her fate with mine. "i was so held as to be unable to return at once, and she would not leave me. then my brother drooped more and more. his disease needed the brightest and most cheerful influences. the social and moral atmosphere stifled him. he died; and we, with grief intensified by bitterness, laid him in the soil of his own country as though it had been that of the stranger and enemy. "at this time the anti-slavery movement was provoking profound thought and feeling in america. i at once identified myself with it; not because i was connected with the hated and despised race, but because i loathed all forms of tyranny, and fought against them with what measure of strength i possessed. doubtless this made me a more conspicuous mark for the shafts of malice and cruelty, and as i could nowhere be hurt as through her, malignity exhausted its devices there. she was hooted at when she appeared with me on the streets; she was inundated with infamous letters; she was dragged before a court of _justice_ upon the plea that she had defied the law of the state against amalgamation, forbidding the marriage of white and colored; though at the time it was known that she was english, that we were married in england and by english law. one night, in the midst of the riots which in disgraced this city, our house was surrounded by a mob, burned over us; and i, with a few faithful friends, barely succeeded in carrying her to a place of safety,--uncovered, save by her delicate night-robe and a shawl, hastily caught up as we hurried her away. the yelling fiends, the burning house, the awful horror of fright and danger, the shock to her health and strength, the storm,--for the night was a wild and tempestuous one, which drenched her to the skin,--from all these she might have recovered, had not her boy, her first-born, been carried into her, bruised and dead,--dead, through an accident of burning rafters and falling stones; an accident, they said; yet as really murdered as though they had wilfully and brutally stricken him down. "after that i saw that she, too, would die, were she not taken back to our old home. the preparations were hastily made; we turned our faces towards england; we hoped to reach it at least before another pair of eyes saw the light, but hoped in vain. there on the broad sea francesca was born. there her mother died. there was she buried." it was with extreme difficulty ercildoune had controlled his face and voice, through the last of this distressing recital, and with the final word he bowed his forehead on the picture-frame,--convulsed with agony,--while voiceless sobs, like spasms, shook his form. surrey realized that no words were to be said here, and stood by, awed and silent. what hand, however tender, could be laid on such a wound as this? presently he looked up, and continued: "i came back here, because, i said, here was my place. i had wealth, education, a thousand advantages which are denied the masses of people who are, like me, of mixed race. i came here to identify my fate with theirs; to work with and for them; to fight, till i died, against the cruel and merciless prejudice which grinds them down. i have a son, who has just entered the service of this country, perhaps to die under its flag. i have a daughter,"--willie flushed and started forward;--"i asked you when i began this recital, if you had counted all the consequences. you know my story; you see with what fate you link yours; reflect! francesca carries no mark of her birth; her father or brother could not come inside her home without shocking society by the scandal, were not the story earlier known. the man whom you struck down this morning is one of our neighbors; you saw and heard his brutal assault: are you ready to face more of the like kind? better than you i know what sentence will be passed upon you,--what measure awarded. it is for your own sake i say these things; consider them. i have finished." surrey had made to speak a half score of times, and as often checked himself,--partly that he should not interrupt his companion; partly that he might be master of his emotions, and say what he had to utter without heat or excitement. "mr. ercildoune," he now said, "listen to me. i should despise myself were i guilty of the wicked and vulgar prejudice universal in america. i should be beneath contempt did i submit or consent to it. two years ago i loved miss ercildoune without knowing aught of her birth. she is the same now as then; should i love her the less? if anything hard or cruel is in her fate that love can soften, it shall be done. if any painful burdens have been thrown upon her life, i can carry, if not the whole, then a part of them. if i cannot put her into a safe shelter where no ill will befall her, i can at least take her into my arms and go with her through the world. it will be easier for us, i think,--i hope,--to face any fate if we are together. ah, sir, do not prevent it; do not deny me this happiness. be my ambassador, since she will not let me speak for myself, and plead my own cause." in his earnestness he had come close to mr. ercildoune, putting out his one hand with a gesture of entreaty, with a tone in his voice, and a look in his face, irresistible to hear and behold. ercildoune took the hand, and held it in a close, firm grasp. some strong emotion shook him. the expression, a combination of sadness and scorn, which commonly held possession of his eyes, went out of them, leaving them radiant. "no," he said, "i will say nothing for you. i would not for worlds spoil your plea; prevent her hearing, from your own mouth, what you have to say. i will send her to you,"--and, going to a door, gave the order to a servant, "desire miss francesca to come to the parlor." then, motioning surrey to the room, he went away, buried in thought. standing in the parlor, for he was too restless to sit, he tried to plan how he should meet her; to think of a sentence which at the outset should disarm her indignation at being thus thrust upon him, and convey in some measure the thought of which his heart was full, without trespassing on her reserve, or telling her of the letter which he had read. then another fear seized him; it was two years since he had written,--two years since that painful and terrible scene had been enacted in the very room where he stood,--two years since she had confessed by deed and look that she loved him. might she not have changed? might she not have struggled for the mastery of this feeling with only too certain success? might she not have learned to regard him with esteem, perchance,--with friendship,--sentiment,--anything but that which he desired or would claim at her hands? silence and absence and time are pitiless destructives. might they not? aye, might they not? he paced to and fro, with quick, restless tread, at the thought. all his love and his longing cried out against such a cruel supposition. he stopped by the side of the bookcase against which she had fallen in that merciless and suffering struggle, and put his hand down on the little projection, which he knew had once cut and wounded her, with a strong, passionate clasp, as though it were herself he held. just then he heard a step,--her step, yet how unlike!--coming down the stairs. where he stood he could see her as she crossed the hall, coming unconsciously to meet him. all the brightness and airy grace seemed to have been drawn quite out of her. the alert, slender figure drooped as if it carried some palpable weight, and moved with a step slow and unsteady as that of sickness or age. her face was pathetic in its sad pallor, and blue, sorrowful circles were drawn under the deep eyes, heavy and dim with the shedding of unnumbered tears. it almost broke his heart to look at her. a feeling, pitiful as a mother would have for her suffering baby, took possession of his soul,--a longing to shield and protect her. tears blinded him; a great sob swelled in his throat; he made a step forward as she came into the room. "papa," she said, without looking up, "you wanted me?" there was no response. "papa!" in an instant an arm enfolded her; a presence, tender and strong, bent above her; a voice, husky with crowding emotions, yet sweet with all the sweetness of love, breathed, "my darling! my darling!" as _his_ fair, sunny hair swept her face. even then she remembered another scene, remembered her promise; even then she thought of him, of his future, and struggled to release herself from his embrace. what did he say? what could he say? where were the arguments he had planned, the entreaties he had purposed? where the words with which he was to tell his tale, combat her refusal, win her to a willing and happy assent? all gone. there was nothing but his heart and its caresses to speak for him. silent, with the ineffable stillness he kissed her eyes, her mouth, held her to his breast with a passionate fondness,--a tender, yet masterful hold, which said, "nothing shall separate us now." she felt it, recognized it, yielded without power to longer contend, clasped her arms about his neck, met his eyes, and dropped her face upon his heart with a long, tremulous sigh which confessed that heaven was won. chapter xiv "_the golden hours, on angel wings, flew o'er me and my dearie._" burns the evening that followed was of the brightest and happiest; even the adieus spoken to the soldier who was just leaving his home did not sadden it. they were in such a state of exaltation as to see everything with courageous and hopeful eyes, and sent robert off with the feeling that all these horrible realities they had known so long were but bogies to frighten foolish children, and that he would come back to them wearing, at the very least, the stars of a major-general. whatever sombre and painful thoughts filled ercildoune's heart he held there, that no gloom might fall from him upon these fresh young lives, nor sadden the cheery expectancy of his son. surrey, having carried the first line of defence, prepared for a vigorous assault upon the second. like all eager lovers, his primary anxiety was to hear "yes"; afterwards, the day. to that end he was pleading with every resource that love and impatience could lend; but francesca shook her head, and smiled, and said that was a long way off,--that was not to be thought of, at least till the war was over, and her soldier safe at home; but he insisted that this was the flimsiest, and poorest of excuses; nay, that it was the very reverse of the true and sensible idea, which was of course wholly on his side. he had these few weeks at home, and then must away once more to chances of battle and death. he did not say this till he had exhausted every other entreaty; but at last, gathering her close to him with his one loving arm,--"how fortunate," he had before said, "that it is the left arm, because if it were the other i could not hold you so near my heart!"--so holding her, he glanced down at the empty sleeve, and whispered, "my darling! who knows? i have been wounded so often, and am now only a piece of a fellow to come to you. it may be something more next time, and then i shall never call you wife. it would make no difference hereafter, i know: we belong to each other for time and eternity. but then i should like to feel that we were something more to one another than even betrothed lovers, before the end comes, if come it does, untimely. be generous, dearie, and say yes." he did not give utterance to another fear, which was that by some device she might again be taken away from him; that some cruel plan might be put in execution to separate them once more. he would not take the risk; he would bind her to him so securely that no device, however cunning,--no plan, however hard and shrewd,--could again divide them. she hesitated long; was long entreated; but the result was sure, since her own heart seconded every prayer he uttered. at last she consented; but insisted that he should go home at once, see the mother and father who were waiting for him with such anxious hearts, give to them--as was their due--at least a part of the time, and then, when her hasty bride-preparations were made, come back and take her wholly to himself. thus it was arranged, and he left her. into the mysteries which followed--the mysteries of hemming and stitching, of tucking and trimming, ruffling, embroidering, of all the hurry and delicious confusion of an elegant yet hasty bridal trousseau--let us not attempt to investigate. doubtless through those days, through this sweet and happy whirl of emotion, francesca had many anxious and painful hours: hours in which she looked at the future--for him more than for herself--with sorrowful anticipations and forebodings. but with each evening came a letter, written in the morning by his dear hand; a letter so full of happy, hopeful love, of resolute, manly spirit, that her cares and anxieties all took flight, and were but as a tale that is told, or as a dream of darkness when the sun shines upon a blessed reality. he wrote her that he had told his parents of his wishes and plans; and that, as he had known before, they were opposed, and opposed most bitterly; but he was sure that time would soften, and knowledge destroy this prejudice utterly. he wrote as he believed. they were so fond of him, so devoted to him who was their only child, that he was assured they would not and could not cast him off, nor hate that which he loved. he did not know that his father, who had never before been guilty of a base action,--his mother, who was fine to daintiness,--were both so warped by this senseless and cruel feeling--having seen francesca and known all her beautiful and noble elements of personal character--as to have written her a letter which only a losel should have penned and an outcast read. she did not tell him. being satisfied that they two belonged to one another; that if they were separated it would be as the tearing asunder of a perfect whole, leaving the parts rent and bleeding,--she would not listen to any voice that attempted, nor heed any hand that strove to drive an entering wedge, or to divide them. why, then, should she trouble him by the knowledge that this effort had again been made, and by those he trusted and honored. let it pass. the future must decide what the future must be, meanwhile, they were to live in a happy present. he learned of it, however, before he left his home. finding that neither persuasions, threats, nor prayers could move him,--that he would be true to honor and love,--they told him of what they had done; laid bare the whole intensity of their feeling; and putting her on the one side, placing themselves on the other, said, "choose,--this wife, or those who have loved you for a lifetime. cleave to her, and your father disowns you, your mother renounces, your home shuts its doors upon you, never to open. with the world and its judgment we have nothing to do; that is between it and you; but no judgment of indifferent strangers shall be more severe than ours." a painful position; a cruel alternative; but not for an instant did he hesitate. taking the two hands of father and mother into his solitary one, he said,--"father, i have always found you a gentleman; mother, you have shown all the graces of the christian character which you profess; yet in this you are supporting the most dishonorable sentiment, the most infidel unbelief, with which the age is shamed. you are defying the dictates of justice and the teachings of god. when you ask me to rank myself on your side, i cannot do it. were my heart less wholly enlisted in this matter, my reason and sense of right would rebel. here, then, for the present at least, we must say farewell." and so, with many a heart-ache and many a pang, he went away. as true love always grows with passing time, so his increased with the days, and intensified by the cruel heat which was poured upon it. he realized the torture to which, in a thousand ways, this darling of his heart had for a lifetime been subjected; and his tenderness and love--in which was an element of indignation and pathos--deepened with every fresh revelation of the passing hours. when he came back to her he had few words to speak, and no airy grace of sentence or caress to bestow; he followed her about in a curious, shadow-like way, with such a strain on his heart as made him many a time lift his hand to it, as if to check physical pain. for her, she was as one who had found a beloved master, able and willing to lighten all her burdens; a physician, whose slightest touch brought balm and healing to every aching wound. and so these two when the time came, spite of the absence of friends who should have been there, spite of warnings and denunciations and evil prophecies, stood up and said to those who listened what their hearts had long before confessed, that they were one for time and eternity; then, hand in hand, went out into the world. for the present it was a pleasant enough world to them. surrey had a lovely little place on the hudson to which he would carry her, and pleased himself by fitting it up with every convenience and beauty that taste could devise and wealth supply. how happy they were there! to be sure, nobody came to see them, but then they wished to see nobody; so every one was well satisfied. the delicious lovers' life of two years before was renewed, but with how much richer and deeper delights and blissfulness! they galloped on many a pleasant morning across miles and miles of country, down rocky slopes, and through wild and romantic glens. they drove lazily, on summer noons, through leafy fastnesses and cool forest paths; or sat idly by some little stream on the fresh, green moss, with a line dancing on the crystal water, amusing themselves by the fiction that it was fishing upon which they were intent, and not the dear delight of watching one another's faces reflected from the placid stream. they spent hours at home, reading bits of poems, or singing scraps of love-songs, talking a little, and then falling away into silence; or she sat perched on his knee or the elbow of his chair, smoothing his sunny hair, stroking his long, silky mustache, or looking into his answering eyes, till the world lapsed quite away from them, and they thought themselves in heaven. an idle, happy time! a time to make a worker sigh only to behold, and a benthamite lift his hands in deprecation and despair. a time which would not last, because it could not, any more than apple-blossoms and may flowers, but which was sweet and fragrant past all describing while it endured. some _kindly_ disposed person sent surrey a city paper with an item marked in such wise as to make him understand its unpleasant import without the reading. "come," he said, "we will have none of this; this owl does not belong to our sunshine,"--and so destroyed and forgot it. others, however, saw that which he scorned to read. he had not been into the city since he called at his father's house, and walked into the reception room of his aunt, and been refused interview or speech at either place. "very well," he thought, "i will go from this painful inhospitality and coldness to my paradise"; and he went, and remained. the only letter he wrote was to his old friend and favorite cousin, tom russell,--who was away somewhere in the far south, and from whom he had not heard for many a day,--and hoped that he, at least, would not disappoint him; would not disappoint the hearty trust he had in his breadth of nature and manly sensibility. and so, with clouds doubtless in the sky, but which they did not see,--the sun shone so bright for them; and some discords in the minor keys which they did not heed,--the major music was so sweet and intoxicating,--the brief, glad hours wore away, and the time for parting, with hasty steps, had almost reached and faced them. meanwhile, what was occurring to others, in other scenes and among other surroundings? chapter xv "_there are some deeds so grand that their mighty doers stand ennobled, in a moment, more than kings._" boker it was towards the evening of a blazing july day on morris island. the mail had just come in and been distributed. jim, with some papers and a precious missive from sallie in one hand, his supper in the other, betook himself to a cool spot by the river,--if, indeed, any spot could be called cool in that fiery sand,--and proceeded to devour the letter with wonderful avidity while the "grub," properly enough, stood unnoticed and uncared for. presently he stopped, rubbed his eyes, and re-read a paragraph in the epistle before him, then re-rubbed, and read it again; and then, laying it down, gave utterance to a long whistle, expressive of unbounded astonishment, if not incredulity. the whistle was answered by its counterpart, and jim, looking up, beheld his captain,--coolidge by name,--a fast, bright new york boy, standing at a little distance, and staring with amazed eyes at a paper he held in his hands. glancing from this to jim, encountering his look, he burst out laughing and came towards him. "helloa, given!" he called: jim was a favorite with him, as indeed with pretty much every one with whom he came in contact, officers and men,--"you, too, seem put out. i wonder if you've read anything as queer as that," handing him the paper and striking his finger down on an item; "read it." jim read:-- "miscegenation. disgraceful freak in high life. fruit of an abolition war.--we are credibly informed that a young man belonging to one of the first families in the city, mr. w.a.s.,--we spare his name for the sake of his relatives,--who has been engaged since its outset in this fratricidal war, has just given evidence of its legitimate effect by taking to his bosom a nigger wench as _his wife_. of course he is disowned by his family, and spurned by his friends, even radical fanaticism not being yet ready for such a dose as this. however--" jim did not finish the homily of which this was the presage, but, throwing the paper on the ground, indignantly drove his heel through it, tearing and soiling it, and then viciously kicked it into the river. said the captain when this operation was completed, having watched it with curious eyes, "well, my man, are you aware of the fact that that is _my_ paper?" "don't care if it is. what in thunder did you bring the damned copperhead sheet to me for, if you didn't want it smashed? ain't you ashamed of yourself having such a thing round? how'd you feel if you were picked up dead by a reb, with that stuff in your pocket? say now!" coolidge laughed,--he was always ready to laugh: that was probably why the men liked him so well, and stood in awe of him not a bit. "feel? horridly, of course. bad enough, being dead, to yet speak, and tell 'em that paper didn't represent my politics: 'd that do?" jim shook his head dubiously. "what are you making such a devil of a row for, i'd like to know? it's too hot to get excited. 'tain't likely you know anything about willie surrey." "o ho! it is mr. will, then, is it? know him,--don't i, though? like a book. known him ever since he was knee-height of a grasshopper. i'd like to have that fellow"--shaking his fist toward the floating paper--"within arm's reach. wouldn't i pummel him some? o no, of course not,--not at all. only, if he wants a sound skin, i'd advise him, as a friend, to be scarce when i'm round, because it'd very likely be damaged." "you think it's all a copperhead lie, then! i should have thought so, at first, only i know surrey's capable of doing any quixotic thing if he once gets his mind fixed on it." "i know what i know," jim answered, slowly folding and unfolding sallie's letter, which he still held in his hand. "i know all about that young lady he's been marrying. she's young, and she's handsome--handsome as a picture--and rich, and as good as an angel; that's about what she is, if sallie howard and i know b from a bull's foot." "who is sallie howard?" queried the captain. "she? o,"--very red in the face,--"she's a friend of mine, and she's miss ercildoune's seamstress." "ercildoune? good name! is she the _lady_ upon whom surrey has been bestowing his--?" "yes, she is; and here's her photograph. sallie begged it of her, and sent it to me, once after she had done a kind thing by both of us. looks like a 'nigger wench,' don't she?" the captain seized the picture, and, having once fastened his eyes upon it, seemed incapable of removing them. "this? this her?" he cried. "great cæsar! i should think surrey would have the fellow out at twenty paces in no time. heavens, what a beauty!" jim grinned sardonically: "she is rather pretty, now,--ain't she?" "pretty! ugh, what an expression! pretty, indeed! i never saw anything so beautiful. but what a sad face it is!" "sad! well, 'tain't much wonder. i guess her life's been sad enough, in spite of her youth, and her beauty, and her riches, and all the rest." "why, how should that be?" "suppose you take another squint at that face." "well." "see anything peculiar about it?" "nothing except its beauty." "not about the eyes?" "no,--only i believe it is they that make the face so sorrowful." "very like. you generally see just such big mournful-looking eyes in the faces of people that are called--octoroons." "what?" cried the captain, dropping the picture in his surprise. "just so," jim answered, picking it up and dusting it carefully before restoring it to its place in his pocket-book. "so, then, it is part true, after all." "true!" exclaimed jim, angrily,--"don't make an ass of yourself, captain." "why, given, didn't you say yourself that she was an octoroon, or some such thing?" "suppose i did,--what then?" "i should say, then, that surrey has disgraced himself forever. he has not only outraged his family and his friends, and scandalized society, but he has run against nature itself. it's very plain god almighty never intended the two races to come together." "o, he didn't, hey? had a special despatch from him, that you know all about it? i've heard just such talk before from people who seemed to be pretty well posted about his intentions,--in this particular matter,--though i generally noticed they weren't chaps who were very intimate with him in any other way." the captain laughed. "thank you, jim, for the compliment; but come, you aren't going to say that nature hasn't placed a barrier between these people and us? an instinct that repels an anglo-saxon from a negro always and everywhere?" "ho, ho! that's good! why, captain, if you keep on, you'll make me talk myself into a regular abolitionist. instinct, hey? i'd like to know, then, where all the mulattoes, and the quadroons, and the octoroons come from,--the yellow-skins and brown-skins and skins so nigh white you can't tell 'em with your spectacles on! the darkies must have bleached out amazingly here in america, for you'd have to hunt with a long pole and a telescope to boot to find a straight-out black one anywhere round,--leastwise that's my observation." "that was slavery." "yes 'twas,--and then the damned rascals talk about the amalgamationists, and all that, up north. 'twan't the abolitionists; 'twas the slaveholders and their friends that made a race of half-breeds all over the country; but, slavery or no slavery, they showed nature hadn't put any barriers between them,--and it seems to me an enough sight decenter and more respectable plan to marry fair and square than to sell your own children and the mother that bore them. come, now, ain't it?" "well, yes, if you come to that, i suppose it is!" "you _suppose_ it is! see here,--i've found out something since i've been down here, and have had time to think; 'tain't the living together that troubles squeamish stomachs; it's the marrying. that's what's the matter!" "just about!" assented the captain, with an amused look, "and here's a case in point. surrey ought to have been shot for marrying one of that degraded race." "bah! he married one of his own race, if i know how to calculate." "there, jim, don't be a fool! if she's got any negro blood in her veins she's a nigger, and all your talk won't make her anything else." "i say, captain, i've heard that some of your ancestors were indians: is that so?" "yes: my great-grandmother was an indian chief's daughter,--so they say; and you might as well claim royalty when you have the chance." "bless me! your great-grandmother, eh? come, now, what do you call yourself,--an injun?" "no, i don't. i call myself an anglo-saxon." "what, not call yourself an injun,--when your great-grandmother was one? here's a pretty go!" "nonsense! 'tisn't likely that filtered indian blood can take precedence and mastery of all the anglo-saxon material it's run through since then." "hurray! now you've said it. lookee here, captain. you say the anglo-saxon's the master race of the world." "of course i do." "of course you do,--being a sensible fellow. so do i; and you say the negro blood is mighty poor stuff, and the race a long way behind ours." "of course, again." "now, captain, just take a sober squint at your own logic. you back anglo-saxon against the field; very well! here's miss ercildoune, we'll say, one eighth negro, seven eighths anglo-saxon. you make that one eighth stronger than all the other seven eighths: you make that little bit of negro master of all the lot of anglo-saxon. now i have such a good opinion of my own race that if it were t'other way about, i'd think the one eighth saxon strong enough to beat the seven eighths nigger. that's sound, isn't it? consequently, i call anybody that's got any mixture at all, and that knows anything, and keeps a clean face,--and ain't a rebel, nor yet a copperhead,--i call him, if it's a him, and her, if it's a she, one of us. and i mean to say to any such from henceforth, 'here's your chance,--go in, and win, if you can,--and anybody be damn'd that stops you!'" "blow away, jim," laughed the captain, "i like to hear you; and it's good talk if you don't mean it." "i'll be blamed if i don't." "come, you're talking now,--you're saying a lot more than you'll live up to,--you know that as well as i. people always do when they're gassing." "well, blow or no blow, it's truth, whether i live up to it or not." and he, evidently with not all the steam worked off, began to gather sticks and build a fire to fry his bit of pork and warm the cold coffee. just then they heard the plash of oars keeping time to the cadence of a plantation hymn, which came floating solemn and clear through the night:-- "my brudder sittin' on de tree ob life, an' he yearde when jordan roll. roll jordan, roll jordan, roll jordan, roll, roll jordan, roll!" they both paused to listen as the refrain was again and again repeated. "there's nigger for you," broke out jim, "what'n thunder'd they mean by such gibberish as that?" the captain laughed. "come, given, don't quarrel with what's above your comprehension. doubtless there's a spiritual meaning hidden away somewhere, which your unsanctified ears can't interpret." "spiritual fiddlestick!" "worse and worse! what a heathen you're demonstrating yourself! violins are no part of the heavenly chorus." "much you know about it! hark,--they're at it again"; and again the voices and break of oars came through the night:-- "o march, de angel march! o march, de angel march! o my soul arise in heaven, lord, for to yearde when jordan roll! roll jordan, roll jordan, roll jordan, roll." "well, i confess that's a little bit above my comprehension,--that is. spiritual or something else. lazy vermin! they'll paddle round in them boats, or lie about in the sun, and hoot all day and all night about 'de good lord' and 'de day ob jubilee,'--and think god almighty is going to interfere in their special behalf, and do big things for them generally." "it's a fact; they do all seem to be waiting for something." "well, i reckon they needn't wait any longer. the day of miracles is gone by, for such as them, anyway. they ain't worth the salt that feeds them, so far as i can discover." through the wash of the waters they could hear from the voices, as they sang, that their possessors were evidently drawing nearer. "sense or not," said the captain, "i never listen to them without a queer feeling. what they sing is generally ridiculous enough, but their voices are the most pathetic things in the world." here the hymn stopped; a boat was pulled up, and presently they saw two men coming from the sands and into the light of their fire,--ragged, dirty; one shabby old garment--a pair of tow pantaloons--on each; bareheaded, barefooted,--great, clumsy feet, stupid and heavy-looking heads; slouching walk, stooping shoulders; something eager yet deprecating in their black faces. "look at 'em, captain; now you just take a fair look at 'em; and then say that mr. surrey's wife belongs to the same family,--own kith and kin,--you ca-a-n't do it." "faugh! for heaven's sake, shut up! of course, when it comes to this, i can't say anything of the kind." "'nuff said. you see, i believe in mr. surrey, and what's more, i believe in miss ercildoune,--have reason to; and when i hear anybody mixing her up with these onry, good-for-nothing niggers, it's more'n i can stand, so don't let's have any more of it"; and turning with an air which said that subject was ended, jim took up his forgotten coffee, pulled apart some brands and put the big tin cup on the coals, and then bent over it absorbed, sniffing the savory steam which presently came up from it. meanwhile the two men were skulking about among the trees, watching, yet not coming near,--"at their usual work of waiting," as the captain said. "proper enough, too, let 'em wait. waiting's their business. now," taking off his tin and looking towards them, "what d'ye s'pose those anemiles want? pity the boat hadn't tipped over before they got here. camp's overrun now with just such scoots. here, you!" he called. the men came near. "where'd you come from?" one of them pointed back to the boat, seen dimly on the sand. "was that you howling a while ago, 'roll jordan,' or something?" "yes, massa." "and where did you come from?--no, you needn't look back there again,--i mean, where did you and the boat too come from?" "come from mass' george wingate's place, massa." "far from here?" "big way, massa." "what brought you here? what did you come for?" "if you please, massa, 'cause the linkum sojers was yere, an' de big guns, an' we yearde dat all our people's free when dey gets yere." "free! what'll such fellows as you do with freedom, hey?" the two looked at their interrogator, then at one another, opened their mouths as to speak, and shut them hopelessly,--unable to put into words that which was struggling in their darkened brains,--and then with a laugh, a laugh that sounded woefully like a sob, answered, "dunno, massa." "what fools!" cried jim, angrily; but the captain, who was watching them keenly, thought of a line he had once read, "there is a laughter sadder than tears." "true enough,--poor devils!" he added to himself. "are you hungry?" jim proceeded. "i hope massa don't think we's come yere for to git suthin' to eat," said the smaller of the two, a little, thin, haggard-looking fellow,--"we's no beggars. some ob de darkies is, but we's not dem kind,--jim an' me,--we's willin' to work, ain't we, jim?" "jim!" soliloquized given,--"my name, hey? we'll take a squint at this fellow." the squint showed two impoverished-looking wretches, with a starved look in their eyes, which he did not comprehend, and a starved look in their faces and forms, which he did. "come, now, are you hungry?" he queried once more. "if ye please, massa," began the little one who was spokesman,--'little folks always are gas-bags,' jim was fond of saying from his six feet of height,--"if ye please, massa, we's had nothin' to eat but berries an' roots an' sich like truck for long while." "well, why by the devil haven't you had something else then? what've you been doing with yourselves for 'long while'? what d'ye mean, coming here starved to death, making a fellow sick to look at you? hold your gab, and eat up that pork," pushing over his tin plate, "'n' that bread," sending it after, "'n' that hard tack,--'tain't very good, but it's better'n roots, i reckon, or berries either,--'n' gobble up that coffee, double-quick, mind; and don't you open your heads to talk till the grub's gone, slick and clean. ugh!" he said to the captain,--"sight o' them fellows just took my appetite away; couldn't eat to save my soul; lucky they came to devour the rations; pity to throw them away." the captain smiled,--he knew jim. "poor cusses!" he added presently, "eat like cannibals, don't they? hope they enjoy it. had enough?" seeing they had devoured everything put before them. "thankee, massa. yes, massa. bery kind, massa. had quite 'nuff." "well, now, you, sir!" looking at the little one,--"by the way, what's your name?" "'bijah, if ye please, massa." "'bijah? abijah, hey? well, i don't please; however, it's none of my name. well, 'bijah, how came you two to be looking like a couple of animated skeletons? that's the next question." "yes, massa." "i say, how came you to be starved? hai'n't they nothing but roots and berries up your way? mass' george wingate must have a jolly time, feasting, in that case. come, what's your story? out with the whole pack of lies at once." "i hope massa thinks we wouldn't tell nuffin but de truf," said jim, who had not before spoken save to say, "thankee,"--"cause if he don't bleeve us, ain't no use in talkin'." "you shut up! i ain't conversing with you, rawbones! speak when you're spoken to! come, 'bijah, fire away." "bery good, massa. ye see i'se mass' george wingate's boy. mass' george he lives in de back country, good long way from de coast,--over a hundred miles, jim calklates,--an' jim's smart at calklating; well, mass' george he's not berry good to his people; never was, an' he's been wuss'n ever since the linkum sojers cum round his way, 'cause it's made feed scurce ye see, an' a lot of de boys dey tuck to runnin' away,--so what wid one ting an' anoder, his temper got spiled, an' he was mighty hard on us all de time. "at las' i got tired of bein' cuffed an' knocked round, an' den i yearde dat if our people, any of dem, got to de fedral lines dey was free, so i said, 'cum, 'bijah,--freedom's wuth tryin' for'; an' one dark night i did up some hoe-cake an' a piece of pork an' started. i trabbeled hard's i could all night,--'bout fifteen mile, i reckon,--an' den as 'twas gittin' toward mornin' i hid away in a swamp. ye see i felt drefful bad, for i could year way off, but plain enuff, de bayin' of de hounds, an' i knew dat de men an' de guns an' de dogs was all after me; but de day passed an' dey didn't come. so de next night i started off agen, an' run an' walked hard all night, an' towards mornin' i went up to a little house standen off from de road, thinking it was a nigger house, an' jest as i got up to it out walked a white woman scarin' me awfully, an' de fust ting she axed me was what i wanted." "tight slave!" interrupted jim,--"what d'ye do then?" "well, massa, ye see i saw mighty quick i was in for a lie anyhow, so i said, 'is massa at home?' 'yes,' says she,--an' sure nuff, he cum right out. 'hello, nigger!' he said when he seed me, 'whar you cum from? so i tells him from pocotaligo, an' before he could ax any more queshuns, i went on an' tole him we cotched fifty yankees down dere yesterday, an' massa he was so tickled dat he let me go to barnwells to see my family, an' den i said i'd got off de track an' was dead beat an' drefful hungry, an' would he please to sell me suthin to eat. at dat de woman streaked right into de house, an' got me some bread an' meat, an' tole me to eat it up an' not talk about payin,'--'we don't charge good, faithful niggers nothin',' she said,--so i thanked her an' eat it all up, an' den, when de man had tole me how to go, i went right long till i got out ob sight ob de little house, an' den i got into de woods, an' turned right round de oder way an' made tracks fast as i could in dat direcshun." "ho! ho! you're about what i call a 'cute nigger," laughed jim. "come, go on,--this gets interesting." "well, directly i yearde de dogs. dere was a pond little way off; so i tuck to it, an' waded out till i could just touch my toes an' keep my nose above water so's to breathe. presently dey all cum down, an' i yearde mass' george say, 'i'll hunt dat nigger till i find him if takes a month. i'se goin' to make a zample of him,'--so i shook some at dat, for i know'd what mass' george's zamples was. arter while one ob de men says, 'he ain't yere,--he'd shown hisself before dis, if he was,' an' i spose i would, for i was pretty nearly choked, only i said to myself when i went in, 'i'll go to de bottom before i'll come up to be tuck,' so i jest held on by my toes an' waited. "i didn't dare to cum out when dey rode away to try a new scent, an' when i did i jest skulked round de edge ob de pond, ready to take to it agen if i yearde dem, an' when night cum i started off an' run an' walked agen hard's i could, an' den at day-dawn i tuck to anoder pond, an' went on a log dat was stickin' in de water, and broke down some rushes an' bushes enuf to lie down on an' cover me up, an' den i slept all day, for i was drefful tired an' most starved too. next evenin' when it got dark, i went on agen, an' trabblin through de woods i seed a little light, an' sartin dis time dat it was a darkey's cabin, i made for it, an' it was. it was his'n,"--pointing to the big fellow who stood beside him, and who nodded his head in assent. "i had a palaver before he'd let me in, but when i was in i seed what de matter was. he had a sojer dere, a linkum sojer, bad wounded, what he'd found in de woods,--he was a runaway hisself, ye see, like me,--an' he'd tuck him to dis ole cabin an'd been nussin him on for good while. when i seed dat i felt drefful bad, for i knowed dey was a huntin for me yet, an' i tought if de dogs got on de trail dey'd get to dis cabin, sure: an' den dey'd both be tuck. so i up an' tole dem, an' de sojer he says, 'come, jim, you've done quite enuff fur me, my boy. if you're in danger now, be off with you fast as you can,--an' god reward you, for i never can, for all you've done for me.' "'no,' says jim, 'capen, ye needn't talk in dat way, for i'se not goin to budge widout you. you got wounded fur me an' my people, an' now i'll stick by you an' face any thing fur you if it's death hisself!' that's just what jim said; an' de sojer he put his hand up to his face, an' i seed it tremble bad,--he was weak, you see,--an' some big tears cum out troo his fingers onto de back ob it. "den jim says, 'dis isn't a safe place for any on us, an' we'll have to take to our heels agen, an' so de sooner we's off de better.' so he did up some vittels,--all he had dere,--an' gave 'em to me to tote,--an' den before de capen could sneeze he had him up on his back, an' we was off. "it was pretty hard work i kin tell you, strong as jim was, an' we'd have to stop an' rest putty ofen; an' den, jim an' i, we'd tote him atween us on some boughs; an' den we had to lie by, some days, all day,--an' we trabbled putty slow, cause we'd lost our bearing an' was in a secesh country, we knowed,--an' we had nudin but berries an' sich to eat, an' got nigh starved. "one night we cum onto half a dozen fellows skulkin' in de woods, an' at fust dey made fight, but d'rectly dey know'd we was friends, fur dey was some more linkum sojers, an' dey'd lost dere way, or ruther, dey know'd where dey was, but dey didn't know how to git way from dere. dey was 'scaped pris'ners, dey told us; when i yearde where 'twas i know'd de way to de coast, an' said i'd show 'em de way if dey'd cum long wid us, so dey did; an' we got 'long all right till we got to de ribber up by mass' rhett's place." "yes, i know where it is," said the captain. "den what to do was de puzzle. de country was all full ob secesh pickets, an' dere was de ribber, an' we had no boat,--so jim, he says, 'i know what to do; fust i'll hide you yere,' an' he did all safe in de woods; 'an' den i'll git ye suthin to eat from de niggers round,' an' he did dat too, do he couldn't git much, for fear he'd be seen; an' den we, he and i, made some ropes out ob de tall grass like dat we'd ofen made fur mats, an' tied dem together wid some oder grass, an' stuck a board in, an' den made fur de yankee camp, an' yere we is." "yes," said the black man jim, here,--breaking silence,--"we'll show you de way back if you kin go up in a boat dey can rest in, fur dey's most all clean done out, an' de capen's wound is awful bad yit." "this captain,--what's his name?" inquired coolidge. "his name is here," said jim, carefully drawing forth a paper from his rags,--"he has on dis some figgers an' a map of de country he took before he got wounded, an' some words he writ wid a bit of burnt stick just before we cum away,--an' he giv it to me, an' tole me to bring it to camp, fur fear something might happen to him while we was away." "my god!" cried coolidge when he had opened the paper, and with hasty eyes scanned its contents, "it's tom russell; i know him well. this must be sent up to head-quarters, and i'll get an order, and a boat, and some men, to go for them at once." all of which was promptly done. "see here! i speak to be one of the fellows what goes," jim emphatically announced. "all right. i reckon we'll both go, given, if the general will let us,--and i think he will,"--which was a safe guess and a true one. the boat was soon ready and manned. 'bijah, too weak to pull an oar, was left behind; and jim, really not fit to do aught save guide them, still insisted on taking his share of work. they found the place at last, and the men; and taking them on board,--russell having to be moved slowly and carefully,--they began to pull for home. the tide was going out, and the river low: that, with the heavy laden boat, made their progress lingering; a fact which distressed them all, as they knew the night to be almost spent, and that the shores were so lined with batteries, open and masked, and the country about so scoured by rebels, as to make it almost sure death to them if they were not beyond the lines before the morning broke. the water was steadily and perceptibly ebbing,--the rowing growing more and more insecure,--the danger becoming imminent. "ease her off, there! ease her off!" cried the captain,--as a harsh, gravelly sound smote on his ear, and at the same moment a shot whizzed past them, showing that they were discovered,--"ease her off, there! or we're stuck!" the warning came too late,--indeed, could not have been obeyed, had it come earlier. the boat struck; her bottom grating hard on the wet sand. "great god! she's on a bar," cried coolidge, "and the tide's running out, fast." "yes, and them damned rebs are safe enough from _our_ fire," said one of the men. a few scattering shot fell about them. "they're going to make their mark on us, anyway," put in another. "and we can't send 'em anything in return, blast 'em!" growled a third. "that's the worst of it," broke out a fourth, "to be shot at like a rat in a hole." all said in a breath, and the balls by this time falling thick and fast,--a fiery, awful rain of death. the men were no cowards, and the captain was brave enough; but what could they do? to stand up was but to make figure-heads at which the concealed enemy could fire with ghastly certainty; to fire in return was to waste their ammunition in the air. the men flung themselves face foremost on the deck, silent and watchful. through it all jim had been sitting crouched over his oar. he, unarmed, could not have fought had the chance offered; breaking out, once and again, into the solemn-sounding chant which he had been singing when he came up in his boat the evening before:-- "o my soul arise in heaven, lord, for to yearde when jordan roll, roll jordan, roll jordan, roll jordan, roll,"-- the words falling in with the sound of the water as it lapsed from them. "stop that infernal noise, will you?" cried one of the men, impatiently. the noise stopped. "hush, harry,--don't swear!" expostulated another, beside whom was lying a man mortally wounded. "this is awful! 'tain't like going in fair and square, on your chance." "that's so,--it's enough to make a fellow pray," was the answer. here russell, putting up his hand, took hold of jim's brawny black one with a gesture gentle as a woman's. it hurt him to hear his faithful friend even spoken to harshly. all this, while the hideous shower of death was dropping about them; the water was ebbing, ebbing,--falling and running out fast to sea, leaving them higher and drier on the sands; the gray dawn was steadily brightening into day. at this fearful pass a sublime scene was enacted. "sirs!" said a voice,--it was jim's voice, and in it sounded something so earnest and strange, that the men involuntarily turned their heads to look at him. then this man stood up,--a black man,--a little while before a slave,--the great muscles swollen and gnarled with unpaid toil, the marks of the lash and the branding-iron yet plain upon his person, the shadows of a lifetime of wrongs and sufferings looking out of his eyes. "sirs!" he said, simply, "somebody's got to die to get us out of dis, and it may as well be me,"--plunged overboard, put his toil-hardened shoulders to the boat; a struggle, a gasp, a mighty wrench,--pushed it off clear; then fell, face foremost, pierced by a dozen bullets. free at last! chapter xvi "_ye died to live._" boker the next day jim was recounting this scene to some men in camp, describing it with feeling and earnestness, and winding up the narration by the declaration, "and the first man that says a nigger ain't as good as a white man, and a damn'd sight better'n those graybacks over yonder, well"-- "well, suppose he does?"--interrupted one of the men. "o, nothing, billy dodge,--only he and i'll have a few words to pass on the subject, that's all"; doubling up his fist and examining the big cords and muscles on it with curious and well-satisfied interest. "see here, billy!" put in one of his comrades, "don't you go to having any argument with jim,--he's a dabster with his tongue, jim is." "yes, and a devil with his fist," growled a sullen-looking fellow. "just so,"--assented jim,--"when a blackguard's round to feel it." "well, given, do you like the darkies well enough to take off your cap to them?" queried a sergeant standing near. "what are you driving at now, hey?" "o, not much; but you'll have to play second fiddle to them to-night. the general thinks they're as good as the rest of us, and a little bit better, and has sent over for the fifty-fourth to lead the charge this evening. what have you got to say to that?" "bull, for them! that's what i've got to say. any objection?" looking round him. "nary objec!" "they deserve it!" "they fought like tigers over on james island!" "i hope they'll pepper the rebs well!"--"it ought to be a free fight, and no quarter, with them!" "yes, for they get none if they're taken!" "go in, fifty-fourth!" these and the like exclamations broke from the men on all sides, with absolute heartiness and good will. "it seems to me," sneered a dapper little officer who had been looking and listening, "that the niggers have plenty of advocates here." two or three of the men looked at jim. "you may bet your pile on that, major!" said he, with becoming gravity; "we love our friends, and we hate our enemies, and it's the dark-complected fellows that are the first down this way." "pretty-looking set of friends!" "well, they ain't much to look at, that's a fact; but i never heard of anybody saying you was to turn a cold shoulder on a helper because he was homely, except,"--this as the major was walking away, "except a secesh, or a fool, or one of little mac's staff officers." "homely? what are you gassing about?" objected a little fellow from massachusetts; "the fifty-fourth is as fine-looking a set of men as shoulder rifles anywhere in the army." "jack's sensitive about the credit of his state," chaffed a big ohioan. "he wants to crack up these fellows, seeing they're his comrades. i say, johnny, are all the white men down your way such little shavers as you?" "for a fellow that's all legs and no brains, you talk too much," answered johnny. "have any of you seen the fifty-fourth?" "i haven't." "nor i." "yes, i saw them at port royal." "and i." "and i." "well, the twenty-third was at beaufort while they were there, and i used to go over to their camp and talk with them. i never saw fellows so in earnest; they seemed ready to die on the instant, if they could help their people, or walk into the slaveholders any, first. they were just full of it; and yet it seemed absurd to call 'em a black regiment; they were pretty much all colors, and some of 'em as white as i am." "lord," said jim, "that's not saying much, you've got a smutty face." the men laughed, jack with the rest, as he dabbed at his heated, powder-stained countenance. "come," said he, "that's no fair,--they're as white as i am, then, when i've just scrubbed; and some of them are first-raters, too; none of your rag, tag, and bobtail. there's one i remember, a man from philadelphia, who walks round like a prince. he's a gentleman, every inch,--and he's rich,--and about the handsomest-looking specimen of humanity i've set eyes upon for an age." "rich, is he? how do you know he's rich?" "i was over one night with captain ware, and he and this man got to talking about the pay for the fifty-fourth. the government promised them regular pay, you see, and then when it got 'em refused to stick to its agreement, and they would take no less, so they haven't seen a dime since they enlisted; and it's a darned mean piece of business, that's my opinion of the matter, and i don't care who knows it," looking round belligerently. "come, bantam, don't crow so loud," interrupted the big ohioan; "nobody's going to fight you on that statement; it's a shame, and no mistake. but what about your paragon?" "i'll tell you. the captain was trying to convince him that they had better take what they could get till they got the whole, and that, after all, it was but a paltry difference. 'but,' said the man, 'it's not the money, though plenty of us are poor enough to make that an item. it's the badge of disgrace, the stigma attached, the dishonor to the government. if it were only two cents we wouldn't submit to it, for the difference would be made because we are colored, and we're not going to help degrade our own people, not if we starve for it. besides, it's our flag, and our government now, and we've got to defend the honor of both against any assailants, north or south,--whether they're republican congressmen or rebel soldiers.' the captain looked puzzled at that, and asked what he meant. 'why,' said he, 'the united states government enlisted us as soldiers. being such, we don't intend to disgrace the service by accepting the pay of servants.'" "that's the kind of talk," bawled jim from a fence-rail upon which he was balancing. "i'd like to have a shake of that fellow's paw. what's his name, d'ye know?" "ercildoune." "hey?" "ercildoune." "jemime! ercildoune,--from philadelphia, you say?" "yes,--do you know him?" "well, no,--i don't exactly know him, but i think i know something about him. his pa's rich as a nob, if it's the one i mean,"--and then finished sotto voce, "it's mrs. surrey's brother, sure as a gun!" "well, he ought to be rich, if he ain't. as we, that's the captain and me, were walking away, the captain said to one of the officers of the fifty-fourth who'd been listening to the talk, 'it's easy for that man to preach self-denial for a principle. he's rich, i've heard. it don't hurt him any; but it's rather selfish to hold some of the rest up to his standard; and i presume that such a man as he has no end of influence with them!' "'as he should,' said his officer. 'ercildoune has brains enough to stock a regiment, and refinement, and genius, and cultivation that would assure him the highest position in society or professional life anywhere out of america. he won't leave it though; for in spite of its wrongs to him he sees its greatness and goodness,--says that it is _his_, and that it is to be saved, it and all its benefits, for americans,--no matter what the color of their skin,--of whom he is one. he sees plain enough that this war is going to break the slave's chain, and ultimately the stronger chain of prejudice that binds his people to the grindstone, and he's full of enthusiasm for it, accordingly; though i'm free to confess, the magnanimity of these colored men from the north who fight, on faith, for the government, is to me something amazing.'" "'why,' said the captain,--'why, any more from the north than from the south?'" "why? the blacks down here can at least fight their ex-masters, and pay off some old scores; but for a man from the north who is free already, and so has nothing to gain in that way,--whose rights as a man and a citizen are denied,--for such a man to enlist and to fight, without bounty, pay, honor, or promotion,--without the promise of gaining anything whatever for himself,--condemned to a thankless task on the one side,--to a merciless death or even worse fate on the other,--facing all this because he has faith that the great republic will ultimately be redeemed; that some hands will gather in the harvest of this bloody sowing, though he be lying dead under it,--i tell you, the more i see of these men, the more i know of them, the more am i filled with admiration and astonishment. "now here's this one of whom we are talking, ercildoune, born with a silver spoon in his mouth: instead of eating with it, in peace and elegance, in some european home, look at him here. you said something about his lack of self-sacrifice. he's doing 'what he is from a principle; and beyond that, it's no wonder the men care for him: he has spent a small fortune on the most needy of them since they enlisted,--finding out which of them have families, or any one dependent on them, and helping them in the finest and most delicate way possible. there are others like him here, and it's a fortunate circumstance, for there's not a man but would suffer, himself,--and, what's more, let his family suffer at home,--before he'd give up the idea for which they are contending now." "'well, good luck to them!' said the captain as we came away; and so say i," finished jack. "and i,"--"and i," responded some of the men. "we must see this man when they come over here." "i'll bet you a shilling," said jim, pulling out a bit of currency, "that he'll make his mark to-night." "lend us the change, given, and i'll take you up," said one of the men. the others laughed. "he don't mean it," said jim: which, indeed, he didn't. nobody seemed inclined to run any risks by betting on the other side of so likely a proposition. this talk took place late in the afternoon, near the head-quarters of the commanding general; and the men directly scattered to prepare for the work of the evening: some to clean a bayonet, or furbish up a rifle; others to chat and laugh over the chances and to lay plans for the morrow,--the morrow which was for them never to dawn on earth; and yet others to sit down in their tents and write letters to the dear ones at home, making what might, they knew, be a final-farewell,--for the fight impending was to be a fierce one,--or to read a chapter in a little book carried from some quiet fireside, balancing accounts perchance, in anticipation of the call of the great captain to come up higher. through the whole afternoon there had been a tremendous cannonading of the fort from the gunboats and the land forces: the smooth, regular engineer lines were broken, and the fresh-sodded embankments torn and roughened by the unceasing rain of shot and shell. about six o'clock there came moving up the island, over the burning sands and under the burning sky, a stalwart, splendid-appearing set of men, who looked equal to any daring, and capable of any heroism; men whom nothing could daunt and few things subdue. now, weary, travel-stained, with the mire and the rain of a two days' tramp; weakened by the incessant strain and lack of food, having taken nothing for forty-eight hours save some crackers and cold coffee; with gaps in their ranks made by the death of comrades who had fallen in battle but a little time before,--under all these disadvantages, it was plain to be seen of what stuff these men were made, and for what work they were ready. as this regiment, the famous fifty-fourth, came up the island to take its place at the head of the storming party in the assault on wagner, it was cheered from all sides by the white soldiers, who recognized and honored the heroism which it had already shown, and of which it was soon to give such new and sublime proof. the evening, or rather the afternoon, was a lurid and sultry one. great masses of clouds, heavy and black, were piled in the western sky, fringed here and there by an angry red, and torn by vivid streams of lightning. not a breath of wind shook the leaves or stirred the high, rank grass by the water-side; a portentous and awful stillness filled the air,--the stillness felt by nature before a devastating storm. quiet, with the like awful and portentous calm, the black regiment, headed by its young, fair-haired, knightly colonel, marched to its destined place and action. when within about six hundred yards of the fort it was halted at the head of the regiments already stationed, and the line of battle formed. the prospect was such as might daunt the courage of old and well-tried veterans, but these soldiers of a few weeks seemed but impatient to take the odds, and to make light of impossibilities. a slightly rising ground, raked by a murderous fire, to within a little distance of the battery; a ditch holding three feet of water; a straight lift of parapet, thirty feet high; an impregnable position, held by a desperate and invincible foe. here the men were addressed in a few brief and burning words by their heroic commander. here they were besought to glorify their whole race by the lustre of their deeds; here their faces shone with a look which said, "though men, we are ready to do deeds, to achieve triumphs, worthy the gods!" here the word of command was given:-- "we are ordered and expected to take battery wagner at the point of the bayonet. are you ready?" "ay, ay, sir! ready!" was the answer. and the order went pealing down the line, "ready! close ranks! charge bayonets! forward! double-quick, march!"--and away they went, under a scattering fire, in one compact line till within one hundred feet of the fort, when the storm of death broke upon them. every gun belched forth its great shot and shell; every rifle whizzed out its sharp-singing, death-freighted messenger. the men wavered not for an instant;--forward,--forward they went; plunged into the ditch; waded through the deep water, no longer of muddy hue, but stained crimson with their blood; and commenced to climb the parapet. the foremost line fell, and then the next, and the next. the ground was strewn with the wrecks of humanity, scattered prostrate, silent, where they fell,--or rolling under the very feet of the living comrades who swept onward to fill their places. on, over the piled-up mounds of dead and dying, of wounded and slain, to the mouth of the battery; seizing the guns; bayoneting the gunners at their posts; planting their flag and struggling around it; their leader on the walls, sword in hand, his blue eyes blazing, his fair face aflame, his clear voice calling out, "forward, my brave boys!"--then plunging into the hell of battle before him. forward it was. they followed him, gathered about him, gained an angle of the fort, and fought where he fell, around his prostrate body, over his peaceful heart,--shielding its dead silence by their living, pulsating ones,--till they, too, were stricken down; then hacked, hewn, battered, mangled, heroic, yet overcome, the remnant was beaten back. ably sustained by their supporters, anglo-african and anglo-saxon vied together to carry off the palm of courage and glory. all the world knows the last fought with heroism sublime: all the world forgets this and them in contemplating the deeds and the death of their compatriots. said napoleon at austerlitz to a young russian officer, overwhelmed with shame at yielding his sword, "young man, be consoled: those who are conquered by my soldiers may still have titles to glory." to say that on that memorable night the last were surpassed by the first is still to leave ample margin on which to write in glowing characters the record of their deeds. as the men were clambering up the parapet their color-sergeant was shot dead, the colors trailing stained and wet in the dust beside him. ercildoune, who was just behind, sprang forward, seized the staff from his dying hand, and mounted with it upward. a ball struck his right arm, yet ere it could fall shattered by his side, his left hand caught the flag and carried it onward. even in the mad sweep of assault and death the men around him found breath and time to hurrah, and those behind him pressed more gallantly forward to follow such a lead. he kept in his place, the colors flying,--though faint with loss of blood and wrung with agony,--up the slippery steep; up to the walls of the fort; on the wall itself, planting the flag where the men made that brief, splendid stand, and melted away like snow before furnace-heat. here a bayonet thrust met him and brought him down, a great wound in his brave breast, but he did not yield; dropping to his knees, pressing his unbroken arm upon the gaping wound,--bracing himself against a dead comrade,--the colors still flew; an inspiration to the men about him; a defiance to the foe. at last when the shattered ranks fell back, sullenly and slowly retreating, it was seen by those who watched him,--men lying for three hundred rods around in every form of wounded suffering,--that he was painfully working his way downward, still holding aloft the flag, bent evidently on saving it, and saving it as flag had rarely, if ever, been saved before. some of the men had crawled, some had been carried, some hastily caught up and helped by comrades to a sheltered tent out of range of the fire; a hospital tent, they called it, if anything could bear that name which was but a place where men could lie to suffer and expire, without a bandage, a surgeon, or even a drop of cooling water to moisten parched and dying lips. among these was jim. he had a small field-glass in his pocket, and forgot or ignored his pain in his eager interest of watching through this the progress of the man and the flag, and reporting accounts to his no less eager companions. black soldiers and white were alike mad with excitement over the deed; and fear lest the colors which had not yet dipped should at last bite the ground. now and then he paused at some impediment: it was where the dead and dying were piled so thickly as to compel him to make a detour. now and then he rested a moment to press his arm tighter against his torn and open breast. the rain fell in such torrents, the evening shadows were gathering so thickly, that they could scarcely trace his course, long before it was ended. slowly, painfully, he dragged himself onward,--step by step down the hill, inch by inch across the ground,--to the door of the hospital; and then, while dying eyes brightened,--dying hands and even shattered stumps were thrown into the air,--in brief, while dying men held back their souls from the eternities to cheer him,--gasped out, "i did--but do--my duty, boys,--and the dear--old flag--never once--touched the ground,"--and then, away from the reach and sight of its foes, in the midst of its defenders, who loved and were dying for it, the flag at last fell. * * * * * meanwhile, other troops had gone up to the encounter; other regiments strove to win what these men had failed to gain; and through the night, and the storm, and the terrific reception, did their gallant endeavor--in vain. * * * * * the next day a flag of truce went up to beg the body of the heroic young chief who had so led that marvellous assault. it came back without him. a ditch, deep and wide, had been dug; his body, and those of twenty-two of his men found dead upon and about him, flung into it in one common heap and the word sent back was, "we have buried him with his niggers." it was well done. the fair, sweet face and gallant breast lie peacefully enough under their stately monument of ebony. it was well done. what more fitting close of such a life,--what fate more welcome to him who had fought with them, had loved, and believed in them, had led them to death,--than to lie with them when they died? it was well done. slavery buried these men, black and white, together,--black and white in a common grave. let liberty see to it, then, that black and white be raised together in a life better than the old. chapter xvii "_spirits are not finely touched but to fine issues._" shakespeare surrey was to depart for his command on monday night, and as there were various matters which demanded his attention in town ere leaving, he drove francesca to the city on the preceding sunday,--a soft clear summer evening, full of pleasant sights and sounds. they scarcely spoke as, hand in hand, they sat drinking in the scene whilst the old gray, for they wished no high-stepping prancers for this ride, jogged on the even tenor of his way. above them, the blue of the sky never before seemed so deep and tender, while in it floated fleecy clouds of delicate amber, rose, and gold, like gossamer robes of happy spirits invisible to human eyes. the leaves and grass just stirred in the breeze, making a slight, musical murmur, and across them fell long shadows cast by the westering sun. a sentiment so sweet and pleasurable as to be tinged with pain, took possession of these young, susceptible souls, as the influences of the time closed about them. in our happiest moments, our moments of utmost exaltation, it is always thus:--when earth most nearly approaches the beatitudes of heaven, and the spirit stretches forward with a vain longing for the far off, which seems but a little way beyond; the unattained and dim, which for a space come near. "darling!" said surrey softly, "does it not seem easy now to die?" "yes, willie," she whispered, "i feel as though it would be stepping over a very little stream to some new and beautiful shore." doubtless, when a pure and great soul is close to eternity, ministering angels draw nigh to one soon to be of their number, and cast something of the peace and glory of their presence on the spirit yet held by its cerements of clay. at last the ride and the evening had an end. the country and its dear delights were mere memories,--fresh, it is true, but memories still, and no longer realities,--in the luxurious rooms of their hotel. evidently surrey had something to say, which he hesitated and feared to utter. again and again, when francesca was talking of his plans and purposes, trusting and hoping that he might see no hard service, nor be called upon for any exposing duty, "not yet awhile," she prayed, at least,--again and again he made as if to speak, and then, ere she could notice the movement, shook his head with a gesture of silence, or--she seeing it, and asking what it was he had to say--found ready utterance for some other thought, and whispered to himself, "not yet; not quite yet. let her rest in peace a little space longer." they sat talking far into the night, this last night that they could spend together in so long a time,--how long, god, with whom are hid the secrets of the future, could alone tell. they talked of what had passed, which was ended,--and of what was to come, which was not sure but full of hope,--but of both with a feeling that quickened their heart-throbs, and brought happy tears to their eyes. twice or thrice a sound from some far distance, undecided, yet full of a solemn melody, came through the open window, borne to their ears on the still air of night,--something so undefined as not consciously to arrest their attention, yet still penetrating their nerves and affecting some fine, inner sense of feeling, for both shivered as though a chill wind had blown across them, and surrey--half ashamed of the confession--said, "i don't know what possesses me, but i hear dead marches as plainly as though i were following a soldier's funeral." francesca at that grew white, crept closer to his breast, and spread out her arms as if to defend him by that slight shield from some impending danger; then both laughed at these foolish and superstitious fancies, and went on with their cheerful and tender talk. whatever the sound was, it grew plainer and came nearer; and, pausing to listen, they discovered it was a mighty swell of human voices and the marching of many feet. "a regiment going through," said they, and ran to the window to see if it passed their way, looking for it up the long street, which lay solemn and still in the moonlight. on either side the palace-like houses stood stately and dark, like giant sentinels guarding the magnificent avenue, from whence was banished every sight and sound of the busy life of day; not a noise, not a footfall, not a solitary soul abroad, not a wave nor a vestige of the great restless sea of humanity which a little space before surged through it, and which, in a little while to come, would rise and swell to its full, and then ebb, and fall, and drop away once more into silence and nothingness. through this white stillness there came marching a regiment of men, without fife or drum, moving to the music of a refrain which lifted and fell on the quiet air. it was the battle hymn of the republic,--and the two listeners presently distinguished the words,-- "in the beauty of the lilies christ was born across the sea, with a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me; as he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, while god is marching on." the effect of this; the thousand voices which sang; the marching of twice one thousand feet; the majesty of the words; the deserted street; the clear moonlight streaming over the men, reflected from their gleaming bayonets, brightening the faded blue of their uniforms, illumining their faces which, one and all, seemed to wear--and probably _did_ wear--a look more solemn and earnest than that of common life and feeling,--the combined effect of it all was something indescribably impressive:--inspiring, yet solemn. they stood watching and listening till the pageant had vanished, and then turned back into their room, francesca taking up the refrain and singing the line, "as he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, while god is marching on." surrey's face brightened at the rapt expression of hers. "sing it again, dearie!" he said. she sang it again. "do you mean it?" he asked then. "can you sing it, and mean it with all your heart, for me?" she looked at him with an expression of anxiety and pain. "what are you asking, willie?" he sat down; taking her upon his knee, and with the old fond gesture, holding her head to his heart,--"i should have told you before, dearie, but i did not wish to throw any shadow on the happy days we have been spending together; they were few and brief enough without marring them; and i was certain of the effect it would have upon you, by your incessant anxiety for robert." she drew a long, gasping sigh, and started away from his hold: "o willie, you are not going to--" his arm drew her back to her resting-place. "i do not return to my command, darling. i am to raise a black brigade." "freedmen?" "yes, dearie." "o willie,--and that act just passed!" "it is true; yet, after all, it is but one risk more." "one? o willie, it is a thousand. you had that many chances of escape where you were; you might be wounded and captured a score of times, and come home safe at last; but this!" "i know." "to go into every battle with the sentence of death hanging over you; to know that if you are anywhere captured, anyhow made prisoner, you are condemned to die,--o willie, i can't bear it; i can't bear it! i shall die, or go mad, to carry such a thought all the time." for answer he only held her close, with his face resting upon her hair, and in the stillness they could hear each other's heart beat. "it is god's service," he said, at last. "i know." "it will end slavery and the war more effectually than aught else." "i know." "it will make these freedmen, wherever they fight, free men. it will give them and their people a sense of dignity and power that might otherwise take generations to secure." "i know." "and i. both feeling and knowing this, who so fit to yield and to do for such a cause? if those who see do not advance, the blind will never walk." silence for a space again fell between them. francesca moved in his arm. "dearie." she looked up. "i want to do no half service. i go into this heart and soul, but i do not wish to go alone. it will be so much to me to know that you are quite willing, and bade me go. think what it is." she did. for an instant all sacrifices appeared easy, all burdens light. she could send him out to death unfaltering. one of those sublime moods in which martyrdom seems glorious filled and possessed her. she took away her clinging arms from his neck, and said, "go,--whether it be for life or for death; whether you come back to me or go up to god; i am willing--glad--to yield you to such a cause." it was finished. there was nothing more to be said. both had climbed the mount of sacrifice, and sat still with god. after a while the cool gray dawn stole into their room. the night had passed in this communion, and another day come. there were many "last things" which claimed surrey's attention; and he, wishing to get through them early so as to have the afternoon and evening undisturbed with francesca, plunged into a stinging bath to refresh him for the day, breakfasted, and was gone. he attended to his business, came across many an old acquaintance and friend, some of whom greeted him coldly; a few cut him dead; whilst others put out their hands with cordial frankness, and one or two congratulated him heartily upon his new condition and happiness. these last gave him fresh courage for the task which he had set himself. if friends regarded the matter thus, surely they--his father and mother--would relent, when he came to say what might be a final adieu. he ran up the steps, rang the bell, and, speaking a pleasant word to the old servant, went directly to his mother's room. his father had not yet gone down town; thus he found them together. they started at seeing him, and his mother, forgetting for the instant all her pride, chagrin, and anger, had her arms about his neck, with the cry, "o willie, willie," which came from the depths of her heart; then seeing her husband's face, and recovering herself, sat down cold and still. it was a painful interview. he could not leave without seeing them once more; he longed for a loving good by; but after that first outburst he almost wished he had not forced the meeting. he did not speak of his wife, nor did they; but a barrier as of adamant was raised between them, and he felt as though congealing in the breath of an iceberg. at length he rose to go. "father!" he said then, "perhaps you will care to know that i do not return to my old command, but have been commissioned to raise a brigade from the freedmen." both father and mother knew the awful peril of this service, and both cried, half in suffering, half in anger, "this is your wife's work!" while his father added, with a passionate exclamation, "it is right, quite right, that you should identify yourself with her people. well, go your way. you have made your bed; lie in it." the blood flushed into surrey's face. he opened his lips, and shut them again. at last he said, "father, will you never forego this cruel prejudice?" "never!" answered his mother, quickly. "never!" repeated his father, with bitter emphasis. "it is a feeling that will never die out, and ought never to die out, so long as any of the race remain in america. she belongs to it, that is enough." surrey urged no further; but with few words, constrained on their part,--though under its covering of pride the mother's heart was bleeding for him,--sad and earnest on his, the farewell was spoken, and they watched him out of the room. how and when would they see him again? there was one other call upon his time. the day was wearing into the afternoon, but he would not neglect it. this was to see his old _protégé_, abram franklin, in whom he had never lost interest, and for whose welfare he had cared, though he had not seen him in more than two years. he knew that abram was ill, had been so for a long time, and wished to see him and speak to him a few friendly and cheering words,--sure, from what the boy's own hand had written, that this would be his last opportunity upon earth to so do. thus he went on from his father's stately palace up fifth avenue, turned into the quiet side street, and knocked at the little green door. mrs. franklin came to open it, her handsome face thinner and sadder than of old. she caught surrey's hand between both of hers with a delighted cry: "is it you, mr. willie? how glad i am to see you! how glad abram will be! how good of you to come!" and, holding his hand as she used when he was a boy, she led him up stairs to the sick-room. this room was even cosier than the two below; its curtains and paper cheerfuller; its furniture of quainter and more hospitable aspect; its windows letting in more light and air; everything clean and homely, and pleasant for weary, suffering eyes to look upon. abram was propped up in bed, his dark, intelligent face worn to a shadow, fiery spots breaking through the tawny hue upon cheeks and lips, his eyes bright with fever. surrey saw, as he came and sat beside him, that for him earthly sorrow and toil were almost ended. he had brought some fruit and flowers, and a little book. this last abram, having thanked him eagerly for all, stretched out his hand to examine. "you see, mr. willie, i have not gotten over my old love," he said, as his fingers closed upon it. "whittier? 'in war-time'? that is fine. i can read about it, if i can't do anything in it," and he lay for a while quietly turning over the pages. mrs. franklin had gone out to do an errand, and the two were alone. "do you know, mr. willie," said abram, putting his finger upon the titles of two successive poems, "the waiting," and "the summons," "i had hard work to submit to this sickness a few months ago? i fought against it strong; do you know why?" "not your special reason. what was it?" "i had waited so long, you see,--i, and my people,--for a chance. it made me quite wild to watch this big fight go on, and know that it was all about us, and not be allowed to participate; and at last when the chance came, and the summons, and the way was opened, i couldn't answer, nor go. it's not the dying i care for; i'd be willing to die the first battle i was in; but i want to do something for the cause before death comes." the book was lying open where it had fallen from his hand, and surrey, glancing down at the very poem of which he spoke, said gently, "here is your answer, franklin, better than any i can make; it ought to comfort you; listen, it is god's truth! 'o power to do! o baffled will! o prayer and action! ye are one; who may not strive may yet fulfil the harder task of standing still, and good but wished with god is done!'" "it is so," said abram. "you act and i pray, and you act for me and mine. i'd like to be under you when you get the troops you were telling me about; but--god knows best." surrey sat gazing earnestly into space, crowded by emotions called up by these last words, whilst abram lay watching him with admiring and loving eyes. "for me and mine," he repeated softly, his look fastening on the blue sleeve, which hung, limp and empty, near his hand. this he put out cautiously, but drew it back at some slight movement from his companion; then, seeing that he was still absorbed, advanced it, once more, and slowly, timidly, gently, lifted it to his mouth, pressing his lips upon it as upon a shrine. "for me and mine!" he whispered,--"for me and mine!" tears dimming the pathetic, dying eyes. the peaceful quiet was broken by a tempest of awful sound,--groans and shrieks and yells mingled in horrible discord, blended with the trampling of many feet,--noises which seemed to their startled and excited fancies like those of hell itself. the next moment a door was flung open; and mrs. franklin, bruised, lame, her garments torn, blood flowing from a cut on her head, staggered into the room. "o lord! o lord jesus!" she cried, "the day of wrath has come!" and fell, shuddering and crying, on the floor. chapter xviii "_will the future come? it seems that we may almost ask this question, when we see such terrible shadow._" victor hugo here it will be necessary to consider some facts which, while they are rather in the domain of the grave recorder of historical events, than in that of the narrator of personal experiences, are yet essential to the comprehension of the scenes in which surrey and francesca took such tragic parts. following the proclamation for a draft in the city of new york, there had been heard on all sides from the newspaper press which sympathized with and aided the rebellion, premonitions of the coming storm; denunciations of the war, the government, the soldiers, of the harmless and inoffensive negroes; angry incitings of the poor man to hatred against the rich, since the rich man could save himself from the necessity of serving in the ranks by the payment of three hundred dollars of commutation money; incendiary appeals to the worst passions of the most ignorant portion of the community; and open calls to insurrection and arms to resist the peaceable enforcement of a law enacted in furtherance of the defence of the nation's life. doubtless this outbreak had been intended at the time of the darkest and most disastrous days of the republic; when the often-defeated and sorely dispirited army of the potomac was marching northward to cover washington and baltimore, and the victorious legions of traitors under lee were swelling across the border, into a loyal state; when grant stood in seemingly hopeless waiting before vicksburg, and banks before port hudson; and the whole people of the north, depressed and disheartened by the continued series of defeats to our arms, were beginning to look each at his neighbor, and whisper with white lips, "perhaps, after all, this struggle is to be in vain." had it been attempted at this precise time, it would, without question, have been, not a riot, but an insurrection,--would have been a portion of the army of rebellion, organized and effective for the prosecution of the war, and not a mob, hideous and devilish in its work of destruction, yet still a mob; and as such to be beaten down and dispersed in a comparatively short space of time. on the morning of monday, the thirteenth of july, began this outbreak, unparalleled in atrocities by anything in american history, and equalled only by the horrors of the worst days of the french revolution. gangs of men and boys, composed of railroad _employées_, workers in machine-shops, and a vast crowd of those who lived by preying upon others, thieves, pimps, professional ruffians,--the scum of the city,--jail-birds, or those who were running with swift feet to enter the prison-doors, began to gather on the corners, and in streets and alleys where they lived; from thence issuing forth they visited the great establishments on the line of their advance, commanding their instant close and the companionship of the workmen,--many of them peaceful and orderly men,--on pain of the destruction of one and a murderous assault upon the other, did not their orders meet with instant compliance. a body of these, five or six hundred strong, gathered about one of the enrolling-offices in the upper part of the city, where the draft was quietly proceeding, and opened the assault upon it by a shower of clubs, bricks, and paving-stones torn from the streets, following it up by a furious rush into the office. lists, records, books, the drafting-wheel, every article of furniture or work in the room was rent in pieces, and strewn about the floor or flung into the street; while the law officers, the newspaper reporters,--who are expected to be everywhere,--and the few peaceable spectators, were compelled to make a hasty retreat through an opportune rear exit, accelerated by the curses and blows of the assailants. a safe in the room, which contained some of the hated records, was fallen upon by the men, who strove to wrench open its impregnable lock with their naked hands, and, baffled, beat them on its iron doors and sides till they were stained with blood, in a mad frenzy of senseless hate and fury. and then, finding every portable article destroyed,--their thirst for ruin growing by the little drink it had had,--and believing, or rather hoping, that the officers had taken refuge in the upper rooms, set fire to the house, and stood watching the slow and steady lift of the flames, filling the air with demoniac shrieks and yells, while they waited for the prey to escape from some door or window, from the merciless fire to their merciless hands. one of these, who was on the other side of the street, courageously stepped forward, and, telling them that they had utterly demolished all they came to seek, informed them that helpless women and little children were in the house, and besought them to extinguish the flames and leave the ruined premises; to disperse, or at least to seek some other scene. by his dress recognizing in him a government official, so far from hearing or heeding his humane appeal, they set upon him with sticks and clubs, and beat him till his eyes were blind with blood, and he--bruised and mangled--succeeded in escaping to the handful of police who stood helpless before this howling crew, now increased to thousands. with difficulty and pain the inoffensive tenants escaped from the rapidly spreading fire, which, having devoured the house originally lighted, swept across the neighboring buildings till the whole block stood a mass of burning flames. the firemen came up tardily and reluctantly, many of them of the same class as the miscreants who surrounded them, and who cheered at their approach, but either made no attempt to perform their duty, or so feeble and farcical a one, as to bring disgrace upon a service they so generally honor and ennoble. at last, when there was here nothing more to accomplish, the mob, swollen to a frightful size, including myriads of wretched, drunken women, and the half-grown, vagabond boys of the pavements, rushed through the intervening streets, stopping cars and insulting peaceable citizens on their way, to an armory where were manufactured and stored carbines and guns for the government. in anticipation of the attack, this, earlier in the day, had been fortified by a police squad capable of coping with an ordinary crowd of ruffians, but as chaff before fire in the presence of these murderous thousands. here, as before, the attack was begun by a rain of missiles gathered from the streets; less fatal, doubtless, than more civilized arms, but frightful in the ghastly wounds and injuries they inflicted. of this no notice was taken by those who were stationed within; it was repeated. at last, finding they were treated with contemptuous silence, and that no sign of surrender was offered, the crowd swayed back,--then forward,--in a combined attempt to force the wide entrance-doors. heavy hammers and sledges, which had been brought from forges and workshops, caught up hastily as they gathered the mechanics into their ranks, were used with frightful violence to beat them in,--at last successfully. the foremost assailants began to climb the stairs, but were checked, and for the moment driven back by the fire of the officers, who at last had been commanded to resort to their revolvers. a half-score fell wounded; and one, who had been acting in some sort as their leader,--a big, brutal, irish ruffian,--dropped dead. the pause was but for an instant. as the smoke cleared away there was a general and ferocious onslaught upon the armory; curses, oaths, revilings, hideous and obscene blasphemy, with terrible yells and cries, filled the air in every accent of the english tongue save that spoken by a native american. such were there mingled with the sea of sound, but they were so few and weak as to be unnoticeable in the roar of voices. the paving stones flew like hail, until the street was torn into gaps and ruts, and every window-pane, and sash, and doorway, was smashed or broken. meanwhile, divers attempts were made to fire the building, but failed through haste or ineffectual materials, or the vigilant watchfulness of the besieged. in the midst of this gallant defence, word was brought to the defenders from head-quarters that nothing could be done for their support; and that, if they would save their lives, they must make a quick and orderly retreat. fortunately, there was a side passage with which the mob was unacquainted, and, one by one they succeeded in gaining this, and vanishing. a few, too faithful or too plucky to retreat before such a foe, persisted in remaining at their posts till the fire, which had at last been communicated to the building, crept unpleasantly near; then, by dropping from sill to sill of the broken windows, or sliding by their hands and feet down the rough pipes and stones, reached the pavement,--but not without injuries and blows, and broken bones, which disabled for a lifetime, if indeed they did not die in the hospitals to which a few of the more mercifully disposed carried them. the work thus begun, continued,--gathering in force and fury as the day wore on. police stations, enrolling-offices, rooms or buildings used in any way by government authority, or obnoxious as representing the dignity of law, were gutted, destroyed, then left to the mercy of the flames. newspaper offices, whose issues had been a fire in the rear of the nation's armies by extenuating and defending treason, and through violent and incendiary appeals stirring up "lewd fellows of the baser sort" to this very carnival of ruin and blood, were cheered as the crowd went by. those that had been faithful to loyalty and law were hooted, stoned, and even stormed by the army of miscreants who were only driven off by the gallant and determined charge of the police, and in one place by the equally gallant, and certainly unique defence, which came from turning the boiling water from the engines upon the howling wretches, who, unprepared for any such warm reception as this, beat a precipitate and general retreat. before night fell it was no longer one vast crowd collected in a single section, but great numbers of gatherings, scattered over the whole length and breadth of the city,--some of them engaged in actual work of demolition and ruin; others with clubs and weapons in their hands, prowling round apparently with no definite atrocity to perpetrate, but ready for any iniquity that might offer,--and, by way of pastime, chasing every stray police officer, or solitary soldier, or inoffensive negro, who crossed the line of their vision; these three objects--the badge of a defender of the law,--the uniform of the union army,--the skin of a helpless and outraged race--acted upon these madmen as water acts upon a rabid dog. late in the afternoon a crowd which could have numbered not less than ten thousand, the majority of whom were ragged, frowzy, drunken women, gathered about the orphan asylum for colored children,--a large and beautiful building, and one of the most admirable and noble charities of the city. when it became evident, from the menacing cries and groans of the multitude, that danger, if not destruction, was meditated to the harmless and inoffensive inmates, a flag of truce appeared, and an appeal was made in their behalf, by the principal, to every sentiment of humanity which these beings might possess,--a vain appeal! whatever human feeling had ever, if ever, filled these souls was utterly drowned and washed away in the tide of rapine and blood in which they had been steeping themselves. the few officers who stood guard over the doors, and manfully faced these demoniac legions, were beaten down and flung to one side, helpless and stunned whilst the vast crowd rushed in. all the articles upon which they could seize--beds, bedding, carpets, furniture,--the very garments of the fleeing inmates, some of these torn from their persons as they sped by--were carried into the streets, and hurried off by the women and children who stood ready to receive the goods which their husbands, sons, and fathers flung to their care. the little ones, many of them, assailed and beaten; all,--orphans and caretakers,--exposed to every indignity and every danger, driven on to the street,--the building was fired. this had been attempted whilst the helpless children--some of them scarce more than babies--were still in their rooms; but this devilish consummation was prevented by the heroism of one man. he, the chief of the fire department, strove by voice and arm to stay the endeavor; and when, overcome by superior numbers, the brands had been lit and piled, with naked hands, and in the face of threatened death, he tore asunder the glowing embers, and trod them under foot. again the effort was made, and again failed through the determined and heroic opposition of this solitary soul. then, on the front steps, in the midst of these drunken and infuriate thousands, he stood up and besought them, if they cared nothing for themselves nor for these hapless orphans, that they would not bring lasting disgrace upon the city by destroying one of its noblest charities, which had for its object nothing but good. he was answered on all sides by yells and execrations, and frenzied shrieks of "down with the nagurs!" coupled with every oath and every curse that malignant hate of the blacks could devise, and drunken, irish tongues could speak. it had been decreed that this building was to be razed to the ground. the house was fired in a thousand places, and in less than two hours the walls crashed in,--a mass of smoking, blackened ruins; whilst the children wandered through the streets, a prey to beings who were wild beasts in everything save the superior ingenuity of man to agonize and torture his victims. frightful as the day had been, the night was yet more hideous; since to the horrors which were seen was added the greater horror of deeds which might be committed in the darkness; or, if they were seen, it was by the lurid glare of burning buildings,--the red flames of which--flung upon the stained and brutal faces, the torn and tattered garments, of men and women who danced and howled around the scene of ruin they had caused--made the whole aspect of affairs seem more like a gathering of fiends rejoicing in pandemonium than aught with which creatures of flesh and blood had to do. standing on some elevated point, looking over the great city, which presented, as usual, at night, a solemn and impressive show, the spectator was thrilled with a fearful admiration by the sights and sounds which gave to it a mysterious and awful interest. a thousand fires streamed up against the sky, making darkness visible; and from all sides came a combination of noises such as might be heard from an asylum in which were gathered the madmen of the world. the next morning's sun rose on a city which was ruled by a reign of terror. had the police possessed the heads of hydra and the arms of briareus, and had these heads all seen, these arms all fought, they would have been powerless against the multitude of opposers. outbreaks were made, crowds gathered, houses burned, streets barricaded, fights enacted, in a score of places at once. where the officers appeared they were irretrievably beaten and overcome; their stand, were it ever so short, but inflaming the passions of the mob to fresh deeds of violence. stores were closed; the business portion of the city deserted; the large works and factories emptied of men, who had been sent home by their employers, or were swept into the ranks of the marauding bands. the city cars, omnibuses, hacks, were unable to run, and remained under shelter. every telegraph wire was cut, the posts torn up, the operators driven from their offices. the mayor, seeing that civil power was helpless to stem this tide, desired to call the military to his aid, and place the city under martial law, but was opposed by the governor,--a governor, who, but a few days before, had pronounced the war a failure; and not only predicted, but encouraged this mob rule, which was now crushing everything beneath its heavy and ensanguined feet. this man, through almost two days of these awful scenes, remained at a quiet seaside retreat but a few miles from the city. coming to it on the afternoon of the second day,--instead of ordering cannon planted in the streets, giving these creatures opportunity to retire to their homes, and, in the event of refusal, blowing them there by powder and ball,--he first went to the point where was collected the chiefest mob, and proceeded to address them. before him stood incendiaries, thieves, and murderers, who even then were sacking dwelling-houses, and butchering powerless and inoffensive beings. these wretches he apostrophized as "my friends," repeating the title again and again in the course of his harangue, assuring them that he was there as a proof of his friendship,--which he had demonstrated by "sending his adjutant-general to washington, to have the draft stopped"; begging them to "wait for his return"; "to separate now as good citizens"; with the promise that they "might assemble again whenever they wished to so do"; meanwhile, he would "take care of their rights." this model speech was incessantly interrupted by tremendous cheering and frantic demonstrations of delight,--one great fellow almost crushing the governor in his enthusiastic embrace. this ended, he entered a carriage, and was driven through the blackened, smoking scenes of monday's devastations; through fresh vistas of outrage, of the day's execution; bland, gracious, smiling. wherever he appeared, cheer upon cheer rent the air from these crowds of drunken blasphemers; and in one place the carriage in which he sat was actually lifted from the ground, and carried some rods, by hands yet red with deeds of arson and murder; while from all sides voices cried out, "will ye stop the draft, gov'nur?" "bully boy!" "ye're the man for us!" "hooray for gov'nur saymoor!" thus, through the midst of this admiring and applauding crowd, this high officer of the law, sworn to maintain public peace, moved to his hotel, where he was met by a despatch from washington, informing him that five regiments were under arms and on their way to put an end to this bloody assistance to the southern war. his allies in newspaper offices attempted to throw the blame upon the loyal press and portion of the community. this was but a repetition of the cry, raised by traitors in arms, that the government, struggling for life in their deadly hold, was responsible for the war: "if thou wouldst but consent to be murdered peaceably, there could be no strife." these editors outraged common sense, truth, and decency, by speaking of the riots as an "uprising of the people to defend their liberties,"--"an opposition on the part of the workingmen to an unjust and oppressive law, enacted in favor of the men of wealth and standing." as though the _people_ of the great metropolis were incendiaries, robbers, and assassins; as though the poor were to demonstrate their indignation against the rich by hunting and stoning defenceless women and children; torturing and murdering men whose only offence was the color god gave them, or men wearing the self-same uniform as that which they declared was to be thrust upon them at the behest of the rich and the great. it was absurd and futile to characterize this new reign of terror as anything but an effort on the part of northern rebels to help southern ones, at the most critical moment of the war,--with the state militia and available troops absent in a neighboring commonwealth,--and the loyal people unprepared. these editors and their coadjutors, men of brains and ability, were of that most poisonous growth,--traitors to the government and the flag of their country,--renegade americans. let it, however, be written plainly and graven deeply, that the tribes of savages--the hordes of ruffians--found ready to do their loathsome bidding, were not of native growth, nor american born. while it is true that there were some glib-tongued fellows who spoke the language without foreign accent, all of them of the lowest order of democratic ward-politicians, of creatures skulking from the outstretched arm of avenging law; while the most degraded of the german population were represented; while it is also true that there were irish, and catholic irish too,--industrious, sober, intelligent people,--who indignantly refused participation in these outrages, and mourned over the barbarities which were disgracing their national name; it is pre-eminently true,--proven by thousands of witnesses, and testified to by numberless tongues,--that the masses, the rank and file, the almost entire body of rioters, were the worst classes of irish emigrants, infuriated by artful appeals, and maddened by the atrocious whiskey of thousands of grog-shops. by far the most infamous part of these cruelties was that which wreaked every species of torture and lingering death upon the colored people of the city,--men, women, and children, old and young, strong and feeble alike. hundreds of these fell victims to the prejudice fostered by public opinion, incorporated in our statute-books, sanctioned by our laws, which here and thus found legitimate outgrowth and action. the horrors which blanched the face of christendom were but the bloody harvest of fields sown by society, by cultured men and women, by speech, and book, and press, by professions and politics, nay, by the pulpit itself, and the men who there make god's truth a lie,--garbling or denying the inspired declaration that "he has made of one blood all people to dwell upon the face of the earth"; and that he, the all-just and merciful one, "is no respecter of persons." this riot, begun ostensibly to oppose the enforcement of a single law, developed itself into a burning and pillaging assault upon the homes and property of peaceful citizens. to realize this, it was only necessary to walk the streets, if that were possible, through those days of riot and conflagration, observe the materials gathered into the vast, moving multitudes, and scrutinize the faces of those of whom they were composed,--deformed, idiotic, drunken, imbecile, poverty-stricken; seamed with every line which wretchedness could draw or vicious habits and associations delve. to walk these streets and look upon these faces was like a fearful witnessing in perspective of the last day, when the secrets of life, more loathsome than those of death, shall be laid bare in all their hideous deformity and ghastly shame. the knowledge of these people and their deeds was sufficient to create a paralysis of fear, even where they were not seen. indeed, there was terror everywhere. high and low, rich and poor, cultured and ignorant, all shivered in its awful grasp. upon stately avenues and noisome alleys it fell with the like blackness of darkness. women cried aloud to god with the same agonized entreaty from knees bent on velvet carpets or bare and dingy floors. men wandered up and down, prisoners in their own homes, and cursed or prayed with equal fury or intensity whether the homes were simple or splendid. here one surveyed all his costly store of rare and exquisite surroundings, and shook his head as he gazed, ominous and foreboding. there, another of darker hue peered out from garret casement, or cellar light, or broken window-pane, and, shuddering, watched some woman stoned and beaten till she died; some child shot down, while thousands of heavy, brutal feet trod over it till the hard stones were red with its blood, and the little prostrate form, yet warm, lost every likeness of humanity, and lay there, a sickening mass of mangled flesh and bones; some man assaulted, clubbed, overborne, left wounded or dying or dead, as he fell, or tied to some convenient tree or lamp-post to be hacked and hewn, or flayed and roasted, yet living, where he hung,--and watching this, and cowering as he watched, held his breath, and waited his own turn, not knowing when it might come. chapter xix "_in breathless quiet, after all their ills._" arnold a body of these wretches, fresh from some act of rapine and pillage, had seen mrs. franklin, hastening home, and, opening the hue and cry, had started in full chase after her. struck by sticks and stones that darkened the air, twice down, fleeing as those only do who flee for life, she gained her own house, thinking there to find security. vain hope! the door was battered in, the windows demolished, the puny barriers between the room in which they were gathered and the creatures in pursuit, speedily destroyed,--and these three turned to face death. by chance, surrey had his sword at his side, and, tearing this from its scabbard, sprang to the defence,--a gallant intent, but what could one weapon and one arm do against such odds as these? he was speedily beaten down and flung aside by the miscreants who swarmed into the room. it was marvellous they did not kill him outright. doubtless they would have done so but for the face propped against the pillows, which caught their hungry eyes. soldier and woman were alike forgotten at sight of this dying boy. here was a foeman worthy their steel. they gathered about him, and with savage hands struck at him and the bed upon which he lay. a pause for a moment to hold consultation, crowded with oaths and jeers and curses; obscenity and blasphemy too hideous to read or record,--then the cruel hands tore him from his bed, dragged him over the prostrate body of his mother, past the senseless form of his brave young defender, out to the street. here they propped him against a tree, to mock and torment him; to prick him, wound him, torture him; to task endurance to its utmost limit, but not to extinguish life. these savages had no such mercy as this in their souls; and when, once or twice he fell away into insensibility, a cut or blow administered with devilish skill or strength, restored him to anguish and to life. surrey, bewildered and dizzy, had recovered consciousness, and sat gazing vacantly around him, till the cries and yells without, the agonized face within, thrilled every nerve into feeling. starting up, he rushed to the window, but recoiled at the awful sight. here, he saw, there was no human power within reach or call that could interfere. the whole block, from street to street, was crowded with men and boys, armed with the armory of the street, and rejoicing like veritable fiends of hell over the pangs of their victim. even in the moment he stood there he beheld that which would haunt his memory, did it endure for a century. at last, tired of their sport, some of those who were just about abram had tied a rope about his body, and raised him to the nearest branch of an overhanging tree; then, heaping under him the sticks and clubs which were flung them from all sides, set fire to the dry, inflammable pile, and watched, for the moment silent, to see it burn. surrey fled to the other side of the room, and, cowering down, buried his head in his arm to shut out the awful sight and sounds. but his mother,--o marvellous, inscrutable mystery of mother-love!--his mother knelt by the open window, near which hung her boy, and prayed aloud, that he might hear, for the wrung body and passing soul. great god! that such things were possible, and thy heavens fell not! through the sound of falling blows, reviling oaths, and hideous blasphemy, through the crackling of burning fagots and lifting flames, there went out no cry for mercy, no shriek of pain, no wail of despair. but when the torture was almost ended, and nature had yielded to this work of fiends, the dying face was turned towards his mother,--the eyes, dim with the veil that falls between time and eternity, seeking her eyes with their latest glance,--the voice, not weak, but clear and thrilling even in death, cried for her ear, "be of good cheer, mother! they may kill the body, but they cannot touch the soul!" and even with the words the great soul walked with god. * * * * * after a while the mob melted out of the street to seek new scenes of ravage and death; not, however, till they had marked the house, as those within learned, for the purpose of returning, if it should so please them, at some future time. when they were all gone, and the way was clear, these two--the mother that bore him, the elegant patrician who instinctively shrank from all unpleasant and painful things--took down the poor charred body, and carrying it carefully and tenderly into the house of a trembling neighbor, who yet opened her doors and bade them in, composed it decently for its final rest. it was drawing towards evening, and surrey was eager to get away from this terrible region,--both to take the heart-stricken woman, thus thrown upon his care, to some place of rest and safety, and to reassure francesca, who, he knew, would be filled with maddening anxiety and fear at his long absence. at length they ventured forth: no one was in the square;--turned at fortieth street,--all clear;--went on with hasty steps to the avenue,--not a soul in sight. "safe,--thank god!" exclaimed surrey, as he hurried his companion onward. half the space to their destination had been crossed, when a band of rioters, rushing down the street from the sack and burning of the orphan asylum, came upon them. defence seemed utterly vain. every house was shut; its windows closed and barred; its inmates gathered in some rear room. escape and hope appeared alike impossible; but surrey, flinging his charge behind him, with drawn sword, face to the on-sweeping hordes, backed down the street. the combination--a negro woman, a soldier's uniform--intensified the mad fury of the mob, which was nevertheless held at bay by the heroic front and gleaming steel of their single adversary. only for a moment! then, not venturing near him, a shower of bricks and stones hurtled through the air, falling about and upon him. at this instant a voice called, "this way! this way! for god's sake! quick! quick!" and he saw a friendly black face and hand thrust from an area window. still covering with his body his defenceless charge, he moved rapidly towards this refuge. rapid as was the motion, it was not speedy enough; he reached the railing, caught her with his one powerful arm, imbued now with a giant's strength, flung her over to the waiting hands that seized and dragged her in, pausing for an instant, ere he leaped himself, to beat back a half-dozen of the foremost miscreants, who would else have captured their prey, just vanishing from sight. sublime, yet fatal delay! but an instant, yet in that instant a thousand forms surrounded him, disarmed him, overcame him, and beat him down. meanwhile what of francesca? the morning passed, and with its passing came terrible rumors of assault and death. the afternoon began, wore on,--the rumors deepened to details of awful facts and realities; and he--he, with his courage, his fatal dress--was absent, was on those death-crowded streets. she wandered from room to room, forgetting her reserve, and accosting every soul she met for later news,--for information which, received, did but torture her with more intolerable pangs, and send her to her knees; though, kneeling, she could not pray, only cry out in some dumb, inarticulate fashion, "god be merciful!" the afternoon was spent; the day gone; the summet twilight deepening into night; and still he did not come. she had caught up her hat and mantle with some insane intention of rushing into the wide, wild city, on a frenzied search, when two gentlemen passing by her door, talking of the all-absorbing theme, arrested her ear and attention. "the house ought to be guarded! these devils will be here presently,--they are on the avenue now." "good god! are you certain?" "certain." "you may well be," said a third voice, as another step joined theirs. "they are just above thirtieth street. i was coming down the avenue, and saw them myself. i don't know what my fate would have been in this dress,"--francesca knew from this that he who talked was of the police or soldiery,--"but they were engaged in fighting a young officer, who made a splendid defence before they cut him down; his courage was magnificent. it makes my blood curdle to think of it. a fair-haired, gallant-looking fellow, with only one arm. i could do nothing for him, of course, and should have been killed had i stayed; so i ran for life. but i don't think i'll ever quite forgive myself for not rushing to the rescue, and taking my chance with him." she did not stay to hear the closing words. out of the room, past them, like a spirit,--through the broad halls,--down the wide stairways,--on to the street,--up the long street, deserted here, but o, with what a crowd beyond! a company of soldiers, paltry in number, yet each with loaded rifle and bayonet set, charged past her at double-quick upon this crowd, which gave way slowly and sullenly at its approach, holding with desperate ferocity and determination to whatever ghastly work had been employing their hands,--dropped at last,--left on the stones,--the soldiers between it and the mob,--silent, motionless,--she saw it, and knew it where it lay. o woful sight and knowledge for loving eyes and bursting heart! ere she reached it some last stones were flung by the retreating crowd, a last shot fired in the air,--fired at random, but speeding with as unerring aim to her aching, anguished breast, death-freighted and life-destroying,--but not till she had reached her destined point and end; not till her feet failed close to that bruised and silent form; not till she had sunk beside it, gathered it in her fair young arms, and pillowed its beautiful head--from which streamed golden hair, dabbled and blood-bestained--upon her faithful heart. there it stirred; the eyes unclosed to meet hers, a gleam of divine love shining through their fading fire; the battered, stiffened arm lifted, as to fold her in the old familiar caress. "darling--die--to make--free"--came in gasps from the sweet, yet whitening lips. then she lay still. where his breath blew across her hair it waved, and her bosom moved above the slow and labored beating of his heart; but, save for this, she was as quiet as the peaceful dead within their graves,--and, like them, done with the noise and strife of time forever. for him,--the shadows deepened where he lay,--the stars came out one by one, looking down with clear and solemn eyes upon this wreck of fair and beautiful things, wrought by earthly hate and the awful passions of men,--then veiled their light in heavy and sombre clouds. the rain fell upon the noble face and floating, sunny hair,--washing them free of soil, and dark and fearful stains; moistening the fevered, burning lips, and cooling the bruised and aching frame. how passed the long night with that half-insensible soul? god knoweth. the secrets of that are hidden in the eternity to which it now belongs. questionless, ministering spirits drew near, freighted with balm and inspiration; for when the shadows fled, and the next morning's sun shone upon these silent forms, it revealed faces radiant as with some celestial fire, and beatified as reflecting the smile of god. the inmates of the house before which lay this solemn mystery, rising to face a new-made day, looking out from their windows to mark what traces were left of last night's devastations, beheld this awful yet sublime sight. "a prejudice which, i trust, will never end," had mr. surrey said, in bidding adieu to his son but a few short hours before. this prejudice, living and active, had now thus brought death and desolation to his own doors. "how unsearchable are the judgments of god, and his ways past finding out!" chapter xx "_drink,--for thy necessity is yet greater than mine._" sir philip sidney the hospital boat, going out of beaufort, was a sad, yet great sight. it was but necessary to look around it to see that the men here gathered had stood on the slippery battle-sod, and scorned to flinch. you heard no cries, scarcely a groan; whatever anguish wrung them as they were lifted into their berths, or were turned or raised for comfort, found little outward sign,--a long, gasping breath now and then; a suppressed exclamation; sometimes a laugh, to cover what would else be a cry of mortal agony; almost no swearing; these men had been too near the awful realities of death and eternity, some of them were still too near, to make a mock at either. having demonstrated themselves heroes in action, they would, one and all, be equally heroes in the hour of suffering, or on the bed of lingering death. jim, so wounded as to make every movement a pang, had been carefully carried in on a stretcher, and as carefully lifted into a middle berth. "good," said one of the men, as he eased him down on his pillow. "what's good?" queried jim. "the berth; middle berth. put you in as easy as into the lowest one: bad lifting such a leg as yours into the top one, and it's the comfortablest of the three when you're in." "o, that's it, is it? all right; glad i'm here then; getting in didn't hurt more than a flea-bite,"--saying which jim turned his face away to put his teeth down hard on a lip already bleeding. the wrench to his shattered leg was excruciating, "but then," as he announced to himself, "no snivelling, james; you're not going to make a spooney of yourself." presently he moved, and lay quietly watching the others they were bringing in. "why!" he called, "that's bertie curtis, ain't it?" as a slight, beautiful-faced boy was carried past him, and raised to his place. "yes, it is," answered one of the men, shortly, to cover some strong feeling. jim leaned out of his berth, regardless of his protesting leg, canteen in hand. "here, bertie!" he called, "my canteen's full of fresh water, just filled. i know it'll taste good to you." the boy's fine face flushed. "o, thank you, given, it would taste deliriously, but i can't take it,"--glancing down. jim followed the look, to see that both arms were gone, close to the graceful, boyish form; seeing which his face twitched painfully,--not with his own suffering,--and for a moment words failed him. just then came up one of the sanitary nurses with some cooling drink, and fresh, wet bandages for the fevered stumps. great drops were standing on bertie's forehead, and ominous gray shadows had already settled about the mouth, and under the long, shut lashes. looking at the face, so young, so refined, some mother's pride and darling, the nurse brushed back tenderly the fair hair, murmuring, "poor fellow!" the eyes unclosed quickly: "there are no poor fellows here, sir!" he said. "well, brave fellow, then!" "i did but do my duty,"--a smile breaking through the gathering mists. here some poor fellow,--poor indeed,--delirious with fever, called out, "mother! mother! i want to see my mother!" tears rushed to the clear, steady eyes, dimmed them, dropped down unchecked upon the face. the nurse, with a sob choking in his throat, softly raised his hand to brush them away. "mother," bertie whispered,--"mother!" and was gone where god wipes away the tears from all eyes. for the space of five minutes, as jim said afterwards, in telling about it, "that boat was like a meeting-house." used as they were to death in all forms, more than one brave fellow's eye was dim as the silent shape was carried away to make place for the stricken living,--one of whom was directly brought in, and the stretcher put down near jim. "what's up?" he called, for the man's face was turned from him, and his wounded body so covered as to give no clew to its condition. "what's wrong?" seeing the bearers did not offer to lift him, and that they were anxiously scanning the long rows of berths. "berth's wrong," one of them answered. "what's the matter with the berth?" "matter enough! not a middle one nor a lower one empty." "well," called a wounded boy from the third tier, "plenty of room up here; sky-parlor,--airy lodgings,--all fine,--i see a lot of empty houses that'll take him in." "like enough,--but he's about blown to pieces," said the bearer in a low voice, "and it'll be aw--ful putting him up there; however,"--commencing to take off the light cover. "helloa!" cried jim, "that's a dilapidated-looking leg,"--his head out, looking at it. "stop a bit!"--body half after the head,--"you just stop that, and come here and catch hold of a fellow; now put me up there. i reckon i'll bear hoisting better'n he will, anyway. ugh! ah! um! owh! here we are! bully!" if jim had been of the fainting or praying order he would certainly have fainted or prayed; as it was, he said "bully!" but lay for a while thereafter still as a mouse. "given, you're a brick!" one of the boys was apostrophizing him. jim took no notice. "and your man's in, safe and sound"; he turned at that, and leaned forward, as well as he could, to look at the occupant of his late bed. "jemime!" he cried, when he saw the face. "i say, boys! it's ercildoune--robert--flag--wagner--hurray--let's give three cheers for the color-sergeant,--long may he wave!" the men, propped up or lying down, gave the three cheers with a will, and then three more; and then, delighted with their performance, three more after that, jim winding up the whole with an "a-a-ah,--tiger!" that made them all laugh; then relapsing into silence and a hard battle with pain. a weary voyage,--a weary journey thereafter to the northern hospitals,--some dying by the way, and lowered through the shifting, restless waves, or buried with hasty yet kindly hands in alien soil,--accounted strangers and foemen in the land of their birth. god grant that no tread of rebellion in the years to come, nor thunder of contending armies, may disturb their peace! some stopped in the heat and dust of washington to be nursed and tended in the great barracks of hospitals,--uncomfortable-looking without, clean and spacious and admirable within; some to their homes, on long-desired and eagerly welcomed furloughs, there to be cured speedily, the body swayed by the mind; some to suffer and die; some to struggle against winds and tides of mortality and conquer,--yet scarred and maimed; some to go out, as giants refreshed with new wine, to take their places once more in the great conflict, and fight there faithfully to the end. among these last was jim; but not till after many a hard battle, and buffet, and back-set did life triumph and strength prevail. one thing which sadly retarded his recovery was his incessant anxiety about sallie, and his longing to see her once more. he had himself, after his first hurt, written her that he was slightly wounded; but when he reached washington, and the surgeon, looking at his shattered leg, talked about amputation and death, jim decided that sallie should not know a word of all this till something definite was pronounced. "she oughtn't to have an ugly, one-legged fellow," he said, "to drag round with her; and, if she knows how bad it is, she'll post straight down here, to nurse and look after me,--i know her! and she'll have me in the end, out of sheer pity; and i ain't going to take any such mean advantage of her: no, sir-ee, not if i know myself. if i get well, safe and sound, i'll go to her; and, if i'm going to die, i'll send for her; so i'll wait,"--which he did. he found, however, that it was a great deal easier making the decision, than keeping it when made. sallie, hearing nothing from him,--supposing him still in the south,--fearful as she had all along been that she stood on uncertain ground,--mrs. surrey away in new york,--and robert ercildoune, as the papers asserted in their published lists, mortally wounded,--having no indirect means of communication with him, and fearing to write again without some sign from him,--was sorrowing in silence at home. the silence reacted on him; not realizing its cause he grew fretful and impatient, and the fretfulness and impatience told on his leg, intensified his fever, and put the day of recovery--if recovery it was to be--farther into the future. "see here, my man,"--said the quick little surgeon one day, "you're worrying about something. this'll never do; if you don't stop it, you'll die, as sure as fate; and you might as well make up your mind to it at once,--so, now!" "well, sir," answered jim, "it's as good a time to die now, i reckon, as often happens; but i ain't dead yet, not by a long shot; and i ain't going to die neither; so, now, yourself!" the doctor laughed. "all right; if you'll get up that spirit, and keep it, i'll bet my pile on your recovery,--but you'll have to stop fretting. you've got something on your mind that's troubling you; and the sooner you get rid of it, if you can, the better. that's all i've got to say." and he marched off. "get rid of it," mused jim, "how in thunder'll i get rid of it if i don't hear from sallie? let me see--ah! i have it!" and looking more cheerful on the instant he lay still, watching for the doctor to come down the ward once more. "helloa!" he called, then. "helloa!" responded the doctor, coming over to him, "what's the go now? you're improved already." "got any objection to telling a lie?"--this might be called coming to the point. "that depends--" said the doctor. "well, all's fair in love and war, they say. this is for love. help a fellow?" "of course,--if i can,--and the fellow's a good one, like jim given. what is it you want?" "well, i want a letter written, and i can't do it myself, you know,"--looking down at his still bandaged arm,--"likewise i want a lie told in it, and these ladies here are all angels, and of course you can't ask an angel to tell a lie,--no offence to you; so if you can take the time, and'll do it, i'll stand your everlasting debtor, and shoulder the responsibility if you're afraid of the weight." "what sort of a lie?" "a capital one; listen. i want a young lady to know that i'm wounded in the arm,--you see? not bad; nor nothing over which she need worry, and nothing that hurts me much; and i ain't damaged in any other way; legs not mentioned in this concern,--you understand?" the doctor nodded. "but it's tied up my hand, so that i have to get you to say all this for me. i'll be well pretty soon; and, if i can get a furlough, i'll be up in philadelphia in a jiffy,--so she can just prepare for the infliction, &c. comprendy? and'll you do it?" "of course i will, if you don't want the truth told, and the fib'll do you any good; and, upon my word, the way you're looking i really think it will. so now for it." thus the letter was written, and read, and re-read, to make sure that there was nothing in it to alarm sallie; and, being satisfactory on that head, was finally sent away, to rejoice the poor girl who had waited, and watched, and hoped for it through such a weary time. when she answered it, her letter was so full of happiness and solicitude, and a love that, in spite of herself, spoke out in every line, that jim furtively kissed it, and read it into tatters in the first few hours of its possession; then tucking it away in his hospital shirt, over his heart, proceeded to get well as fast as fast could be. "well," said the doctor, a few weeks afterwards, as jim was going home on his coveted sick-leave, "mr. thomas carlyle calls fibs wind-bags. if that singular remedy would work to such a charm with all my men, i'd tell lies with impunity. good by, jim, and the best of good luck to you." "the same to you, doctor, and i hope you may always find a friend in need, to lie for you. good by, and god bless you!" wringing his hand hard,--"and now, hurrah for home!" "hurrah it is!" cried the little surgeon after him, as, happy and proud, he limped down the ward, and turned his face towards home. chapter xxi "_youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm._" gray jim scarcely felt the jolting of the ambulance over the city stones, and his impatience and eagerness to get across the intervening space made dust, and heat, and weariness of travel seem but as feather weights, not to be cared for, nor indeed considered at all; though, in fact, his arm complained, and his leg ached distressingly, and he was faint and weak without confessing it long before the tiresome journey reached its end. "no matter," he said to himself; "it'll be all well, or forgotten, at least, when i see sallie once more; and so, what odds?" the end was gained at last, and he would have gone to her fast as certain rosinantes, yclept hackhorses, could carry him, but, stopping for a moment to consider, he thought, "no, that will never do! go to her looking like such a guy? nary time. i'll get scrubbed, and put on a clean shirt, and make myself decent, before she sees me. she always used to look nice as a new pin, and she liked me to look so too; so i'd better put my best foot foremost when she hasn't laid eyes on me for such an age. i'm fright enough, anyway, goodness knows, with my thinness, and my old lame leg; so--" sticking his head out of the window, and using his lungs with astonishing vigor--"driver! streak like lightning, will you, to the 'merchants'? and you shall have extra fare." "hold your blab there," growled the driver; "i ain't such a pig yet as to take double fare from a wounded soldier. you'll pay me well at half-price,--when we get where you want to go,"--which they did soon. "no!" said jehu, thrusting back part of the money, "i ain't agoin' to take it, so you needn't poke it out at me. i'm all right; or, if i ain't, i'll make it up on the next broadcloth or officer i carry; never you fear! us fellows knows how to take care of ourselves, you'd better believe!" which statement jim would have known to be truth, without the necessity of repetition, had he been one of the aforesaid "broadcloths," or "officers," and thus better acquainted with the genus hack-driver in the ordinary exercise of its profession. as it was; he shook hands with the fellow, pocketed the surplus change, made his way into the hotel, was in his room, in his bath, under the barber's hands, cleaned, shaved, brushed, polished, shining,--as he himself would have declared, "in a jiffy" then, deciding himself to be presentable to the lady of his heart, took his crutch and sallied forth, as good-looking a young fellow, spite of the wooden appendage, as any the sun shone upon in all the big city, and as happy, as it was bright. he knew where to go, and, by help of street-cars and other legs than his own, he was there speedily. he knew the very room towards which to turn; and, reaching it, paused to look in through the half-open door,--delighted thus to watch and listen for a little space unseen. sallie was sitting, her handsome head bent over her sewing,--frankie gambolling about the floor. "o sis, _don't_ you wish jim would come home?" queried the youngster. "i do,--i wish he'd come right straight away." "right straight away? what do _you_ want to see jim for?" "o, 'cause he's nice; and 'cause he'll take me to the theayter; and 'cause he'll treat,--apples, and peanuts, and candy, you know, and--and--ice-cream," wiping the beads from his little red face,--the last desideratum evidently suggested by the fiery summer heat. "i say, sallie!"--a pause--"won't you get me some ice-cream this evening?" "yes, bobbity, if you'll be a good boy." frankie looked dubious over that proposition. jim never made any such stipulations: so, after another pause, in which he was probably considering the whole subject with due and becoming gravity,--evidently desiring to hear his own wish propped up by somebody else's seconding,--he broke out again, "now, sallie, don't you just wish jim would come home?" "o frankie, don't i?" cried the girl, dropping her work, and stretching out her empty arms as though she would clasp some shape in the air. frankie, poor child! innocently imagining the proffered embrace was for him, ran forward, for he was an affectionate little soul, to give sallie a good hug, but found himself literally left out in the cold; no arms to meet, and no sallie, indeed, to touch him. something big, burly, and blue loomed up on his sight,--something that was doing its best to crush sallie bodily, and to devour what was not crushed; something that could say nothing by reason of its lips being so much more pleasantly engaged, and whose face was invisible through its extraordinary proximity to somebody else's face and hair. frankie, finding he could gain neither sight nor sound of notice, began to howl. but as neither of the hard-hearted creatures seemed to care for the poor little chap's howling, he fell upon the coat-tails of the big blue obstruction, and pulled at them lustily,--not to say viciously,--till their owner turned, and beheld him panting and fiery. "helloa, youngster! what's to pay now?" "wow! if 'tain't jim. hooray!" screeched the youngster, first embracing the blue legs, and then proceeding to execute a dance upon his head. "te, te, di di, idde i-dum," he sang, coming feet down, finally. evidently the bad boy's language had been corrupted by his street _confrères_; it was a missionary ground upon which sallie entered, more or less faithfully, every day to hoe and weed; but of this last specimen-plant she took no notice, save to laugh as jim, catching him up, first kissed him, then gave him a shake and a small spank, and, thrusting a piece of currency into his hand, whisked him outside the door with a "come, shaver, decamp, and treat yourself to-day," and had it shut and fastened in a twinkling. "o jim!" she cried then, her soul in her handsome eyes. "o sallie!"--and he had her fast and tight once more. an ineffable blank, punctuated liberally with sounding exclamation points, and strongly marked periods,--though how or why a blank should be punctuated at all, only blissful lovers could possibly define. "jim, dear jim!" whispering it, and snuggling her blushing face closer to the faded blue, "can you love me after all that has happened?" "come now! _can_ i love you, my beauty? slightly, i should think. o, te, te, di di, idde i-dum,"--singing frank's little song with his big, gay voice,--"i'm happy as a king." happy as a king, that was plain enough. and what shall be said of her, as he sat down, and, resting the wounded leg--stiff and sore yet,--held sallie on his other knee,--then fell to admiring her while she stroked his mustache and his crisp, curling hair, looking at both and at him altogether with an expression of contented adoration in her eyes. frank, tired of prowling round the door, candy in hand, here thrust his head in at the window, and, unfortunately for his plans, sneezed. "mutual-admiration society!" he cried at that, seeing that he was detected in any case, and running away,--his run spoiled as soon as it began. "we are a handsome couple," laughed jim, holding back her face between both hands,--"ain't we, now?" yes, they were,--no mistake about that, handsome as pictures. and merry as birds, through all of his short stay. they would see no danger in the future: jim had been scathed in time past so often, yet come out safe and sound, that they would have no fear for what was to befall him in time to come. if they had, neither showed it to the other. jim thought, "sallie would break her heart, if she knew just what is down there,--so it would be a pity to talk about it"; and sallie thought, "it's right for jim to go, and i won't say a word to keep him back, no matter how i feel." the furlough was soon--ah! how soon--out, the days of happiness over; and jim, holding her in a last close embrace, said his farewell: "come, sallie, you're not to cry now, and make me a coward. it'll only be for a little while; the rebs _can't_ stand it much longer, and then--" "ah, jim! but if you should--" "yes, but i sha'n't, you see; not a bit of it; don't you go to think it. 'i bear'--what is it? o--'a charmed life,' as mr. macbeth says, and you'll see me back right and tight, and up to time. one kiss more, dear. god bless you! good by!" and he was gone. she leaned out of the window,--she smiled after him, kissed her hand, waved her handkerchief, so long as he could see them,--till he had turned a corner way down the street,--and smile, and hand, and handkerchief were lost to his sight; then flung herself on the floor, and cried as though her very heart would break. "god send him home,--send him safe and soon home!" she implored; entreaty made for how many loved ones, by how many aching hearts, that speedily lost the need of saying amen to any such petition,--the prayer for the living lost in mourning for the dead. heaven grant that no soul that reads this ever may have the like cause to offer such prayer again! chapter xxii "_when we see the dishonor of a thing, then it is time to renounce it._" plutarch a letter which sallie wrote to jim a few weeks after his departure tells its own story, and hence shall be repeated here. * * * * * philadelphia, october , . dear jim:-- i take my pen in hand this morning to write you a letter, and to tell you the news, though i don't know much of the last except about frankie and myself. however, i suppose you will care more to hear that than any other, so i will begin. maybe you will be surprised to hear that frankie and i are at mr. ercildoune's. well, we are,--and i will tell you how it came about. not long after you went away, frank began to pine, and look droopy. there wasn't any use in giving him medicine, for it didn't do him a bit of good. he couldn't eat, and he didn't sleep, and i was at my wits' ends to know what to do for him. one day mrs. lee,--that mr. ercildoune's housekeeper,--an old english lady she is, and she's lived with him ever since he was married, and before he came here,--a real lady, too,--came in with some sewing, some fine shirts for mr. robert ercildoune. i asked after him, and you'll be glad to know that he's recovering. he didn't have to lose his leg, as they feared; and his arm is healing; and the wound in his breast getting well. mrs. lee says she's very sorry the stump isn't longer, so that he could wear a palmer arm,--but she's got no complaints to make; they're only too glad and thankful to have him living at all, after such a dreadful time. while i was talking with her, frankie called me from the next room, and began to cry. you wouldn't have known him,--he cried at everything, and was so fretful and cross i could scarcely get along at all. when i got him quiet, and came back, mrs. lee says, "what's the matter with frank?" so i told her i didn't know,--but would she see him? well, she saw him, and shook her head in a bad sort of way that scared me awfully, and i suppose she saw i was frightened, for she said, "all he wants is plenty of fresh air, and good, wholesome country food and exercise." i can tell you, spite of that, she went away, leaving me with heavy enough a heart. the next day mr. ercildoune came in. how he is changed! i haven't seen him before since mrs. surrey died, and that of itself was enough to kill him, without this dreadful time about mr. robert. "good morning, miss sallie," says he, "how are you? and i'm glad to see you looking so well." so i told him i was well, and then he asked for frankie. "mrs. lee tells me," he said, "that your little brother is quite ill, and that he needs country air and exercise. he can have them both at the oaks; so if you'll get him ready, the carriage will come for you at whatever time you appoint. mrs. lee can find you plenty of work as long as you care to stay." he looked as if he wanted to say something more, but didn't; and i was just as sure as sure could be that it was something about miss francesca, probably about her having me out there so much; for his face looked so sad, and his lips trembled so, i knew that must be in his mind. and when i thought of it, and of such an awful fate as it was for her, so young, and handsome, and happy, like the great baby i am, i just threw my apron over my head, and burst out crying. "don't!" he said,--"don't!" in o, such a voice! it was like a knife going through me; and he went quick out of the room, and downstairs, without even saying good by. well, we came out the next day,--and i have plenty to do, and frankie is getting real bright and strong. i can see mr. ercildoune likes to have us here, because of the connection with miss francesca. she was so interested in us, and so kind to us, and he knows i loved her so very dearly,--and if it's any comfort to him i'm sure i'm glad to be here, without taking frankie into the account,--for the poor gentleman looks so bowed and heart-broken that it makes one's heart ache just to see him. mr. robert isn't well enough to be about yet, but he sits up for a while every day, and is getting on--the doctor says--nicely. they both talk about you often; and mr. ercildoune, i can see, thinks everything of you for that good, kind deed of yours, when you and mr. robert were on the transport together. dear jim, he don't know you as well as i do, or he'd know that you couldn't help doing such things,--not if you tried. i hope you'll like the box that comes with this. mr. robert had it packed for you in his own room, to see that everything went in that you'd like. of course, as he's been a soldier himself, he knows better what they want than anybody else can. dear jim, do take care of yourself; don't go and get wounded; and don't get sick; and, whatever you do, don't let the rebels take you prisoner, unless you want to drive me frantic. i think about you pretty much all the time, and pray for you, as well as i know how, every night when i go to bed, and am always your own loving sallie. * * * * * "wow!" said jim, as he read, "she's in a good berth there." so she was,--and so she stayed. frankie got quite well once more, and sallie began to think of going, but mr. ercildoune evidently clung to her and to the sunshine which the bright little fellow cast through the house. sallie was quite right in her supposition. francesca had cared for this girl, had been kind to her and helped her,--and his heart went out to everything that reminded him of his dear, dead child. so it happened that autumn passed, and winter, and spring,--and still they stayed. in fact, she was domesticated in the house, and, for the first time in years, enjoyed the delightful sense of a home. here, then, she set up her rest, and remained; here, when the "cruel war was over," the armies disbanded, the last regiments discharged, and jimmy "came marching home," brown, handsome, and a captain, here he found her,--and from here he married and carried her away. it was a happy little wedding, though nobody was there beside the essentials, save the family and a dear friend of robert's, who was with him at the time, as he had been before and would be often again,--none other than william surrey's favorite cousin and friend, tom russell. the letter which surrey had written never reached his hand till he lay almost dying from the effects of wounds and exposure, after he had been brought in safety to our lines by his faithful black friends, at morris island. surrey had not mistaken his temper; gay, reckless fellow, as he was, he was a thorough gentleman, in whom could harbor no small spite, nor petty prejudice,--and without a mean fibre in his being. at a glance he took in the whole situation, and insisting upon being propped up in bed, with his own hand--though slowly, and as a work of magnitude--succeeded in writing a cordial letter of congratulation and affection, that would have been to surrey like the grasp of a brother's hand in a strange and foreign country, had it ever reached his touch and eyes. but even while tom lay writing his letter, occasionally muttering, "they'll have a devilish hard time of it!" or "poor young un!" or "she's one in a million!" or some such sentence which marked his feeling and care,--these two of whom he thought, to whose future he looked with such loving anxiety, were beyond the reach of human help or hindrance,--done alike with the sorrows and joys of time. from a distance, with the help of a glass, and absorbing interest, he had followed the movements of the flag and its bearer, and had cheered, till he fainted from weakness and exhaustion, as he saw them safe at last. it was with delight that he found himself on the same transport with ercildoune, and discovered in him the brother of the young girl for whom, in the past, he had had so pleasing and deep a regard, and whose present and future were so full of interest for him, in their new and nearer relations. these two young men, unlike as they were in most particulars, were drawn together by an irresistible attraction. they had that common bond, always felt and recognized by those who possess it, of the gentle blood,--tastes and instincts in common, and a fine, chivalrous sentiment which each felt and thoroughly appreciated in the other. the friendship thus begun grew with the passing years, and was intensified a hundred fold by a portion of the past to which they rarely referred, but which lay always at the bottom of their hearts. they had each for those two who had lain dead together in the streets of new york the strongest and tenderest love,--and though it was not a tie about which they could talk, it bound them together as with chains of steel. russell was with ercildoune at the time of the wedding, and entered into it heartily, as they all did. the result was, as has been written, the gayest and merriest of times. sallies dress, which robert had given her, was a sight to behold; and the pretty jewels, which were a part of his gift, and the long veil, made her look, as jim declared, "so handsome he didn't know her,"--though that must have been one of jim's stories, or else he was in the habit of making love to strange ladies with extraordinary ease and effrontery. the breakfast was another sight to behold. as mary the cook said to jane the housemaid, "if they'd been born kings and queens, mrs. lee couldn't have laid herself out more; it's grand, so it is,--just you go and see;" which jane proceeded to do, and forthwith thereafter corroborated mary's enthusiastic statement. there were plenty of presents, too: and when it was all over, and they were in the carriage, to be sent to the station, mr. ercildoune, holding sallie's hand in farewell, left there a bit of paper, "which is for you," he said. "god protect, and keep you happy, my child!" then they were gone, with many kind adieus and good wishes called and sent after them. when they were seated in the cars, sallie looked at her bit of paper, and read on its outer covering, "a wedding-gift to sallie howard from my dear daughter francesca," and found within the deed of a beautiful little home. god bless her! say we, with mr. ercildoune. god bless them both, and may they live long to enjoy it! that afternoon, as tom and robert were driving, russell, noting the unwonted look of life and activity, and the gay flags flung to the breeze, demanded what it all meant. "why," said he, "it is like a field day." "it is so," answered robert, "or what is the same; it is election day." "bless my soul! so it is; and a soldier to be elected. have you voted?" "no!" "no? here's a nice state of affairs! a fellow that'll get his arm blown off for a flag, but won't take the trouble to drop a scrap of paper for it. come, i'll drive you over." "you forget, russell!" "forget? nonsense! this isn't , but . i don't forget; i remember. it is after the war now,--come." "as you please," said robert. he knew the disappointment that awaited his friend, but he would not thwart him now. there was a great crowd about the polling-office, and they all looked on with curious interest as the two young men came up. no demonstration was made, though a half-dozen brutal fellows uttered some coarse remarks. "hear the damned rebs talk!" said a man in the army blue, who, with keen eyes, was observing the scene. "they're the same sort of stuff we licked in carolina." "ay," said another, "but with a difference; blue led there; but gray'll come off winner here, or i'm mistaken." robert stood leaning upon his cane; a support which he would need for life, one empty sleeve pinned across his breast, over the scar from a deep and yet unhealed wound. the clear october sun shone down upon his form and face, upon the broad folds of the flag that waved in triumph above him, upon a country where wars and rumors of wars had ceased. "courage, man! what ails you?" whispered russell, as he felt his comrade tremble; "it's a ballot in place of a bayonet, and all for the same cause; lay it down." robert put out his hand. "challenge the vote!" "challenge the vote!" "no niggers here!" sounded from all sides. the bit of paper which ercildoune had placed on the window-ledge fluttered to the ground on the outer side, and, looking at tom, robert said quietly, " or ?--is the war ended?" "no!" answered tom, taking his arm, and walking away. "no, my friend! so you and i will continue in the service." "not ended;--it is true! how and when will it be closed?" "that is for the loyal people of america to decide," said russell, as they turned their faces towards home. how and when will it be closed? a question asked by the living and the dead,--to which america must respond. among the living is a vast army: black and white,--shattered and maimed, and blind: and these say, "here we stand, shattered and maimed, that the body politic might be perfect! blind forever, that the glorious sun of liberty might shine abroad throughout the land, for all people, through all coming time." and the dead speak too. from their crowded graves come voices of thrilling and persistent pathos, whispering, "finish the work that has fallen from our nerveless hands. let no weight of tyranny, nor taint of oppression, nor stain of wrong, cumber the soil nor darken the land we died to save." note since it is impossible for any one memory to carry the entire record of the war, it is well to state, that almost every scene in this book is copied from life, and that the incidents of battle and camp are part of the history of the great contest. the story of fort wagner is one that needs no such emphasis, it is too thoroughly known; that of the color-sergeant, whose proper name is w.h. carney, is taken from a letter written by general m.s. littlefield to colonel a.g. browne, secretary to governor andrew. from the _new york tribune_ and the _providence journal_ were taken the accounts of the finding of hunt, the coming of the slaves into a south carolina camp, and the voluntary carrying, by black men, ere they were enlisted, of a schooner into the fight at newbern. than these two papers, none were considered more reliable and trustworthy in their war record. almost every paper in the north published the narrative of the black man pushing off the boat, for which an official report is responsible. the boat was a flat-boat, with a company of soldiers on board; and the battery under the fire of which it fell was at rodman's point, north carolina. in drawing the outlines of this, as of the others, i have necessarily used a somewhat free pencil, but the main incident of each has been faithfully preserved. the disabled black soldier my own eyes saw thrust from a car in philadelphia. the portraits of ercildoune and his children may seem to some exaggerated; those who have, as i, the rare pleasure of knowing the originals, will say, "the half has not been told." every leading new york paper, democratic and republican, was gone over, ere the summary of the riots was made; and i think the record will be found historically accurate. the _anglo-african_ gives the story of poor abram franklin; and the assault on surrey has its likeness in the death of colonel o'brien. in a conversation between surrey and francesca, allusion is made to an act the existence of which i have frequently heard doubted. i therefore copy here a part of the "retaliatory act," passed by the rebel government at richmond, and approved by its head, may , :-- "sec. . every white person, being a commissioned officer, or acting as such, who, during the present war, shall command negroes or mulattoes in arms against the confederate states, or who shall arm, train, organize, or prepare negroes or mulattoes for military service against the confederate states, or who shall voluntarily aid negroes or mulattoes in any military enterprise, attack, or conflict in such service, shall be deemed as inciting servile insurrection; and shall, if captured, be put to death." i have written this book, and send it to the consciences and the hearts of the american people. may god, for whose "little ones" i have here spoken, vivify its words. imperium in imperio a study of the negro race problem a novel sutton e. griggs contents. chapter. page. berl trout's declaration i a small beginning ii the school iii the parson's advice iv the turning of a worm v belton finds a friend vi a young rebel vii a sermon, a sock, and a fight viii many mysteries cleared up ix love and politics x cupid again at work xi no befitting name xii on the dissecting board xiii married and yet not married xiv " " " " " (continued) xv weighty matters xvi unwritten history xvii crossing the rubicon xviii the storm's master xix the parting of ways xx personal (berl trout) to the public. the papers which are herewith submitted to you for your perusal and consideration, were delivered into my hands by mr. berl trout. the papers will speak for themselves, but mr. trout now being dead i feel called upon to say a word concerning him. mr. berl trout was secretary of state in the imperium in imperio, from the day of its organization until the hour of his sad death. he was, therefore, thoroughly conversant with all of the details of that great organization. he was a warm personal friend of both bernard and belton, and learned from their own lips the stories of their eventful lives. mr. trout was a man noted for his strict veracity and for the absolute control that his conscience exercised over him. though unacquainted with the imperium in imperio i was well acquainted with berl, as we fondly called him. i will vouch for his truthfulness anywhere. having perfect faith in the truthfulness of his narrative i have not hesitated to fulfil his dying request by editing his ms., and giving it to the public. there are other documents in my possession tending to confirm the assertions made in his narrative. these documents were given me by mr. trout, so that, in case an attempt is made to pronounce him a liar, i might defend his name by coming forward with indisputable proofs of every important statement. very respectfully, sutton e. griggs, march , . berkley, va. imperium in imperio. berl trout's dying declaration. i am a traitor. i have violated an oath that was as solemn and binding as any ever taken by man on earth. i have trampled under my feet the sacred trust of a loving people, and have betrayed secrets which were dearer to them than life itself. for this offence, regarded the world over as the most detestable of horrors, i shall be slain. those who shall be detailed to escort my foul body to its grave are required to walk backwards with heads averted. on to-morrow night, the time of my burial, the clouds should gather thick about the queenly moon to hide my funeral procession from her view, for fear that she might refuse to longer reign over a land capable of producing such a wretch as i. in the bottom of some old forsaken well, so reads _our_ law, i shall be buried, face downward, without a coffin; and my body, lying thus, will be transfixed with a wooden stave. fifty feet from the well into which my body is lowered, a red flag is to be hoisted and kept floating there for time unending, to warn all generations of men to come not near the air polluted by the rotting carcass of a vile traitor. such is my fate. i seek not to shun it. i have walked into odium with every sense alert, fully conscious of every step taken. while i acknowledge that i am a traitor, i also pronounce myself a patriot. it is true that i have betrayed the immediate plans of the race to which i belong; but i have done this in the interest of the whole human family--of which my race is but a part. my race may, for the time being, shower curses upon me; but eventually all races, including my own, shall call me blessed. the earth, in anger, may belch forth my putrid flesh with volcanic fury, but the out-stretched arms of god will receive my spirit as a token of approval of what i have done. with my soul feasting on this happy thought, i send this revelation to mankind and yield my body to the executioner to be shot until i am dead. though death stands just before me, holding before my eyes my intended shroud woven of the cloth of infamy itself, i shrink not back. yours, doomed to die, berl trout. imperium in imperio chapter i a small beginning. "cum er long hunny an' let yer mammy fix yer 'spectabul, so yer ken go to skule. yer mammy is 'tarmined ter gib yer all de book larning dar is ter be had eben ef she has ter lib on bred an' herrin's, an' die en de a'ms house." these words came from the lips of a poor, ignorant negro woman, and yet the determined course of action which they reveal vitally affected the destiny of a nation and saved the sun of the nineteenth century, proud and glorious, from passing through, near its setting, the blackest and thickest and ugliest clouds of all its journey; saved it from ending the most brilliant of brilliant careers by setting, with a shudder of horror, in a sea of human blood. those who doubt that such power could emanate from such weakness; or, to change the figure, that such a tiny star could have dimensions greater than those of earth, may have every vestige of doubt removed by a perusal of this simple narrative. let us now acquaint ourselves with the circumstances under which the opening words of our story were spoken. to do this, we must need lead our readers into humble and commonplace surroundings, a fact that will not come in the nature of a surprise to those who have traced the proud, rushing, swelling river to the mountain whence it comes trickling forth, meekly and humbly enough. the place was winchester, an antiquated town, located near the northwestern corner of the state of virginia. in october of the year , the year in which our story begins, a white man by the name of tiberius gracchus leonard had arrived in winchester, and was employed as teacher of the school for colored children. mrs. hannah piedmont, the colored woman whom we have presented to our readers as addressing her little boy, was the mother of five children,--three girls and two boys. in the order of their ages, the names of her children were: james henry, aged fifteen, amanda ann, aged thirteen, eliza jane, aged eleven, belton, aged eight, and celestine, aged five. several years previous to the opening of our history, mr. piedmont had abandoned his wife and left her to rear the children alone. school opened in october, and as fast as she could get books and clothing mrs. piedmont sent her children to school. james henry, amanda ann, and eliza jane were sent at about a week's interval. belton and celestine were then left--celestine being regarded as too young to go. this morning we find belton's mother preparing him for school, and we shall stand by and watch the preparations. the house was low and squatty and was built of rock. it consisted of one room only, and over this there was a loft, the hole to climb into which was in plain view of any one in the room. there was only one window to the house and that one was only four feet square. two panes of this were broken out and the holes were stuffed with rags. in one corner of the room there stood a bed in which mrs. piedmont and amanda ann slept. under this was a trundle bed in which eliza jane and celestine slept at the head, while belton slept at the foot. james henry climbed into the loft and slept there on a pallet of straw. the cooking was done in a fireplace which was on the side of the house opposite the window. three chairs, two of which had no backs to them, completed the articles in the room. in one of these chairs mrs. piedmont was sitting, while belton stood before her all dressed and ready to go to school, excepting that his face was not washed. it might be interesting to note his costume. the white lady for whom mrs. piedmont washed each week had given her two much-torn pairs of trousers, discarded by her young son. one pair was of linen and the other of navy blue. a leg from each pair was missing; so mrs. piedmont simply transferred the good leg of the linen pair to the suit of the navy blue, and dressed the happy belton in that suit thus amended. his coat was literally a conglomeration of patches of varying sizes and colors. if you attempted to describe the coat by calling it by the name of the color that you thought predominated, at least a half dozen aspirants could present equal claims to the honor. one of belton's feet was encased in a wornout slipper from the dainty foot of some young woman, while the other wore a turned over boot left in town by some farmer lad who had gotten himself a new pair. his hat was in good condition, being the summer straw last worn by a little white playfellow (when fall came on, this little fellow kindly willed his hat to belton, who, in return for this favor, was to black the boy's shoes each morning during the winter). belton's mother now held in her hand a wet cloth with which she wished to cleanse his face, the bacon skin which he gnawed at the conclusion of his meal having left a circle of grease around his lips. belton did not relish the face washing part of the programme (of course hair combing was not even considered). belton had one characteristic similar to that of oil. he did not like to mix with water, especially cold water, such as was on that wet cloth in his mother's hand. however, a hint in reference to a certain well-known leather strap, combined with the offer of a lump of sugar, brought him to terms. his face being washed, he and his mother marched forth to school, where he laid the foundation of the education that served him so well in after life. a man of tact, intelligence, and superior education moving in the midst of a mass of ignorant people, ofttimes has a sway more absolute than that of monarchs. belton now entered the school-room, which in his case proves to be the royal court, whence he emerges an uncrowned king. chapter ii. the school. the house in which the colored school was held was, in former times, a house of worship for the white baptists of winchester. it was a long, plain, frame structure, painted white. many years prior to the opening of the colored school it had been condemned as unsafe by the town authorities, whereupon the white baptists had abandoned it for a more beautiful modern structure. the church tendered the use of the building to the town for a public school for the colored children. the roof was patched and iron rods were used to hold together the twisting walls. these improvements being made, school was in due time opened. the building was located on the outskirts of the town, and a large open field surrounded it on all sides. as mrs. piedmont and her son drew near to this building the teacher was standing on the door-steps ringing his little hand bell, calling the children in from their recess. they came running at full speed, helter skelter. by the time they were all in mrs. piedmont and belton had arrived at the step. when mr. leonard saw them about to enter the building an angry scowl passed over his face, and he muttered half aloud: "another black nigger brat for me to teach." the steps were about four feet high and he was standing on the top step. to emphasize his disgust, he drew back so that mrs. piedmont would pass him with no danger of brushing him. he drew back rather too far and began falling off the end of the steps. he clutched at the door and made such a scrambling noise that the children turned in their seats just in time to see his body rapidly disappearing in a manner to leave his feet where his head ought to be. such a yell of laughter as went up from the throats of the children! it had in it a universal, spontaneous ring of savage delight which plainly told that the teacher was not beloved by his pupils. the back of the teacher's head struck the edge of a stone, and when he clambered up from his rather undignified position his back was covered with blood. deep silence reigned in the school-room as he walked down the aisle, glaring fiercely right and left. getting his hat he left the school-room and went to a near-by drug store to have his wounds dressed. while he was gone, the children took charge of the school-room and played pranks of every description. abe lincoln took the teacher's chair and played "'fessor." "sallie ann ain't yer got wax in yer mouf?" "yes sar." "den take dis stick and prop yer mouf opun fur half hour. dat'll teach yer a lesson." "billy smith, yer didn't know yer lessun," says teacher abe. "yer may stan' on one leg de ballunce ob de ebenning." "henry jones, yer sassed a white boy ter day. pull off yer jacket. i'll gib yer a lessun dat yer'll not furgit soon. neber buck up to yer s'periors." "john jones, yer black, nappy head rascal, i'll crack yer skull if yer doan keep quiut." "cum year, yer black, cross-eyed little wench, yer. i'll teach yer to go to sleep in here." annie moore was the little girl thus addressed. after each sally from abe there was a hearty roar of laughter, he imitated the absent teacher so perfectly in look, voice, manner, sentiment, and method of punishment. taking down the cowhide used for flogging purposes abe left his seat and was passing to and fro, pretending to flog those who most frequently fell heir to the teacher's wrath. while he was doing this billy smith stealthily crept to the teacher's chair and placed a crooked pin in it in order to catch abe when he returned to sit down. before abe had gone much further the teacher's face appeared at the door, and all scrambled to get into their right places and to assume studious attitudes. billy smith thought of his crooked pin and had the "cold sweats." those who had seen billy put the pin in the chair were torn between two conflicting emotions. they wanted the pin to do its work, and therefore hoped. they feared billy's detection and therefore despaired. however, the teacher did not proceed at once to take his seat. he approached mrs. piedmont and belton, who had taken seats midway the room and were interested spectators of all that had been going on. speaking to mrs. piedmont, he said: "what is your name?" she replied: "hannah lizabeth piedmont." "well, hannah, what is your brat's name?" "his name am belton piedmont, arter his grandaddy." "well, hannah, i am very pleased to receive your brat. he shall not want for attention," he added, in a tone accompanied by a lurking look of hate that made mrs. piedmont shudder and long to have her boy at home again. her desire for his training was so great that she surmounted her misgivings and carried out her purposes to have him enrolled. as the teacher was turning to go to his desk, hearing a rustling noise toward the door, he turned to look. he was, so to speak, petrified with astonishment. there stood on the threshold of the door a woman whose beauty was such as he had never seen surpassed. she held a boy by the hand. she was a mulatto woman, tall and graceful. her hair was raven black and was combed away from as beautiful a forehead as nature could chisel. her eyes were a brown hazel, large and intelligent, tinged with a slight look of melancholy. her complexion was a rich olive, and seemed especially adapted to her face, that revealed not a flaw. the teacher quickly pulled off his hat, which he had not up to that time removed since his return from the drug store. as the lady moved up the aisle toward him, he was taken with stage fright. he recovered self-possession enough to escort her and the boy to the front and give them seats. the whole school divided its attention between the beautiful woman and the discomfitted teacher. they had not known that he was so full of smiles and smirks. "what is your name?" he enquired in his most suave manner. "fairfax belgrave," replied the visitor. "may i be of any service to you, madam?" at the mention of the word madam, she colored slightly. "i desire to have my son enter your school and i trust that you may see your way clear to admit him." "most assuredly madam, most assuredly." saying this, he hastened to his desk, opened it and took out his register. he then sat down, but the next instant leapt several feet into the air, knocking over his desk. he danced around the floor, reaching toward the rear of his pants, yelling: "pull it out! pull it out! pull it out!" the children hid their faces behind their books and chuckled most gleefully. billy smith was struck dumb with terror. abe was rolling on the floor, bellowing with uncontrollable laughter. the teacher finally succeeded in extricating the offending steel and stood scratching his head in chagrin at the spectacle he had made of himself before his charming visitor. he took an internal oath to get his revenge out of mrs. piedmont and her son, who had been the innocent means of his double downfall that day. his desk was arranged in a proper manner and the teacher took his pen and wrote two names, now famous the world over. "bernard belgrave, age years." "belton piedmont, age years." under such circumstances belton began his school career. chapter iii. the parson's advice. with heavy heart and with eyes cast upon the ground, mrs. piedmont walked back home after leaving belton with his teacher. she had intended to make a special plea for her boy, who had all along displayed such precociousness as to fill her bosom with the liveliest hopes. but the teacher was so repulsive in manner that she did not have the heart to speak to him as she had intended. she saw that the happenings of the morning had had the effect of deepening a contemptuous prejudice into hatred, and she felt that her child's school life was to be embittered by the harshest of maltreatment. no restraint was put upon the flogging of colored children by their white teachers, and in belton's case his mother expected the worst. during the whole week she revolved the matter in her mind. there was a conflict in her bosom between her love and her ambition. love prompted her to return and take her son away from school. ambition bade her to let him stay. she finally decided to submit the whole matter to her parson, whom she would invite to dinner on the coming sunday. the sabbath came and mrs. piedmont aroused her family bright and early, for the coming of the parson to take dinner was a great event in any negro household. the house was swept as clean as a broom of weeds tied together could make it. along with the family breakfast, a skillet of biscuits was cooked and a young chicken nicely baked. belton was very active in helping his mother that morning, and she promised to give him a biscuit and a piece of chicken as a reward after the preacher was through eating his dinner. the thought of this coming happiness buoyed belton up, and often he fancied himself munching that biscuit and biting that piece of chicken. these were items of food rarely found in that household. breakfast over, the whole family made preparations for going to sunday school. preparations always went on peacefully until it came to combing hair. the older members of the family endured the ordeal very well; but little "lessie" always screamed as if she was being tortured, and james henry received many kicks and scratches from belton before he was through combing belton's hair. the sunday school and church were always held in the day-school building. the sunday school scholars were all in one class and recited out of the "blue back spelling book." when that was over, members of the school were allowed to ask general questions on the bible, which were answered by anyone volunteering to do so. everyone who had in any way caught a new light on a passage of scripture endeavored, by questioning, to find out as to whether others were as wise as he, and if such was not the case, he gladly enlightened the rest. the sunday school being over, the people stood in groups on the ground surrounding the church waiting for the arrival of the parson from his home, berryville, a town twelve miles distant. he was pastor of three other churches besides the one at winchester, and he preached at each one sunday in the month. after awhile he put in his appearance. he was rather small in stature, and held his head somewhat to one side and looked at you with that knowing look of the parrot. he wore a pair of trousers that had been black, but were now sleet from much wear. they lacked two inches of reaching down to the feet of his high-heeled boots. he had on a long linen cluster that reached below his knees. beneath this was a faded prince albert coat and a vest much too small. on his head there sat, slightly tipped, a high-topped beaver that seemed to have been hidden between two mattresses all the week and taken out and straightened for sunday wear. in his hand he held a walking cane. thus clad he came toward the church, his body thrown slightly back, walking leisurely with the air of quiet dignity possessed by the man sure of his standing, and not under the necessity of asserting it overmuch in his carriage. the brothers pulled off their hats and the sisters put on their best smiles as the parson approached. after a cordial handshake all around, the preacher entered the church to begin the services. after singing a hymn and praying, he took for his text the following "passige of scripter:" "it air harder fur a camel to git through de eye of a cambric needle den fur a rich man to enter de kingdom of heben." this was one of the parson's favorite texts, and the members all settled themselves back to have a good "speritual" time. the preacher began his sermon in a somewhat quiet way, but the members knew that he would "warm up bye and bye." he pictured all rich men as trying to get into heaven, but, he asserted, they invariably found themselves with dives. he exhorted his hearers to stick to jesus. here he pulled off his collar, and the sisters stirred and looked about them. a little later on, the preacher getting "warmer," pulled off his cuffs. the brethren laughed with a sort of joyous jumping up and down all the while--one crying "gib me jesus," another "oh i am gwine home," and so on. one sister who had a white lady's baby in her arms got happy and flung it entirely across the room, it falling into mrs. piedmont's lap, while the frenzied woman who threw the child climbed over benches, rushed into the pulpit, and swung to the preacher's neck, crying--"glory! glory! glory!" in the meanwhile belton had dropped down under one of the benches and was watching the proceedings with an eye of terror. the sermon over and quiet restored, a collection was taken and given to the pastor. mrs. piedmont went forward to put some money on the table and took occasion to step to the pulpit and invite the pastor to dinner. knowing that this meant chicken, the pastor unhesitatingly accepted the invitation, and when church was over accompanied mrs. piedmont and her family home. the preacher caught hold of belton's hand as they walked along. this mark of attention, esteemed by belton as a signal honor, filled his little soul with joy. as he thought of the manner in which the preacher stirred up the people, the amount of the collection that had been given him, and the biscuits and chicken that now awaited him, belton decided that he, too, would like to become a preacher. just before reaching home, according to a preconcerted plan, belton and james henry broke from the group and ran into the house. when the others appeared a little later on, these two were not to be seen. however, no question was asked and no search made. all things were ready and the parson sat down to eat, while the three girls stood about, glancing now and then at the table. the preacher was very voracious and began his meal as though he "meant business." we can now reveal the whereabouts of belton and james henry. they had clambered into the loft for the purpose of watching the progress of the preacher's meal, calculating at each step how much he would probably leave. james henry found a little hole in the loft directly over the table, and through this hole he did his spying. belton took his position at the larger entrance hole, lying flat on his stomach. he poked his head down far enough to see the preacher, but held it in readiness to be snatched back, if the preacher's eyes seemed to be about to wander his way. he was kept in a state of feverish excitement, on the one hand, by fear of detection, and on the other, by a desire to watch the meal. when about half of the biscuits were gone, and the preacher seemed as fresh as ever, belton began to be afraid for his promised biscuit and piece of chicken. he crawled to james henry and said hastily--"james, dees haf gone," and hurriedly resumed his watch. a moment later he called out in a whisper, "he's tuck anudder." down goes belton's head to resume his watch. every time the preacher took another biscuit belton called out the fact to james. all of the chicken was at last destroyed and only one biscuit remained; and belton's whole soul was now centered on that biscuit. in his eagerness to watch he leaned a good distance out, and when the preacher reached forth his hand to take the last one belton was so overcome that he lost his balance and tumbled out of his hole on the floor, kicking, and crying over and over again: "i knowed i wuzunt goin' to git naren dem biscuits." the startled preacher hastily arose from the table and gazed on the little fellow in bewilderment. as soon as it dawned upon him what the trouble was, he hastily got the remaining biscuit and gave it to belton. he also discovered that his voracity had made enemies of the rest of the children, and he very adroitly passed a five cent piece around to each. james henry, forgetting his altitude and anxious not to lose his recompense, cried out loudly from the loft: "amanda ann you git mine fur me." the preacher looked up but saw no one. seeing that his request did not have the desired effect, james henry soon tumbled down full of dust, straw and cobwebs, and came into possession of his appeasing money. the preacher laughed heartily and seemed to enjoy his experience highly. the table was cleared, and the preacher and mrs. piedmont dismissed the children in order to discuss unmolested the subject which had prompted her to extend an invitation to the parson. in view of the intense dislike the teacher had conceived for belton, she desired to know if it were not best to withdraw him from school altogether, rather than to subject him to the harsh treatment sure to come. "let me gib yer my advis, sistah hannah. de greatest t'ing in de wul is edification. ef our race ken git dat we ken git ebery t'ing else. dat is de key. git de key an' yer ken go in de house to go whare you please. as fur his beatin' de brat, yer musn't kick agin dat. he'll beat de brat to make him larn, and won't dat be a blessed t'ing? see dis scar on side my head? old marse sampson knocked me down wid a single-tree tryin' to make me stop larning, and god is so fixed it dat white folks is knocking es down ef we don't larn. ef yer take belton out of school yer'll be fighting 'genst de providence of god." being thus advised by her shepherd, mrs. piedmont decided to keep belton in school. so on monday belton went back to his brutal teacher, and thither we follow him. chapter iv. the turning of a worm. as to who mr. tiberius gracchus leonard was, or as to where he came from, nobody in winchester, save himself, knew. immediately following the close of the civil war, rev. samuel christian, a poor but honorable retired minister of the m.e. church, south, was the first teacher employed to instruct the colored children of the town. he was one of those southerners who had never believed in the morality of slavery, but regarded it as a deep rooted evil beyond human power to uproot. when the manacles fell from the hands of the negroes he gladly accepted the task of removing the scales of ignorance from the blinded eyes of the race. tenderly he labored, valiantly he toiled in the midst of the mass of ignorance that came surging around him. but only one brief year was given to this saintly soul to endeavor to blast the mountains of stupidity which centuries of oppression had reared. he fell asleep. the white men who were trustees of the colored school, were sorely puzzled as to what to do for a successor. a negro, capable of teaching a school, was nowhere near. white young men of the south, generally, looked upon the work of teaching "niggers" with the utmost contempt; and any man who suggested the name of a white young lady of southern birth as a teacher for the colored children was actually in danger of being shot by any member of the insulted family who could handle a pistol. an advertisement was inserted in the washington post to the effect that a teacher was wanted. in answer to this advertisement mr. leonard came. he was a man above the medium height, and possessed a frame not large but compactly built. his forehead was low and narrow; while the back of his head looked exceedingly intellectual. looking at him from the front you would involuntarily exclaim: "what an infamous scoundrel." looking at him from the rear you would say: "there certainly is brain power in that head." the glance of mr. leonard's eye was furtive, and his face was sour looking indeed. at times when he felt that no one was watching him, his whole countenance and attitude betokened the rage of despair. most people who looked at him felt that he carried in his bosom a dark secret. as to scholarship, he was unquestionably proficient. no white man in all the neighboring section, ranked with him intellectually. despite the lack of all knowledge of his moral character and previous life, he was pronounced as much too good a man to fritter away his time on "niggers." such was the character of the man into whose hands was committed the destiny of the colored children of winchester. as his mother foresaw would be the case, belton was singled out by the teacher as a special object on which he might expend his spleen. for a man to be as spiteful as he was, there must have been something gnawing at his heart. but toward bernard none of this evil spirit was manifested. he seemed to have chosen bernard for his pet, and belton for his "pet aversion." to the one he was all kindness; while to the other he was cruel in the extreme. often he would purchase flowers from the florist and give to bernard to bear home to his mother. on these days he would seemingly take pains to give belton fresh bruises to take home to _his_ mother. when he had a particularly good dinner he would invite bernard to dine with him, and would be sure to find some pretext for forbidding belton to partake of his own common meal. belton was by no means insensible to all these acts of discrimination. nor did bernard fail to perceive that he, himself, was the teacher's pet. he clambered on to the teacher's knees, played with his mustache, and often took his watch and wore it. the teacher seemed to be truly fond of him. the children all ascribed this partiality to the color of bernard's skin, and they all, except belton, began to envy and despise bernard. of course they told their parents of the teacher's partiality and their parents thus became embittered against the teacher. but however much they might object to him and desire his removal, their united protests would not have had the weight of a feather. so the teacher remained at winchester for twelve years. during all these years he instructed our young friends belton and bernard. strangely enough, his ardent love for bernard and his bitter hatred of belton accomplished the very same result in respect to their acquirements. the teacher soon discovered that both boys were talented far beyond the ordinary, and that both were ambitious. he saw that the way to wound and humiliate belton was to make bernard excel him. thus he bent all of his energies to improve bernard's mind. whenever he heard belton recite he brought all of his talents to bear to point out his failures, hoping thus to exalt bernard, out of whose work he strove to keep all blemishes. thus belton became accustomed to the closest scrutiny, and prepared himself accordingly. the result was that bernard did not gain an inch on him. the teacher introduced the two boys into every needed field of knowledge, as they grew older, hoping always to find some branch in which bernard might display unquestioned superiority. there were two studies in which the two rivals dug deep to see which could bring forth the richest treasures; and these gave coloring to the whole of their afterlives. one, was the history of the united states, and the other, rhetoric. in history, that portion that charmed them most was the story of the rebellion against the yoke of england. far and wide they went in search of everything that would throw light on this epoch. they became immersed in the spirit of that heroic age. as a part of their rhetorical training they were taught to declaim. thanks to their absorption in the history of the revolution, their minds ran to the sublime in literature; and they strove to secure pieces to declaim that recited the most heroic deeds of man, of whatever nationality. leonidas, marco bozarris, arnold winklereid, louis kossuth, robert emmett, martin luther, patrick henry and such characters furnished the pieces almost invariably declaimed. they threw their whole souls into these, and the only natural thing resulted. no human soul can breathe the atmosphere of heroes and read with bated breath their deeds of daring without craving for the opportunity to do the like. thus the education of these two young men went on. at the expiration of twelve years they had acquired an academic education that could not be surpassed anywhere in the land. their reputation as brilliant students and eloquent speakers had spread over the whole surrounding country. the teacher decided to graduate the young men; and he thought to utilize the occasion as a lasting humiliation of belton and exaltation of his favorite, bernard belgrave. belton felt this. in the first part of this last school year of the boys, he had told them to prepare for a grand commencement exercise, and they acted accordingly. each one chose his subject and began the preparation of his oration early in the session, each keeping his subject and treatment secret from the other. the teacher had announced that numerous white citizens would be present; among them the congressman from the district and the mayor of the town. belton determined upon two things, away down in his soul. he determined to win in the oratorical contest, and to get his revenge on his teacher on the day that the teacher had planned for his--(belton's) humiliation. bernard did not have the incentive that belton did; but defeat was ever galling to him, and he, too, had determined to win. the teacher often reviewed the progress made by bernard on his oration, but did not notice belton's at all. he strove to make bernard's oration as nearly perfect as labor and skill could make it. but belton was not asleep as to either of the resolutions he had formed. some nights he could be seen stealing away from the congressman's residence. on others he could be seen leaving the neighborhood of the school, with a spade in one hand and a few carpenter's tools in the other. he went to the congressman, who was a polished orator with a national reputation, in order that he might purge his oration from its impurities of speech. as the congressman read the oration and perceived the depth of thought, the logical arrangement, the beauty and rhythm of language, and the wide research displayed, he opened his eyes wide with astonishment. he was amazed that a young man of such uncommon talents could have grown up in his town and he not know it. belton's marvelous talents won his respect and admiration, and he gave him access to his library and criticized his oration whenever needed. secretly and silently preparations went on for the grand conflict. at last the day came. the colored men and women of the place laid aside all work to attend the exercises. the forward section of seats was reserved for the white people. the congressman, the mayor, the school trustees and various other men of standing came, accompanied by their wives and daughters. scholars of various grades had parts to perform on the programme, but the eyes of all sought the bottom of the page where were printed the names of the two oratorical gladiators: "belton piedmont. bernard belgrave." the teacher had given bernard the last place, deeming that the more advantageous. he appointed the congressman, the mayor, and one of the school trustees to act as judges, to decide to whom he should award a beautiful gold medal for the more excellent oration. the congressman politely declined and named another trustee in his stead. then the contest began. as belton walked up on the platform the children greeted him with applause. he announced as his subject: "the contribution of the anglo-saxon to the cause of human liberty." in his strong, earnest voice, he began to roll off his well turned periods. the whole audience seemed as if in a trance. his words made their hearts burn, and time and again he made them burst forth in applause. the white people who sat and listened to his speech looked upon it as a very revelation to them, they themselves not having had as clear a conception of the glory of their race as this negro now revealed. when he had finished, white men and women crowded to the front to congratulate him upon his effort, and it was many minutes before quiet was restored sufficiently to allow the programme to proceed. bernard took his position on the platform, announcing as his subject: "robert emmett." his voice was sweet and well modulated and never failed to charm. admiration was plainly depicted on every face as he proceeded. he brought to bear all the graces of a polished orator, and more than once tears came into the eyes of his listeners. particularly affecting was his description of emmett's death. at the conclusion it was evident that his audience felt that it would have been difficult to have handled that subject better. the judges now retired to deliberate as to whom to give the prize. while they are out, let us examine belton's plans for carrying out the second thing, upon the accomplishment of which he was determined; viz., revenge. in the rear of the schoolhouse, there stood an old wood-shed. for some slight offence the teacher had, two or three years back, made belton the fire-maker for the balance of his school life instead of passing the task around according to custom. thus the care of the wood-house had fallen permanently to belton's lot. during the last year belton had dug a large hole running from the floor of the wood-shed to a point under the platform of the school room. the dirt from this underground channel he cast into a deep old unused well, not far distant. once under the platform, he kept on digging, making the hole larger by far. numerous rocks abounded in the neighborhood, and these he used to wall up his underground room, so that it would hold water. just in the middle of the school-room platform he cut, from beneath, a square hole, taking in the spot where the teacher invariably stood when addressing the school. he cut the boards until they lacked but a very little, indeed, of being cut through. all looked well above, but a baby would not be safe standing thereon. belton contrived a kind of prop with a weight attached. this prop would serve to keep the cut section from breaking through. the attached weight was at rest in a hole left in the wall of the cavity near its top. if you dislocated the weight, the momentum that it would gather in the fall would pull down the prop to which it was attached. finally, belton fastened a strong rope to the weight, and ran the rope under the schoolhouse floor until it was immediately beneath his seat. with an auger he made a hole in the floor and brought the end through. he managed to keep this bit of rope concealed, while at the same time he had perfect command of his trap door. for two or three nights previous to commencement day belton had worked until nearly morning filling this cistern with water. now when through delivering his oration, he had returned to his seat to await the proper moment for the payment of his teacher. the judges were out debating the question as to who had won. they seemed to be unable to decide who was victorious and beckoned for the teacher to step outside. they said: "that black nigger has beat the yellow one all to pieces this time, but we don't like to see nigger blood triumph over any anglo-saxon blood. ain't there any loop-hole where we can give it to bernard, anyhow?" "well, yes," said the teacher eagerly, "on the ground of good behavior." "there you hit it," said the mayor. "so we all decide." the judges filed in, and the mayor arose to announce their decision. "we award," said he to the breathless audience, "the prize to bernard belgrave." "no! no! no!" burst forth from persons all over the house. the congressman arose and went up to belton and congratulated him upon his triumph over oratory, and lamented his defeat by prejudice. this action caused a perceptible stir in the entire audience. the teacher went to his desk and produced a large gold medal. he took his accustomed place on the platform and began thus: "ladies and gentlemen, this is the proudest moment of my life." he got no further. belton had pulled the rope, the rope had caused the weight to fall, and the weight had pulled the prop and down had gone the teacher into a well of water. "murder! murder! murder!" he cried "help! help! help! i am drowning. take me out, it is cold." the audience rushed forward expecting to find the teacher in a dangerous situation; but they found him standing, apparently unharmed, in a cistern, the water being a little more than waist deep. their fright gave way to humor and a merry shout went up from the throats of the scholars. the colored men and women laughed to one side, while the white people smiled as though they had admired the feat as a fine specimen of falling from the sublime to the ridiculous. bending down over the well, the larger students caught hold of the teacher's arms and lifted him out. he stood before the audience wet and shivering, his clothes sticking to him, and water dripping from his hair. the medal was gone. the teacher dismissed the audience, drew his last month's pay and left that night for parts unknown. sometimes, even a worm will turn when trodden upon. chapter v. belton finds a friend. long before the rifle ball, the cannon shot, and the exploding shell were through their fiendish task of covering the earth with mortals slain; while the startled air was yet busy in hurrying to heaven the groans of the dying soldier, accompanied as they were by the despairing shrieks of his loved ones behind; while horrid war, in frenzied joy, yet waved his bloody sword over the nation's head, and sought with eager eagle eyes every drop of clotted gore over which he might exult; in the midst of such direful days as these, there were those at the north whom the love of god and the eye of faith taught to leap over the scene of strife to prepare the trembling negro for the day of freedom, which, refusing to have a dawn, had burst in meridian splendor upon his dazzled gaze. into the southland there came rushing consecrated christians, men and women, eager to provide for the negro a christian education. those who stayed behind gathered up hoarded treasures and gladly poured them into the lap of the south for the same laudable purpose. as a result of the coming of this army of workers, bearing in their arms millions of money, ere many years had sped, well nigh every southern state could proudly boast of one or more colleges where the aspiring negro might quench has thirst for knowledge. so when bernard and belton had finished their careers at the winchester public school, colleges abounded in the south beckoning them to enter. bernard preferred to go to a northern institution, and his mother sent him to enter harvard university. belton was poor and had no means of his own with which to pursue his education; but by the hand of providence a most unexpected door was opened to him. the winchester correspondent of the _richmond daily temps_ reported the commencement exercises of the winchester public school of the day that belton graduated. the congressman present at the exercises spoke so highly of belton's speech that the correspondent secured a copy from belton and sent it to the editor of _the temps_. this was printed in _the temps_ and created a great sensation in political and literary circles in every section of the country. every newspaper of any consequence reproduced the oration in full. it was published and commented upon by the leading journals of england. the president of the united states wrote a letter of congratulation to belton. everywhere the piece was hailed as a classic. after reading the oration, mr. v.m. king, editor of _the temps_, decided to take it home with him and read it to his wife. she met him at the door and as he kissed her she noticed that there was a sober look in his eye. tenderly he brushed back a few stray locks of his wife's hair, saying as he did so, in a somewhat troubled tone: "wife, it has come at last. may the good lord cease not to watch over our beloved but erring land." she inquired as to what he meant. he led her to his study and read to her belton's oration. in order to understand the words which we have just quoted as being spoken by him to his wife, let us, while he reads, become a little better acquainted with mr. king and his paper, _the temps_. mr. king was born and reared in virginia, was educated at a northern university, and had sojourned for several years in england. he was a man of the broadest culture. for several years he had given the negro problem most profound study. his views on the subject were regarded by the white people of the south as ultra-liberal. these views he exploited through his paper, _the temps_, with a boldness and vigor, gaining thereby great notoriety. though a democrat in politics, he was most bitterly opposed to the practice, almost universal in the south, of cheating the negro out of his right to vote. he preached that it was unjust to the negro and fatal to the morals of the whites. on every possible occasion he viciously assaulted the practice of lynching, denouncing it in most scathing terms. in short, he was an outspoken advocate of giving the negro every right accorded him by the constitution of the united states. he saw the south leading the young negro boy and girl to school, where, at the expense of the state, they were taught to read history and learn what real liberty was, and the glorious struggles through which the human race had come in order to possess it. he foresaw that the rising, educated negro would allow his eye to linger long on this bloody but glorious page until that most contagious of diseases, devotion to liberty, infected his soul. he reasoned that the negro who had endured the hardships of slavery might spend his time looking back and thanking god for that from which he had made his escape; but the young negro, knowing nothing of physical slavery, would be peering into the future, measuring the distance that he had yet to go before he was truly free, and would be asking god and his own right arm for the power to secure whatever rights were still withheld. he argued that, living as the negro did beneath the american flag, known as the flag of freedom, studying american history, and listening on the outer edge of great fourth of july crowds to eloquent orators discourse on freedom, it was only a matter of a few years before the negro would deify liberty as the anglo-saxon race had done, and count it a joy to perish on her altar. in order that the republic might ever stand, he knew that the principles of liberty would have to be continually taught with all the eloquence and astuteness at command; and if this teaching had the desired effect upon the white man it would also be powerful enough to awaken the negro standing by his side. so, his ear was to the ground, expecting every moment to hear the far off sounds of awakened negroes coming to ask for liberty, and if refused, to slay or be slain. when he read belton's oration he saw that the flame of liberty was in his heart, her sword in his hand, and the disdain of death stamped on his brow. he felt that belton was the morning star which told by its presence that dawn was near at hand. thus it was that he said to his wife: "wife, it has come at last. may the good lord cease not to watch over our beloved land." this expression was not the offspring of fear as to the outcome of a possible conflict, for, anglo-saxon like, that was with him a foregone conclusion in favor of his own race. but he shuddered at the awful carnage that would of necessity ensue if two races, living house to house, street to street, should be equally determined upon a question at issue, equally disdainful of life, fighting with the rancor always attendant upon a struggle between two races that mutually despise and detest each other. he knew that it was more humane, more in accordance with right, more acceptable with god, to admit to the negro that anglo-saxon doctrine of the equality of man was true, rather than to murder the negro for accepting him at his word, though spoken to others. feeling thus, he pleaded with his people to grant to the negro his rights, though he never hinted at a possible rebellion, for fear that the mention of it might hasten the birth of the idea in the brain of the negro. that evening, after he had read the oration to his wife and told her of his forebodings, he sat with his face buried in his hands, brooding over the situation. late in the night he retired to rest, and the next morning, when he awoke, his wife was standing by his bed, calling him. she saw that his sleep was restless and thought that he was having troubled dreams. and so he was. he dreamed that a large drove of fatted swine were munching acorns in a very dense forest of oaks, both tall and large. the oaks were sending the acorns down in showers, and the hogs were greedily consuming them. the hogs ate so many that they burst open, and from their rotting carcasses fresh oaks sprang and grew with surprising rapidity. a dark cloud arose and a terrible hurricane swept over the forest; and the old and new oaks fought furiously in the storm, until a loud voice, like unto that of a god, cried out above all the din of the hurricane, saying in tones of thunder: "know ye not that ye are parents and children? parents, recognize your children. children, be proud of the parents from whom you spring." the hurricane ceased, the clouds sped away as if in terror, and the oaks grew up together under a clear sky of the purest blue, and beautiful birds of all kinds built their nests in the trees, and carolled forth the sweetest songs. he placed upon the dream the following interpretation: the swine were the negroes. the oak trees were the white people. the acorns were the doctrine of human liberty, everywhere preached by anglo-saxons. the negroes, feasting off of the same thought, had become the same kind of being as the white man, and grew up to a point of equality. the hurricane was the contest between the two races over the question of equality. the voice was intended to inform the whites that they had brought about these aspirations in the bosom of the negro, and that the liberty-loving negro was their legitimate offspring, and not a bastard. the whites should recognize their own doings. on the other hand, the negro should not be over boastful, and should recognize that the lofty conception of the dignity of man and value and true character of liberty were taught him by the anglo-saxon. the birds betokened a happy adjustment of all differences; and the dream that began in the gloom of night ended in the dawn of day. mr. king was very cheerful, therefore, and decided to send to winchester for belton, thinking that it might be a wise thing to keep an eye and a friendly hand on a young negro of such promise. in the course of a couple of days, belton, in response to his request, arrived in richmond. he called at the office of _the temps_ and was ushered into mr. king's office. mr. king had him take a seat. he enquired of belton his history, training, etc. he also asked as to his plans for the future. finding that belton was desirous of securing a college education, but was destitute of funds, mr. king gladly embraced the opportunity of displaying his kind interest. he offered to pay belton's way through college, and the offer was gladly accepted. he told belton to call at his home that evening at seven o'clock to receive a check for his entire college course. at the appointed hour belton appeared at mr. king's residence. mr. king was sitting on his front porch, between his wife and aged mother, while his two children, a girl and boy, were playing on the lawn. belton was invited to take a seat, much to his surprise. seeing a stranger, the children left their play and came to their father, one on each side. they looked with questioning eyes from father to belton, as if seeking to know the purpose of the visit. mr. king took the check from his pocket and extended it toward belton, and said: "mr. piedmont, this will carry you through college. i have only one favor to ask of you. in all your dealings with my people recognize the fact that there are two widely separated classes of us, and that there is a good side to the character of the worst class. always seek for and appeal to that side of their nature." belton very feelingly thanked mr. king, and assured him that he would treasure his words. he was true to his promise, and decided from that moment to never class all white men together, whatever might be the provocation, and to never regard any class as totally depraved. this is one of the keys to his future life. remember it. chapter vi. a young rebel. in the city of nashville, tennessee, there is a far famed institution of learning called stowe university, in honor of mrs. harriet beecher stowe, author of "uncle tom's cabin." this institution was one of the many scores of its kind, established in the south by northern philanthropy, for the higher education of the negro. though called a university, it was scarcely more than a normal school with a college department attached. it was situated just on the outskirts of the city, on a beautiful ten-acre plot of ground. the buildings were five in number, consisting of a dormitory for young men, two for young ladies, a building for recitations, and another, called the teachers' mansion; for the teachers resided there. these buildings were very handsome, and were so arranged upon the level campus as to present a very attractive sight. with the money which had been so generously given him by mr. king, belton entered this school. that was a proud day in his life when he stepped out of the carriage and opened the university gate, feeling that he, a negro, was privileged to enter college. julius cæsar, on entering rome in triumph, with the world securely chained to his chariot wheels; napoleon, bowing to receive the diadem of the cæsars' won by the most notable victories ever known to earth; general grant, on his triumphal tour around the globe, when kings and queens were eager rivals to secure from this man of humble birth the sweeter smile; none of these were more full of pleasurable emotion than this poor negro lad, who now with elastic step and beating heart marched with head erect beneath the arch of the doorway leading into stowe university. belton arrived on the saturday preceding the monday on which school would open for that session. he found about three hundred and sixty students there from all parts of the south, the young women outnumbering the young men in about the proportion of two to one. on the sunday night following his arrival the students all assembled in the general assembly room of the recitation building, which room, in the absence of a chapel, was used as the place for religious worship. the president of the school, a venerable white minister from the north, had charge of the service that evening. he did not on this occasion preach a sermon, but devoted the hour to discoursing upon the philanthropic work done by the white people of the north for the freedmen of the south. a map of the united states was hanging on the wall, facing the assembled school. on this map there were black dots indicating all places where a school of learning had been planted for the colored people by their white friends of the north. belton sat closely scrutinizing the map. his eyes swept from one end to the other. persons were allowed to ask any questions desired, and belton was very inquisitive. when the hour of the lecture was over he was deeply impressed with three thoughts: first, his heart went out in love to those who had given so freely of their means and to those who had dedicated their lives to the work of uplifting his people. secondly, he saw an immense army of young men and women being trained in the very best manner in every section of the south, to go forth to grapple with the great problems before them. he felt proud of being a member of so promising an army, and felt that they were to determine the future of the race. in fact, this thought was reiterated time and again by the president. thirdly, belton was impressed that it was the duty of those receiving such great blessings to accomplish achievements worthy of the care bestowed. he felt that the eyes of the north and of the civilized world were upon them to see the fruits of the great labor and money spent upon them. before he retired to rest that night, he besought god to enable him and his people, as a mark of appreciation of what had been done for the race, to rise to the full measure of just expectation and prove worthy of all the care bestowed. he went through school, therefore, as though the eyes of the world were looking at the race enquiringly; the eyes of the north expectantly; and the eyes of god lovingly,--three grand incentives to his soul. when these schools were first projected, the white south that then was, fought them with every weapon at its command. ridicule, villification, ostracism, violence, arson, murder were all employed to hinder the progress of the work. outsiders looked on and thought it strange that they should do this. but, just as a snake, though a venomous animal, by instinct knows its enemy and fights for its life with desperation, just so the old south instinctively foresaw danger to its social fabric as then constituted, and therefore despised and fought the agencies that were training and inspiring the future leaders of the negro race in such a manner as to render a conflict inevitable and of doubtful termination. the errors in the south, anxious for eternal life, rightfully feared these schools more than they would have feared factories making powder, moulding balls and fashioning cannons. but the new south, the south that, in the providence of god, is yet to be, could not have been formed in the womb of time had it not been for these schools. and so the receding murmurs of the scowling south that was, are lost in the gladsome shouts of the south which, please god, is yet to be. but lest we linger too long, let us enter school here with belton. on the monday following the sunday night previously indicated, belton walked into the general assembly room to take his seat with the other three hundred and sixty pupils. it was the custom for the school to thus assemble for devotional exercises. the teachers sat in a row across the platform, facing the pupils. the president sat immediately in front of the desk, in the center of the platform, and the teachers sat on either side of him. to belton's surprise, he saw a colored man sitting on the right side of and next to the president. he was sitting there calmly, self-possessed, exactly like the rest. he crossed his legs and stroked his beard in a most matter of fact way. belton stared at this colored man, with his lips apart and his body bent forward. he let his eyes scan the faces of all the white teachers, male and female, but would end up with a stare at the colored man sitting there. finally, he hunched his seat-mate with his elbow and asked what man that was. he was told that it was the colored teacher of the faculty. belton knew that there was a colored teacher in the school but he had no idea that he would be thus honored with a seat with the rest of the teachers. a broad, happy smile spread over his face, and his eyes danced with delight. he had, in his boyish heart, dreamed of the equality of the races and sighed and hoped for it; but here, he beheld it in reality. though he, as a rule, shut his eyes when prayer was being offered, he kept them open that morning, and peeped through his fingers at that thrilling sight,--a colored man on equal terms with the white college professors. just before the classes were dismissed to their respective class rooms, the teachers came together in a group to discuss some matter, in an informal way. the colored teacher was in the center of the group and discussed the matter as freely as any; and he was listened to with every mark of respect. belton kept a keen watch on the conference and began rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself with delight at seeing the colored teacher participating on equal terms with the other teachers. the colored teacher's views seemed about to prevail, and as one after another the teachers seemed to fall in line with him belton could not contain himself longer, but clapped his hands and gave a loud, joyful, "ha! ha!" the eyes of the whole school were on him in an instant, and the faculty turned around to discover the source and cause of the disorder. but belton had come to himself as soon as he made the noise, and in a twinkling was as quiet and solemn looking as a mouse. the faculty resumed its conference and the students passed the query around as to what was the matter with the "newcomer." a number tapped their heads significantly, saying: "wrong here." how far wrong were they! they should have put their hands over their hearts and said: "the fire of patriotism here;" for belton had here on a small scale, the gratification of the deepest passion of his soul, viz., equality of the races. and what pleased him as much as anything else was the dignified, matter of fact way in which the teacher bore his honors. belton afterwards discovered that this colored man was vice-president of the faculty. on a morning, later in the session, the president announced that the faculty would hold its regular weekly meeting that evening, but that he would have to be in the city to attend to other masters. belton's heart bounded at the announcement. knowing that the colored teacher was vice-president of the faculty, he saw that he would preside. belton determined to see that meeting of the faculty if it cost him no end of trouble. he could not afford, under any circumstances, to fail to see that colored man preside over those white men and women. that night, about : o'clock, when the faculty meeting had progressed about half way, belton made a rope of his bed clothes and let himself down to the ground from the window of his room on the second floor of the building. about twenty yards distant was the "mansion," in one room of which the teachers held their faculty meetings. the room in which the meeting was held was on the side of the "mansion" furthest from the dormitory from which belton had just come. the "mansion" dog was belton's friend, and a soft whistle quieted his bark. belton stole around to the side of the house, where the meeting was being held. the weather was mild and the window was hoisted. belton fell on his knees and crawled to the window, and pulling it up cautiously peeped in. he saw the colored teacher in the chair in the center of the room and others sitting about here and there. he gazed with rapture on the sight. he watched, unmolested, for a long while. one of the lady teachers was tearing up a piece of paper and arose to come to the window to throw it out. belton was listening, just at that time, to what the colored teacher was saying, and did not see the lady coming in his direction. nor did the lady see the form of a man until she was near at hand. at the sight she threw up her hands and screamed loudly from fright. belton turned and fled precipitately. the chicken-coop door had been accidentally left open and belton, unthinkingly, jumped into the chicken house. the chickens set up a lively cackle, much to his chagrin. he grasped an old rooster to stop him, but missing the rooster's throat, the rooster gave the alarm all the more vociferously. teachers had now crowded to the window and were peering out. some of the men started to the door to come out. belton saw this movement and decided that the best way for him to do was to play chicken thief and run. grasping a hen with his other hand, he darted out of the chicken house and fled from the college ground, the chickens squalling all the while. he leapt the college fence at a bound and wrung off the heads of the chickens to stop the noise. the teachers decided that they had been visited by a negro, hunting for chickens; laughed heartily at their fright and resumed deliberations. thus again a patriot was mistaken for a chicken thief; and in the south to-day a race that dreams of freedom, equality, and empire, far more than is imagined, is put down as a race of chicken thieves. as in belton's case, this conception diverts attention from places where startling things would otherwise be discovered. in due time belton crept back to the dormitory, and by a signal agreed upon, roused his room-mate, who let down the rope, by means of which he ascended; and when seated gave his room-mate an account of his adventure. sometime later on, belton in company with another student was sent over to a sister university in nashville to carry a note for the president. this university also had a colored teacher who was one point in advance of belton's. this teacher ate at the same table with the white teachers, while belton's teacher ate with the students. belton passed by the dining room of the teachers of this sister university and saw the colored teacher enjoying a meal with the white teachers. he could not enjoy the sight as much as he would have liked, from thinking about the treatment his teacher was receiving. he had not, prior to this, thought of that discrimination, but now it burned him. he returned to his school and before many days had passed he had called together all the male students. he informed them that they ought to perfect a secret organization and have a password. they all agreed to secrecy and belton gave this as the pass word: "equality or death." he then told them that it was his ambition and purpose to coerce the white teachers into allowing the colored teacher to eat with them. they all very readily agreed; for the matter of his eating had been thoroughly canvassed for a number of sessions, but it seemed as though no one dared to suggest a combination. during slavery all combinations of slaves were sedulously guarded against, and a fear of combinations seems to have been injected into the negro's very blood. the very boldness of belton's idea swept the students away from the lethargic harbor in which they had been anchored, and they were eager for action. belton was instructed to prepare the complaint, which they all agreed to sign. they decided that it was to be presented to the president just before devotional exercises and an answer was to be demanded forthwith. one of the young men had a sister among the young lady students, and, through her belton's rebellion was organized among the girls and their signatures secured. the eventful morning came. the teachers glanced over the assembled students, and were surprised to see them dressed in their best clothes as though it was the sabbath. there was a quiet satisfied look on their faces that the teachers did not understand. the president arrived a little late and found an official envelope on his desk. he hurriedly broke the seal and began to read. his color came and went. the teachers looked at him wonderingly. the president laid the document aside and began the devotional exercises. he was nervous throughout, and made several blunders. he held his hymn book upside down while they were singing, much to the amusement of the school. it took him some time to find the passage of scripture which he desired to read, and after reading forgot for some seconds to call on some one to pray. when the exercises were through he arose and took the document nervously in hand. he said; "i have in my hands a paper from the students of this institution concerning a matter with which they have nothing to do. this is my answer. the classes will please retire." here he gave three strokes to the gong, the signal for dispersion. but not a student moved. the president was amazed. he could not believe his own eyes. he rang the gong a second time and yet no one moved. he then in nervous tones repeated his former assertions and then pulled the gong nervously many times in succession. all remained still. at a signal from belton, all the students lifted their right hands, each bearing a small white board on which was printed in clear type: "equality or death." the president fell back, aghast, and the white teachers were all struck dumb with fear. they had not dreamed that a combination of their pupils was possible, and they knew not what it foreboded. a number grasped the paper that was giving so much trouble and read it. they all then held a hurried consultation and assured the students that the matter should receive due attention. the president then rang the gong again but the students yet remained. belton then arose and stated that it was the determination of the students to not move an inch unless the matter was adjusted then and there. and that faculty of white teachers beat a hasty retreat and held up the white flag! they agreed that the colored teacher should eat with them. the students broke forth into cheering, and flaunted a black flag on which was painted in white letters; "victory." they rose and marched out of doors two by two, singing "john brown's body lies mouldering in the grave, and we go marching on." the confused and bewildered teachers remained behind, busy with their thoughts. they felt like hens who had lost their broods. the cringing, fawning, sniffling, cowardly negro which slavery left, had disappeared, and a new negro, self-respecting, fearless, and determined in the assertion of his rights was at hand. ye who chronicle history and mark epochs in the career of races and nations must put here a towering, gigantic, century stone, as marking the passing of one and the ushering in of another great era in the history of the colored people of the united states. rebellions, for one cause or another, broke out in almost every one of these schools presided over by white faculties, and as a rule, the negro students triumphed. these men who engineered and participated in these rebellions were the future leaders of their race. in these rebellions, they learned the power of combinations, and that white men could be made to capitulate to colored men under certain circumstances. in these schools, probably one hundred thousand students had these thoughts instilled in them. these one hundred thousand went to their respective homes and told of their prowess to their playmates who could not follow them to the college walls. in the light of these facts the great events yet to be recorded are fully accounted for. remember that this was belton's first taste of rebellion against the whites for the securing of rights denied simply because of color. in after life he is the moving, controlling, guiding spirit in one on a far larger scale; it need not come as a surprise. his teachers and school-mates predicted this of him. chapter vii. a sermon, a sock and a fight. belton remained at stowe university, acquiring fame as an orator and scholar. his intellect was pronounced by all to be marvelously bright. we now pass over all his school career until we come to the closing days of the session in which he graduated. school was to close on thursday, and the sunday night previous had been designated as the time for the baccalaureate sermon. on this occasion the entire school assembled in the general assembly room,--the graduating class occupying the row of front seats stretching across the room. the class, this year, numbered twenty-five; and they presented an appearance that caused the hearts of the people to swell with pride. dr. lovejoy, president of the university, was to preach the sermon. he chose for his text, "the kingdom of god is within us." we shall choose from his discourse just such thoughts as may throw light upon some events yet to be recorded, which might not otherwise be accounted for: "young men, we shall soon push you forth into the midst of a turbulent world, to play such a part as the voice of god may assign you. you go forth, amid the shouts and huzzahs of cheering friends, and the anxious prayers of the faithful of god. the part that you play, the character of your return journey, triumphant or inglorious, will depend largely upon how well you have learned the lesson of this text. remember that the kingdom of god is within you. do not go forth into the world to demand favors of the world, but go forth to give unto the world. be strong in your own hearts. "the world is like unto a wounded animal that has run a long way and now lies stretched upon the ground, the blood oozing forth from gaping wounds and pains darting through its entire frame. the huntsman, who comes along to secure and drink the feverish milk of this animal that is all but a rotting carcass, seriously endangers his own well being. so, young men, do not look upon this dying, decaying world to feed and support you. you must feed and support it. carry fresh, warm, invigorating blood in your veins to inject into the veins of the world. this is far safer and nobler than sticking the lance into the swollen veins of the world, to draw forth its putrid blood for your own use. i not only exhort you but i warn you. you may go to this dying animal as a surgeon, and proceed to cut off the sound portions for your own use. you may deceive the world for awhile, but it will, ere long, discover whether you are a vandal or a surgeon; and if it finds you to be the former, when you are closest to its bosom, it will squeeze you tightly and tear your face to shreds. "i wish now to apply these thoughts to your immediate circumstances. "you shall be called upon to play a part in the adjusting of positions between the negro and anglo-saxon races of the south. the present status of affairs cannot possibly remain. the anglo-saxon race must surrender some of its outposts, and the negro will occupy these. to bring about this evacuation on the part of the anglo-saxon, and the forward march of the negro, will be your task. this is a grave and delicate task, fraught with much good or evil, weal or woe. let us urge you to undertake it in the spirit to benefit the world, and not merely to advance your own glory. "the passions of men will soon be running high, and by feeding these passions with the food for which they clamor you may attain the designation of a hero. but, with all the energy of my soul, i exhort you to not play with fire, merely for the sake of the glare that it may cast upon you. use no crisis for self-aggrandizement. be so full of your own soul's wealth that these temptations may not appeal to you. when your vessel is ploughing the roughest seas and encountering the fiercest gales, consult as your chart the welfare of the ship and crew, though you may temporarily lose fame as a captain. "young men, you are highly favored of god. a glorious destiny awaits your people. the gates of the beautiful land of the future are flung wide. your people stand before these gates peering eagerly within. they are ready to march. they are waiting for their commanders and the command to move forward. you are the commanders who must give the command. i urge, i exhort, i beseech you, my dear boys, to think not of yourselves. let your kingdom be within. lead them as they ought to be led, taking no thought to your own glory. "if you heed my voice you shall become true patriots. if you disregard it, you will become time-serving demagogues, playing upon the passions of the people for the sake of short-lived notoriety. such men would corral all the tigers in the forest and organize them into marauding regiments simply for the honor of being in the lead. be ye none of these, my boys. may your alma mater never feel called upon to cry to god in anguish to paralyze the hand that she herself has trained. "be not a burrowing parasite, feasting off of the world's raw blood. let the world draw life from you. use not the misfortunes of your people as stones of a monument erected to your name. if you do, the iron fist of time will knock it over on your grave to crumble your decaying bones to further dust. "always serve the world as the voice of good conscience, instructed by a righteous god, may direct. do this and thou shalt live; live in the sweetened memory of your countrymen; live in the heart of your alma mater; live when the earth is floating dust, when the stars are dead, when the sun is a charred and blackened ruin; live on the bosom of your savior, by the throne of his god, in the eternal heavens." the teacher's soul was truly in his discourse and his thoughts sank deep into the hearts of his hearers. none listened more attentively than belton. none were more deeply impressed than he. none more readily incorporated the principles enumerated as a part of their living lives. when the preacher sat down he bowed his head in his hands. his frame shook. his white locks fluttered in the gentle spring breeze. in silence he prayed. he earnestly implored god to not allow his work and words to be in vain. the same fervent prayer was on belton's lips, rising from the center of his soul. somewhere, these prayers met, locked arms and went before god together. in due time the answer came. this sermon had much to do with belton's subsequent career. but an incident apparently trivial in itself was the occasion of a private discourse that had even greater influence over him. it occurred on thursday following the night of the delivery of the sermon just reported. it was on this wise: belton had, in everything, excelled his entire class, and was, according to the custom, made valedictorian. his room-mate was insanely jealous of him, and sought every way possible to humiliate him. he had racked his brain for a scheme to play on belton on commencement day, and he at last found one that gave him satisfaction. there was a student in stowe university who was noted for his immense height and for the size and scent of his feet. his feet perspired freely, summer and winter, and the smell was exceedingly offensive. on this account he roomed to himself. whenever other students called to see him he had a very effective way of getting rid of them, when he judged that they had stayed long enough. he would complain of a corn and forthwith pull off a shoe. if his room was crowded, this act invariably caused it to be empty. the fame of these feet spread to the teachers and young ladies, and, in fact, to the city. and the huge mississippian seemed to relish the distinction. whenever belton was to deliver an oration he always arranged his clothes the night beforehand. so, on the wednesday night of the week in question, he carefully brushed and arranged his clothes for the next day. in the valedictory there were many really touching things, and in rehearsing it before his room-mate belton had often shed tears. fearing that he might he so touched that tears would come to his eyes in the final delivery, he had bought a most beautiful and costly silk handkerchief. he carefully stowed this away in the tail pocket of his handsome prince albert suit of lovely black. he hung his coat in the wardrobe, very carefully, so that he would merely have to take it down and put it on the next day. his room-mate watched his movements closely, but slyly. he arose when he saw belton hang his coat up. he went down the corridor until he arrived at the room occupied by the mississippian. he knocked, and after some little delay, was allowed to enter. the mississippian was busy rehearsing his oration and did not care to be bothered. but he sat down to entertain belton's room-mate for a while. he did not care to rehearse his oration before him and he felt able to rout him at any time. they conversed on various things for a while, when belton's room-mate took up a book and soon appeared absorbed in reading. he was sitting on one side of a study table in the center of the room while the mississippian was on the other. thinking that his visitor had now stayed about long enough, the mississippian stooped down quietly and removed one shoe. he slyly watched belton's room-mate, chuckling inwardly. but his fun died away into a feeling of surprise when he saw that his shoeless foot was not even attracting attention. he stooped down and pulled off the other shoe, and his surprise developed into amazement when he saw that the combined attack produced no result. belton's room-mate seemed absorbed in reading. the mississippian next pulled off his coat and pretending to yawn and stretch, lifted his arms just so that the junction of his arm with his shoulder was on a direct line with his visitor's nose. belton's room-mate made a slight grimace, but kept on reading. the mississippian was dumbfounded. he then signified his intention of retiring to bed and undressed, eyeing his visitor all the while, hoping that the scent of his whole body would succeed. he got into bed and was soon snoring loudly enough to be heard two or three rooms away; but belton's room-mate seemed to pay no attention to the snoring. the mississippian gave up the battle in disgust, saying to himself: "that fellow regards scents and noises just as though he was a buzzard, hatched in a cleft of the roaring niagara falls." so saying, he fell asleep in reality and the snoring increased in volume and speed. belton's room-mate now took a pair of large new socks out of his pocket and put them into the mississippian's shoes, from which he took the dirty socks already there. having these dirty socks, he quietly tips out of the room and returns to his and belton's room. belton desired to make the speech of his life the next day, and had retired to rest early so as to be in prime nervous condition for the effort. his room-mate stole to the wardrobe and stealthily extracted the silk handkerchief and put these dirty socks in its stead. belton was then asleep, perhaps dreaming of the glories of the morrow. thursday dawned and belton arose, fresh and vigorous. he was cheerful and buoyant that day; he was to graduate bedecked with all the honors of his class. mr. king, his benefactor, was to be present. his mother had saved up her scant earnings and had come to see her son wind up the career on which she had sent him forth, years ago. the assembly room was decorated with choice flowers and presented the appearance of the garden of eden. on one side of the room sat the young lady pupils, while on the other the young men sat. visitors from the city came in droves and men of distinction sat on the platform. the programme was a good one, but all eyes dropped to the bottom in quest of belton's name; for his fame as an orator was great, indeed. the programme passed off as arranged, giving satisfaction and whetting the appetite for belton's oration. the president announced belton's name amid a thundering of applause. he stepped forth and cast a tender look in the direction of the fair maiden who had contrived to send him that tiny white bud that showed up so well on his black coat. he moved to the center of the platform and was lustily cheered, he walked with such superb grace and dignity. he began his oration, capturing his audience with his first sentence and bearing them along on the powerful pinions of his masterly oratory; and when his peroration was over the audience drew its breath and cheered wildly for many, many minutes. he then proceeded to deliver the valedictory to the class. after he had been speaking for some time, his voice began to break with emotion. as he drew near to the most affecting portion he reached to his coat tail pocket to secure his silk handkerchief to brush away the gathering tears. as his hand left his pocket a smile was on well-nigh every face in the audience, but belton did not see this, but with bowed head, proceeded with his pathetic utterances. the audience of course was struggling between the pathos of his remarks and the humor of those dirty socks. belton's sweetheart began to cry from chagrin and his mother grew restless, anxious to tell him or let him know in some way. belton's head continued bowed in sadness, as he spoke parting words to his beloved classmates, and lifted his supposed handkerchief to his eyes to wipe away the tears that were now coming freely. the socks had thus come close to belton's nose and he stopped of a sudden and held them at arm's length to gaze at that terrible, terrible scent producer. when he saw what he held in his hand he flung them in front of him, they falling on some students, who hastily brushed them off. the house, by this time, was in an uproar of laughter; and the astonished belton gazed blankly at the socks lying before him. his mind was a mass of confusion. he hardly knew where he was or what he was doing. self-possession, in a measure, returned to him, and he said: "ladies and gentlemen, these socks are from mississippi. i am from virginia." this reference to the mississippian was greeted by an even louder outburst of laughter. belton bowed and left the platform, murmuring that he would find and kill the rascal who had played that trick on him. the people saw the terrible frown on his face, and the president heard the revengeful words, and all feared that the incident was not closed. belton hurried out of the speakers' room and hastily ran to the city to purchase a pistol. having secured it, he came walking back at a furious pace. by this time the exercises were over and friends were returning to town. they desired to approach belton and compliment him, and urge him to look lightly on his humorous finale; but he looked so desperate that none dared to approach him. the president was on the lookout for belton and met him at the door of the boys' dormitory. he accosted belton tenderly and placed his hand on his shoulder. belton roughly pushed him aside and strode into the building and roamed through it, in search of his room-mate, whom he now felt assured did him the trick. but his room-mate, foreseeing the consequences of detection, had made beforehand every preparation for leaving and was now gone. no one could quiet belton during that whole day, and he spent the night meditating plans for wreaking vengeance. the next morning the president came over early, and entering belton's room, was more kindly received. he took belton's hand in his and sat down near his side. he talked to belton long and earnestly, showing him what an unholy passion revenge was. he showed that such a passion would mar any life that yielded to it. belton, he urged, was about to allow a pair of dirty socks to wreck his whole life. he drew a picture of the suffering savior, crying out between darting pains the words of the sentence, the most sublime ever uttered: "lord forgive them for they know not what they do." belton was melted to tears of repentance for his unholy passion. before the president left belton's side he felt sure that henceforth a cardinal principle of his life would be to allow god to avenge all his wrongs. it was a narrow escape for belton; but he thanked god for the lesson, severe as it was, to the day of his death. the world will also see how much it owes to god for planting that lesson in belton's heart. let us relate just one more incident that happened at the winding up of belton's school life. as we have intimated, one young lady, a student of the school, was very near to belton. though he did not love her, his regard for her was very deep and his respect very great. school closed on thursday, and the students were allowed to remain in the buildings until the following monday, when, ordinarily, they left. the young men were allowed to provide conveyances for the young ladies to get to the various depots. they esteemed that a very great privilege. belton, as you know, was a very poor lad and had but little money. after paying his expenses incident to his graduation, and purchasing a ticket home, he now had just one dollar and a quarter left. out of this one dollar and a quarter he was to pay for a carriage ride of this young lady friend to the railway station. this, ordinarily, cost one dollar, and belton calculated on having a margin of twenty-five cents. but you would have judged him the happy possessor of a large fortune, merely to look at him. the carriage rolled up to the girls' dormitory and belton's friend stood on the steps, with her trunks, three in number. when belton saw that his friend had three trunks, his heart sank. in order to be sure against exorbitant charges the drivers were always made to announce their prices before the journey was commenced. a crowd of girls was standing around to bid the young lady adieu. in an off-hand way belton said: "driver what is your fee?" he replied: "for you and the young lady and the trunks, two dollars, sir." belton almost froze in his tracks, but, by the most heroic struggling, showed no signs of discomfiture on his face. endeavoring to affect an air of indifference, he said: "what is the price for the young lady and the trunks?" "one dollar and fifty cents." belton's eyes were apparently fixed on some spot in the immensity of space. the driver, thinking that he was meditating getting another hackman to do the work, added: "you can call any hackman you choose and you won't find one who will do it for a cent less." belton's last prop went with this statement. he turned to his friend smilingly and told her to enter, with apparently as much indifference as a millionaire. he got in and sat by her side; but knew not how on earth he was to get out of his predicament. the young lady chatted gayly and wondered at belton's dullness. belton, poor fellow, was having a tough wrestle with poverty and was trying to coin something out of nothing. now and then, at some humorous remark, he would smile a faint, sickly smile. thus it went on until they arrived at the station. belton by this time decided upon a plan of campaign. they alighted from the carriage and belton escorted his friend into the coach. he then came back to speak to the driver. he got around the corner of the station house, out of sight of the train and beckoned for the driver to come to him. the driver came and belton said: "friend, here is one dollar and a quarter. it is all i have. trust me for the balance until tomorrow." "oh! no," replied the driver. "i must have my money to-day. i have to report to-night and my money must go in. just fork over the balance, please." "well," said belton rather independently--for he felt that he now had the upper hand,--"i have given you all the money that i have. and you have got to trust me for the balance. you can't take us back," and belton started to walk away. the driver said: "may be that girl has some money. i'll see her." terror immediately seized belton, and he clutched at the man eagerly, saying: "ah, no, now, don't resort to any such foolishness. can't you trust a fellow?" belton was now talking very persuasively. the driver replied: "i don't do business that way. if i had known that you did not have the money i would not have brought you. i am going to the young lady." belton was now thoroughly frightened and very angry; and he planted himself squarely in front of the driver and said: "you shall do no such thing!" the driver heard the train blow and endeavored to pass. belton grasped him by the collar and putting a leg quickly behind him, tripped him to the ground, falling on top of him. the driver struggled, but belton succeeded in getting astride of him and holding him down. the train shortly pulled out, and belton jumped up and ran to wave a good-bye to his girl friend. later in the day, the driver had him arrested and the police justice fined him ten dollars. a crowd of white men who heard belton's story, admired his respect for the girl, and paid the fine for him and made up a purse. at stowe university, belton had learned to respect women. it was in these schools that the work of slavery in robbing the colored women of respect, was undone. woman now occupied the same position in belton's eye as she did in the eye of the anglo-saxon. there is hope for that race or nation that respects its women. it was for the smile of a woman that the armored knight of old rode forth to deeds of daring. it is for the smile of women that the soldier of to-day endures the hardships of the camp and braves the dangers of the field of battle. the heart of man will joyfully consent to be torn to pieces if the lovely hand of woman will only agree to bind the parts together again and heal the painful wounds. the negro race had left the last relic of barbarism behind, and this young negro, fighting to keep that cab driver from approaching the girl for a fee, was but a forerunner of the negro, who, at the voice of a woman, will fight for freedom until he dies, fully satisfied if the hand that he worships will only drop a flower on his grave. belton's education was now complete, as far as the school-room goes. what will he do with it? chapter viii. many mysteries cleared up. on the day prior to the one on which bernard first entered the public school of winchester, fairfax belgrave had just arrived in the town. a costly residence, beautifully located and furnished in the most luxurious manner, was on the eve of being sold. mrs. belgrave purchased this house and installed herself as mistress thereof. here she lived in isolation with her boy, receiving no callers and paying no visits. being a devoted catholic, she attended all the services of her church and reared bernard in that faith. for a time white and colored people speculated much as to who mrs. belgrave was, and as to what was the source of her revenue; for she was evidently a woman of wealth. she employed many servants and these were plied with thousands of questions by people of both races. but the life of mrs. belgrave was so circumspect, so far removed from anything suspicious, and her bearing was so evidently that of a woman of pure character and high ideals that speculation died out after a year or two, and the people gave up the finding out of her history as a thing impossible of achievement. with seemingly unlimited money at her command, all of bernard's needs were supplied and his lightest wishes gratified. mrs. belgrave was a woman with very superior education. the range of her reading was truly remarkable. she possessed the finest library ever seen in the northern section of virginia, and all the best of the latest books were constantly arriving at her home. magazines and newspapers arrived by every mail. thus she was thoroughly abreast with the times. as bernard grew up, he learned to value associating with his mother above every other pleasure. she superintended his literary training and cultivated in him a yearning for literature of the highest and purest type. politics, science, art, religion, sociology, and, in fact, the whole realm of human knowledge was invaded and explored. such home training was an invaluable supplement to what bernard received in school. when, therefore, he entered harvard, he at once moved to the front rank in every particular. many white young men of wealth and high social standing, attracted by his brilliancy, drew near him and became his fast friends. in his graduating year, he was so popular as to be elected president of his class, and so scholarly as to be made valedictorian. these achievements on his part were so remarkable that the associated press telegraphed the news over the country, and many were the laudatory notices that he received. the night of his graduation, when he had finished delivering his oration that swept all before it as does the whirlwind and the hurricane, as he stepped out of the door to take his carriage for home, a tall man with a broad face and long flowing beard stepped up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. bernard turned and the man handed him a note. tearing the envelope open he saw in his mother's well known handwriting the following: "dear bernie: "follow this man and trust him as you would your loving mother. "fairfax belgrave." bernard dismissed his carriage, ordered to take him to his lodging, and spoke to the man who had accosted him, saying that he was at his service. they walked a distance and soon were at the railroad station. they boarded the train and in due time arrived in washington, d.c., bernard asking no questions, knowing that a woman as habitually careful as his mother did not send that message without due care and grave purpose. in washington they took a carriage and were driven to one of the most fashionable portions of the city, and stopped before a mansion of splendid appearance. bernard's escort led the way into the house, having a key to which all of the doors responded. bernard was left in the parlor and told to remain until some one called for him. the tall man with long flowing beard went to his room and removed his disguise. in a few minutes a negro servant, sent by this man, appeared and led bernard to a room in the rear of the house on the second floor. it was a large room having two windows, one facing the east and the other the north. as he stepped into the room he saw sitting directly facing him a white man, tall and of a commanding appearance. his hair, and for that matter his whole noble looking head and handsome face bore a striking resemblance to bernard's own. the latter perceived the likeness and halted in astonishment. the man arose and handed bernard a note. bernard opened it and found it exactly resembling the one handed him just prior to his journey to washington. the man eyed bernard from head to foot with a look that betrayed the keenest interest. opening one of the drawers of his desk he drew forth a paper. it was a marriage certificate, certifying to a marriage between fairfax belgrave and ------. "i am your mother's lawful husband, and you are my legitimate child." bernard knew not what to say, think, or feel. his mother had so carefully avoided any mention of her family affairs that he regarded them as among things sacred, and he never allowed even his thoughts to wander in that direction. "i am senator ------ from the state of ------, chairman of ------ committee." the information contained in that sentence made bernard rise from his seat with a bound. the man's name was a household word throughout the nation, and his reputation was international. "be seated, bernard, i have much to say to you. i have a long story to tell. i have been married twice. my first wife's brother was governor of ------ and lived and died a bachelor. he was, however, the father of a child, whose mother was a servant connected with his father's household. the child was given to my wife to rear, and she accepted the charge. the child bloomed into a perfect beauty, possessed a charming voice, could perform with extraordinary skill on the piano, and seemed to have inherited the mind of her father, whose praises have been sung in all the land. "when this child was seventeen years of age my wife died. this girl remained in our house. i was yet a young man. now that my wife was gone, attending to this girl fell entirely into my hands. i undertook her education. as her mind unfolded, so many beauteous qualities appeared that she excited my warm admiration. "by chance, i discovered that the girl loved me; not as a father, but as she would a lover. she does not know to this day that i made the discovery when i did. as for myself, i had for some time been madly in love with her. when i discovered, that my affections were returned, i made proposals, at that time regarded as honorable enough by the majority of white men of the south. "it seemed as though my proposition did not take her by surprise. she gently, but most firmly rejected my proposal. she told me that the proposal was of a nature to occasion deep and lasting repugnance, but that in my case she blamed circumstances and conditions more than she did me. the quiet, loving manner in which she resented insult and left no tinge of doubt as to her virtue, if possible, intensified my love. a few days later she came to me and said: 'let us go to canada and get married secretly. i will return south with you. no one shall ever know what we have done, and for the sake of your political and social future i will let the people apply whatever name they wish to our relationship.' "i gladly embraced the proposal, knowing that she would keep faith even unto death; although i realized how keenly her pure soul felt at being regarded as living with me dishonorably. yet, love and interest bade her bow her head and receive the public mark of shame. "heroic soul! that is the marriage certificate which i showed you. you were born. when you were four years old your mother told me that she must leave, as she could not bear to see her child grow up esteeming her an adulteress. "the war broke out, and i entered the army, and your mother took you to europe, where she lived until the war was over, when she returned to winchester, virginia. her father was a man of wealth, and you own two millions of dollars through your mother. at my death you shall have eight millions more. "so much for the past. let me tell you of my plans and hopes for your future. this infernal race prejudice has been the curse of my life. think of my pure-hearted, noble-minded wife, branded as a harlot, and you, my own son, stigmatized as a bastard, because it would be suicide for me to let the world know that you both are mine, though you both are the direct descendants of a governor, and a long line of heroes whose names are ornaments to our nation's history. "i want you to break down this prejudice. it is the wish of your mother and your father. you must move in the front, but all that money and quiet influence can do shall be done by me for your advancement. i paid mr. tiberius gracchus leonard two thousand dollars a year to teach you at winchester. his is a master mind. one rash deed robbed the world of seeing a colossal intellect in high station. i shall tell you his history presently. "i desire you to go to norfolk county, virginia, and hang up your sign as an attorney at law. i wish you to run for congress from that district. leonard is down there. as you will find out, he will be of inestimable service to you. "now let me give you his history. leonard was the most brilliant student that ever entered ------ university in the state of ------. just prior to the time when he would have finished his education at school, the war broke out and he enlisted in the confederate army, and was made a colonel of a regiment. i was also a colonel, and when our ranks became depleted the two regiments were thrown into one. though he was the ranking officer, our commander, as gallant and intrepid an officer as ever trod a battle field, was put in command. this deeply humilitated leonard and he swore to be avenged. "one evening, when night had just lowered her black wings over the earth, we were engaging the enemy. our commander was in advance of his men. suddenly the commander fell, wounded. at first it was thought that the enemy bad shot him, but investigation showed that the ball had entered his back. it was presumed, then, that some of his own men had mistook him for an enemy and had shot him through mistake. leonard had performed the nefarious deed knowingly. by some skillful detective work, i secured incontestible evidence of his guilt. i went to him with my proof and informed him of my intentions to lay it before a superior officer. his answer was: 'if you do, i will let the whole world know about your nigger wife.' i fell back as if stunned. terror seized me. if he knew of my marriage might not others know it? might not it be already generally known? these were the thoughts that coursed through my brain. however, with an effort i suppressed my alarm. seeing that each possessed a secret that meant death and disgrace to the other (for i shall certainly kill myself if i am ever exposed) i entered into an agreement with him. "on the condition that he would prepare a statement confessing his guilt and detailing the circumstances of the crime and put this paper in my hand, i would show him my marriage certificate; and after that, each was to regard the other's secret as inviolate. "we thus held each other securely tied. his conscience, however, disturbed him beyond measure; and every evening, just after dusk, he fancied that he saw the form of his departed commander. it made him cowardly in battle and he at last deserted. "he informed me as to how my secret came into his possession. soon after he committed his crime he felt sure that i was in possession of his secret, and he thought to steal into my tent and murder me. he stole in there one night to perpetrate the crime. i was talking in my sleep. in my slumber i told the story of my secret marriage in such circumstantial detail that it impressed him as being true. feeling that he could hold me with that, he spared my life, determined to wound me deeper than death if i struck at him. "you see that he is a cowardly villain; but we sometimes have to use such. "now, my son, go forth; labor hard and climb high. scale the high wall of prejudice. make it possible, dear boy, for me to own you ere i pass out of life. let your mother have the veil of slander torn from her pure form ere she closes her eyes on earth forever." bernard, handsome, brilliant, eloquent, the grandson of a governor, the son of a senator, a man of wealth, to whom defeat was a word unknown, steps out to battle for the freedom of his race; urged to put his whole soul into the fight because of his own burning desire for glory, and because out of the gloom of night he heard his grief stricken parents bidding him to climb where the cruel world would be compelled to give its sanction to the union that produced such a man as he. bernard's training was over. he now had a tremendous incentive. into life he plunges. chapter ix. love and politics. acting on his father's advice bernard arrived in norfolk in the course of a few days. he realized that he was now a politician and decided to make a diligent study of the art of pleasing the populace and to sacrifice everything to the goddess of fame. knowing that whom the people loved they honored, he decided to win their love at all hazards. he decided to become the obedient servant of the people that he might thus make all the people his servants. he took up hie abode at hotel douglass, a colored hotel at which the colored leaders would often congregate. bernard mingled with these men freely and soon had the name among them of being a jovial good fellow. while at harvard, bernard had studied law simultaneously with his other studies and graduated from both the law and classical departments the same year. near the city court house, in a row of somewhat dilapidated old buildings, he rented a law office. the rowdy and criminal element infested this neighborhood. whenever any of these got into difficulties, bernard was always ready to defend them. if they were destitute of funds he would serve them free of charge and would often pay their fines for them. he was ever ready to go on bonds of any who got into trouble. he gave money freely to those who begged of him. in this manner he became the very ideal of the vicious element, though not accounted by them as one of their number. bernard was also equally successful in winning favor with the better element of citizens. though a good catholic at heart, he divided his time among all denominations, thus solving the most difficult problem for a negro leader to solve; for the religious feeling was so intense that it was carried into almost every branch of human activity. having won the criminal and religious circles, he thought to go forth and conquer the social world and secure its support. he decided to enter society and pay marked attention to that young lady that would most increase his popularity. we shall soon see how this would-be conqueror stood the very first fire. his life had been one of such isolation that he had not at all moved in social circles before this, and no young woman had ever made more than a passing impression on him. there was in norfolk a reading circle composed of the brightest, most talented young men and women of the city. upon taking a short vacation, this circle always gave a reception which was attended by persons of the highest culture in the city. bernard received an invitation to this reception, and, in company with a fellow lawyer attended. the reception was held at the residence of a miss evangeline leslie, a member of the circle. the house was full of guests when bernard and his friend arrived. they rang the door bell and a young lady came to the door to receive them. she was a small, beautifully formed girl with a luxuriant growth of coal black hair that was arranged in such a way as to impart a queenly look to her shapely head. her skin was dark brown, tender and smooth in appearance. a pair of laughing hazel eyes, a nose of the prettiest possible size and shape, and a chin that tapered with the most exquisite beauty made her face the mecca of all eyes. bernard was so struck with the girl's beauty that he did not greet her when she opened the door. he stared at her with a blank look. they were invited in. bernard pulled off his hat and walked in, not saying a word but eyeing that pretty girl all the while. even when his back was turned toward her, as he walked, his head was turned over his shoulders and his eye surveyed all the graceful curves of her perfect form and scanned those features that could but charm those who admire nature's work. when he had taken a seat in the corner of a room by the side of his friend he said: "pray, who is that girl that met you at the door? i really did not know that a dark woman could look so beautiful." "you are not the only one that thinks that she is surpassingly beautiful," said his friend. "her picture is the only negro's picture that is allowed to hang in the show glasses of the white photographers down town. white and colored pay homage to her beauty." "well," said bernard, "that man who denies that girl's beauty should be sent to the asylum for the cure of a perverted and abnormal taste." "i see you are rather enthusiastic. is it wise to admire mortgaged property?" remarked his friend. "what's that?" asked bernard, quickly. "is any body in my way?" "in your way?" laughed his friend. "pray what do you mean? i don't understand you." "come," said bernard, "i am on pins. is she married or about to be?" "well, not exactly that, but she has told me that she cares a good bit for me." bernard saw that his friend was in a mood to tease him and he arose and left his side. his friend chuckled gleefully to himself and said: "the would-be catcher is caught. i thought viola martin would duck him if anybody could. tell me about these smile-proof bachelors. when once they are struck, they fall all to pieces at once." bernard sought his landlady, who was present as a guest, and through her secured an introduction to miss viola martin. he found her even more beautiful, if possible, in mind than in form and he sat conversing with her all the evening as if enchanted. the people present were not at all surprised; for as soon as bernard's brilliancy and worth were known in the town and people began to love him, it was generally hoped and believed that miss martin would take him captive at first sight. miss viola martin was a universal favorite. she was highly educated and an elocutionist of no mean ability. she sang sweetly and was the most accomplished pianist in town. she was bubbling over with good humor and her wit and funny stories were the very life of any circle where she happened to be. she was most remarkably well-informed on all leading questions of the day, and men of brain always enjoyed a chat with her. and the children and older people fairly worshipped her; for she paid especial attention to these. in all religious movements among the women she was the leading spirit. with all these points in her favor she was unassuming and bowed her head so low that the darts of jealousy, so universally hurled at the brilliant and popular, never came her way. no one in norfolk was considered worthy of her heart and hand and the community was tenderly solicitous as to who should wed her. bernard had made such rapid strides in their affections and esteem that they had already assigned him to their pet, viola, or vie as she was popularly called. when the time for the departure of the guests arrived, bernard with great regret bade miss martin adieu. she ran upstairs to get her cloak, and a half dozen girls went tripping up stairs behind her; when once in the room set apart for the ladies' cloaks they began to gleefully pound viola with pillows and smother her with kisses. "you have made a catch, vie. hold him," said one. "he'll hold himself," said another. to all of which viola answered with a sigh. a mulatto girl stepped up to viola and with a merry twinkle in her eye said: "theory is theory and practice is practice, eh, vie? well, we would hardly blame you in this case." viola earnestly replied: "i shall ask for no mercy. theory and practice are one with me in this case." "bah, bah, girl, two weeks will change that tune. and i, for one, won't blame you," replied the mulatto still in a whisper. the girls seeing that viola did not care to be teased about bernard soon ceased, and she came down stairs to be escorted home by the young man who had accompanied her there. this young man was, thus early, jealous of bernard and angry at viola for receiving his attentions, and as a consequence he was silent all the way home. this gave viola time to think of that handsome, talented lawyer whom she had just met. she had to confess to herself that he had aroused considerable interest in her bosom and she looked forward to a promised visit with pleasure. but every now and then a sigh would escape her, such as she made when the girls were teasing her. her escort bade her good-night at her father's gate in a most sullen manner, but viola was so lost in thought that she did not notice it. she entered the house feeling lively and cheerful, but when she entered her room she burst into crying. she would laugh a while and cry a while as though she had a foretaste of coming bliss mixed with bitterness. bernard at once took the place left vacant by the dropping away of the jealous young man and became viola's faithful attendant, accompanying her wherever he could. the more he met viola, the more beautiful she appeared to him and the more admirable he found her mind. bernard almost forgot his political aspirations, and began to ponder that passage of scripture that said man should not be alone. but he did not make such progress with viola as was satisfactory to him. sometimes she would appear delighted to see him and was all life and gayety. again she was scarcely more than polite and seemed perfectly indifferent to him. after a long while bernard decided that viola, who seemed to be very ambitious, treated him thus because he had not done anything worthy of special note. he somewhat slacked up in his attentions and began to devote himself to acquiring wide spread popularity with a view to entering congress and reaching viola in this way. the more he drew off from viola the more friendly she would seem to him, and he began to feel that seeming indifference was perhaps the way to win her. thus the matter moved along for a couple of years. in the mean time, mr. tiberius gracchus leonard, bernard's old teacher, was busy in norfolk looking after bernard's political interests, acting under instructions from bernard's father, senator ------. about this stage of bernard's courtship mr. leonard called on him and told him that the time was ripe for bernard to announce himself for congress. bernard threw his whole soul into the project. he had another great incentive to cause him to wish to succeed, viola martin's hand and heart. in order to understand what followed we must now give a bit of virginia political history. in the year ---- there was a split in the democratic party of virginia on the question of paying virginia's debt to england. the bolting section of the party joined hands with the republicans and whipped the regular democrats at the polls. this coalition thus formed was eventually made the republican party of virginia. the democrats, however, rallied and swept this coalition from power and determined to forever hold the state government if they had to resort to fraud. they resorted to ballot box stuffing and various other means to maintain control. at last, they passed a law creating a state electoral commission. this commission was composed of three democrats. these three democrats were given the power to appoint three persons in each county as an electoral board. these county electoral boards would appoint judges for each precinct or voting place in the county. they would also appoint a special constable at each voting booth to assist the illiterate voters. with rare exceptions, the officials were democrats, and with the entire state's election machinery in their hands the democrats could manage elections according to their "own sweet will." it goes without saying that the democrats always carried any and every precinct that they decided, and elections were mere farces. such was the condition of affairs when bernard came forward as a candidate from the second congressional district. the district was overwhelmingly republican, but the democrats always secured the office. it was regarded as downright foolhardy to attempt to get elected to congress from the district as a republican; so the nomination was merely passed around as an honor, empty enough. it was such a feeling that inspired the republicans to nominate bernard; but bernard entered the canvass in dead earnest and conducted a brilliant campaign. the masses of colored people rallied around his flag. ministers of colored churches came to his support. seeing that the colored people were so determined to elect bernard, the white republicans, leaders and followers, fell into line. viola martin organized patriotic clubs among the women and aroused whatever voters seemed lethargic. the day of election came and bernard was elected by a majority of , votes; but the electoral boards gave the certificate of election to his opponent, alleging his opponent's majority to be , . bernard decided to contest the election in congress, and here is where leonard's fine work was shown. he had, for sometime, made it appear in norfolk that he was a democrat of the most radical school. the leading democrats made his acquaintance and leonard very often composed speeches for them. he thus became a favorite with certain prominent democrats and they let him into the secret workings of the electoral machinery. thus informed, leonard went to headquarters of the democratic party at richmond with a view to bribing the clerks to give him inside facts. he found the following to be the character of the work done at headquarters. a poll of all the voters in the state was made. the number of white and the number of colored voters in each voting precinct was secured. the number of illiterate voters of both races was ascertained. with these facts in their possession, they had conducted all the campaign necessary for them to carry on an election. of course speakers were sent out as a sham, but they were not needed for anything more than appearances. having the figures indicated above before them, they proceeded to assign to each district, each county, each city, each precinct just such majorities as they desired, taking pains to make the figures appear reasonable and differ somewhat from figures of previous years. whenever it would do no harm, a precinct was granted to the republicans for the sake of appearances. ballot boxes of varied patterns were secured and filled with ballots marked just as they desired. some ballots were for republicans, some for democrats, and some marked wrong so as to indicate the votes of illiterates. the majorities, of course, were invariably such as suited the democrats. the ballots were all carefully counted and arranged; and tabulated statements of the votes cast put in. a sheet for the returns was put in, only awaiting the signatures of the officials at the various precincts in order to be complete. these boxes were carried by trusted messengers to their destinations. on election day, not these boxes, but boxes similar to them were used to receive the ballots. on the night of the election, the ballot boxes that actually received the votes were burned with all their contents and the boxes and ballots from richmond were substituted. the judges of election took out the return sheet, already prepared, signed it and returned it to richmond forthwith. thus it could always be known thirty days ahead just what the exact vote in detail was to be throughout the entire state. in fact a tabulated statement was prepared and printed long before election day. leonard paid a clerk at headquarters five thousand dollars for one of these tabulated statements. with this he hurried on to washington and secretly placed it before the republican congressional campaign committee, with the understanding that it was to be used after election day as a basis for possible contest. fifteen of the most distinguished clergymen in the nation were summoned to washington and made affidavits, stating that they had seen this tabulated statement twenty days before the election took place. when virginia's returns came in they were found to correspond in every detail to this tabulated report. as nothing but a prophet, direct from god, could have foreseen the results exactly as they did occur, this tabulated statement was proof positive of fraud on a gigantic scale. with this and a mass of other indisputable evidence at his back, secured by the shrewd leonard, bernard entered the contest for his seat. the house of representatives was democratic by a small majority. the contest was a long and bitter one. the republicans were solidly for bernard. the struggle was eagerly watched from day to day. it was commonly believed that the democrats would vote against bernard, despite the clear case in his favor. the day to vote on the contest at last arrived and the news was flashed over the country that bernard had triumphed. a handful of democrats had deserted their party and voted with the republicans. bernard's father had redeemed his promise of secret support. bernard's triumph in a democratic house caused the nation to rub its eyes and look again in wonder. the colored people hailed bernard as the coming moses. "belgrave, belgrave, belgrave," was on every negro tongue. poems were addressed to him. babies were named after him. honorary titles were showered upon him. he was in much demand at fairs and gatherings of notable people. he accepted every invitation of consequence, whenever possible, and traveled far and wide winning friends by his bewitching eloquence and his pleasing personality. the democrats, after that defeat, always passed the second district by and bernard held his seat in congress from year to year unmolested. he made application and was admitted to plead law before the supreme court of the united states. and when we shall see him again it will be there, pleading in one of the most remarkable cases known to jurisprudence. chapter x. cupid again at work. belton, after graduating from stowe university, returned with his mother to their humble home at winchester. he had been away at school for four years and now desired to see his home again before going forth into the world. he remained at winchester several days visiting all the spots where he had toiled or played, mourned or sung, wept or laughed as a child. he entered the old school house and gazed with eyes of love on its twisting walls, decaying floor and benches sadly in need of repair. a somewhat mournful smile played upon his lips as he thought of the revengeful act that he had perpetrated upon his first teacher, mr. leonard, and this smile died away into a more sober expression as he remembered how his act of revenge had, like chickens, come home to roost, when those dirty socks had made him an object of laughter at stowe university on commencement day. revenge was dead in his bosom. and it was well for the world that this young negro had been trained in a school where there was a friendly lance to open his veins and let out this most virulent of poisons. belton lingered about home, thinking of the great problem of human life. he would walk out of town near sunset and, taking his seat on some grassy knoll would gaze on the blue ridge mountains. the light would fade out of the sky and the gloom of evening gather, but the mountains would maintain their same bold appearance. whenever he cast his eyes in their direction, there they stood firm and immovable. his pure and lofty soul had an affinity for all things grand and he was always happy, even from childhood, when he could sit undisturbed and gaze at the mountains, huge and lofty, rising in such unconquerable grandeur, upward toward the sky. belton chose the mountain as the emblem of his life and he besought god to make him such in the moral world. at length he tore himself loose from the scenes of his childhood, and embracing his fond mother, left winchester to begin life in the city of richmond, the capital of the old confederacy. through the influence of mr. king, his benefactor, he secured a position as a teacher in one of the colored schools of that city. the principal of the school to which belton was assigned was white, but all the rest of the teachers were young colored women. on the morning of his arrival at the school building belton was taken in charge by the principal, and by him was carried around to be introduced to the various teachers. before he reaches a certain room, let us give you a slight introduction to the occupant thereof. antoinette nermal was famed throughout the city for her beauty, intelligence and virtue. her color was what is termed a light brown skin. we assure you that it was charming enough. she was of medium height, and for grace and symmetry her form was fit for a sculptor's model. her pretty face bore the stamp of intellectuality, but the intellectuality of a beautiful woman, who was still every inch a woman despite her intellectuality. her thin well-formed lips seemed arranged by nature in such a manner as to be incomplete without a kiss, and that lovely face seemed to reinforce the invitation. her eyes were black, and when you gazed in them the tenderness therein seemed to be about to draw you out of yourself. they concealed and yet revealed a heart capable of passionate love. those who could read her and wished her well were much concerned that she should love wisely; for it could be seen that she was to love with her whole heart, and to wreck her love was to wreck her life. she had passed through all her life thus far without seriously noticing any young man, thus giving some the impression that she was incapable of love, being so intellectual. others who read her better knew that she despised the butterfly, flitting from flower to flower, and was preserving her heart to give it whole into the keeping of some worthy man. she neither sang nor played, but her soul was intensely musical and she had the most refined and cultivated taste in the musical circles in which she moved. she was amiable in disposition, but her amiability was not of the kind to lead her in quest of you; but if you came across her, she would treat you so pleasantly that you would desire to pass that way again. belton and the principal are now on the way to her room. as they entered the door her back was to them, as she was gazing out of the window. belton's eyes surveyed her graceful form and he was so impressed with its loveliness that he was sorry when she began to turn around. but when she was turned full around belton forgot all about her form, and his eyes did not know which to contemplate longest, that rich complexion, those charming eyes, or those seductive lips. on the other hand, miss nermal was struck with belton's personal appearance and as she contemplated the noble, dignified yet genial appearance which he presented, her lips came slightly apart, rendering her all the more beautiful. the principal said: "miss nermal, allow me to present to you our newly arrived associate in the work, mr. belton piedmont." miss nermal smiled to belton and said: "mr. piedmont, we are glad to have a man of your acknowledged talents in our midst and we anticipate much of you." belton felt much flattered, surprised, overjoyed. he wished that he could find the person who had been so very kind as to give that marvelously beautiful girl such a good opinion of himself. but when he opened his mouth to reply he was afraid of saying something that would shatter this good opinion; so he bowed politely and merely said, "thank you." "i trust that you will find our association agreeable," said miss nermal, smiling and walking toward him. this remark turned belton's mind to thoughts that stimulated him to a brisk reply. "oh assuredly, miss nermal. i am already more than satisfied that i shall expect much joy and pleasure from my association with you--i--i--i mean the teachers." belton felt that he had made a bad break and looked around a little uneasily at the principal, violently condemning in his heart that rule which led principals to escort young men around; especially when there was a likelihood of meeting with such a lovely girl. if you had consulted belton's wishes at that moment, school would have been adjourned immediately, the principal excused, and himself allowed to look at and talk to miss nermal as much as he desired. however, this was not to be. the principal moved to the door to continue his tour. belton reluctantly followed. he didn't see the need of getting acquainted with all the teachers in one day. he thought that there were too many teachers in that building, anyhow. these were belton's rebellious thoughts as he left miss nermal's room. nevertheless, he finished his journey around to the various rooms and afterwards assumed charge of his own room. some might ascribe his awkwardness in his room that day to the fact that the work was new to him. but we prefer to think that certain new and pleasing sensations in his bosom were responsible. when the young lady teachers got together at noon that day, the question was passed around as to what was thought of mr. piedmont. those teachers whom belton met before he entered miss nermal's room thought him "very nice." those whom he met after he left her room thought him rather dull. miss nermal herself pronounced him "just grand." all of the girls looked at miss nermal rather inquiringly when she said this, for she was understood to usually pass young men by unnoticed. each of the other girls, previous to seeing belton, had secretly determined to capture the rising young orator in case his personal appearance kept pace with his acknowledged talents. in debating the matter they had calculated their chances of success and had thought of all possible rivals. miss nermal was habitually so indifferent to young men that they had not considered her as a possibility. they were quite surprised, to say the least, to hear her speak more enthusiastically of belton than any of the rest had done. if miss nermal was to be their rival they were ready to abandon the field at once, for the charms of her face, form, and mind were irresistible when in repose; and what would they be if she became interested in winning the heart of a young man? when school was dismissed that afternoon belton saw a group of teachers walking homeward and miss nermal was in the group. belton joined them and somehow contrived to get by miss nermal's side. how much she aided him by unobserved shifting of positions is not known. all of the rest of the group lived nearer the school than did miss nermal and so, when they had all dropped off at respective gates, miss nermal yet had some distance to go. when belton saw this, he was a happy fellow. he felt that the parents of the teachers had shown such excellent judgment in choosing places to reside. he would not have them change for the world. he figured that he would have five evenings of undisturbed bliss in each week walking home with miss nermal after the other teachers had left. belton contrived to walk home with the same group each evening. the teachers soon noticed that miss nermal and belton invariably walked together, and they managed by means of various excuses to break up the group; and belton had the unalloyed pleasure of escorting miss nermal from the school-house door to her own front yard. belton secured the privilege of calling to see miss nermal at her residence and he confined his social visits to her house solely. they did not talk of love to one another, but any one who saw the couple together could tell at a glance what was in each heart. belton, however, did not have the courage to approach the subject. his passion was so intense and absorbing and filled him with so much delight that he feared to talk on the subject so dear to his heart, for fear of a repulse and the shattering of all the beautiful castles which his glowing imagination, with love as the supervising architect, had constructed. thus matters moved along for some time; miss nermal thoroughly in love with belton, but belton prizing that love too highly to deem it possible for him to be the happy possessor thereof. belton was anxious for some indirect test. he would often contrive little devices to test miss nermal's feelings towards him and in each case the result was all that he could wish, yet he doubted. miss nermal thoroughly understood belton and was anxious for him to find some way out of his dilemma. of course it was out of the question for her to volunteer to tell him that she loved him--loved him madly, passionately; loved him in every fibre of her soul. at last the opportunity that belton was hoping for came. miss nermal and belton were invited out to a social gathering of young people one night. he was miss nermal's escort. at this gathering the young men and women played games such as pinning on the donkey's tail, going to jerusalem, menagerie, and various other parlor games. in former days, these social gatherings played some games that called for kissing by the young ladies and gentlemen, but miss nermal had opposed such games so vigorously that they had long since been dismissed from the best circles. belton had posted two or three young men to suggest a play involving kissing, that play being called, "in the well." the suggestion was made and just for the fun of having an old time game played, they accepted the suggestion. the game was played as follows. young men and young women would move their chairs as close back to the walls as possible. this would leave the center of the room clear. a young man would take his place in the middle of the floor and say, "i am in the well." a questioner would then ask, "how many feet?" the party in the well would then say, for instance, "three feet." the questioner would then ask, "whom will you have to take you out?" whosoever was named by the party in the well was required by the rules of the game to go to him and kiss him the number of times equivalent to the number of feet he was in the well. the party thus called would then be in the well. the young men would kiss the ladies out and vice versa. miss nermal's views on kissing games were well known and the young men all passed her by. finally, a young lady called belton to the well to kiss her out. belton now felt that his chance had came. he was so excited that when he went to the well he forgot to kiss her. belton was not conscious of the omission but it pleased antoinette immensely. belton said, "i am in the well." the questioner asked, "how many feet?" belton replied, "only one." "whom will you have to take you out?" queried the questioner. belton was in a dazed condition. he was astounded at his own temerity in having deliberately planned to call miss nermal to kiss him before that crowd or for that matter to kiss him at all. however he decided to make a bold dash. he averted his head and said, "miss antoinette nermal." all eyes were directed to miss nermal to see her refuse. but she cast a look of defiance around the room and calmly walked to where belton stood. their eyes met. they understood each other. belton pressed those sweet lips that had been taunting him all those many days and sat down, the happiest of mortals. miss nermal was now left in the well to call for some one to take her out. for the first time, it dawned upon belton that in working to secure a kiss for himself, he was about to secure one for some one else also. he glared around the room furiously and wondered who would be base enough to dare to go and kiss that angel. miss nermal was proceeding with her part of the game and belton began to feel that she did not mind it even if she did have to kiss some one else. after all, he thought, his test would not hold good as she was, he felt sure, about to kiss another. while belton was in agony over such thoughts miss nermal came to the point where she had to name her deliverer. she said, "the person who put me in here will have to take me out." belton bounded from his seat and, if the fervor of a kiss could keep the young lady in the well from drowning, miss nermal was certainly henceforth in no more danger. miss nermal's act broke up that game. on the way home that night, neither antoinette nor belton spoke a word. their hearts were too full for utterance. when they reached miss nermal's gate, she opened it and entering stood on the other side, facing belton. belton looked down into her beautiful face and she looked up at belton. he felt her eyes pulling at the cords of his heart. he stooped down and in silence pressed a lingering kiss on miss nermal's lips. she did not move. belton said, "i am in the well." miss nermal whispered, "i am too." belton said, "i shall always be in the well." miss nermal said, "so shall i." belton hastily plucked open the gate and clasped antoinette to his bosom. he led her to a double seat in the middle of the lawn, and there with the pure-eyed stars gazing down upon them they poured out their love to each other. two hours later belton left her and at that late hour roused every intimate friend that he had in the city to tell them of his good fortune. miss nermal was no less reserved in her joy. she told the good news everywhere to all her associates. love had transformed this modest, reserved young woman into a being that would not have hesitated to declare her love upon a house-top. chapter xi. no befitting name. happy belton now began to give serious thought to the question of getting married. he desired to lead antoinette to the altar as soon as possible and then he would be sure of possessing the richest treasure known to earth. and when he would speak of an early marriage she would look happy and say nothing in discouragement of the idea. she was belton's, and she did not care how soon he claimed her as his own. his poverty was his only barrier. his salary was small, being only fifty dollars a month. he had not held his position long enough to save up very much money. he decided to start up an enterprise that would enable him to make money a great deal faster. the colored people of richmond at that time had no newspaper or printing office. belton organized a joint stock company and started a weekly journal and conducted a job printing establishment. this paper took well and was fast forging to the front as a decided success. it began to lift up its voice against frauds at the polls and to champion the cause of honest elections. it contended that practicing frauds was debauching the young men, the flower of the anglo-saxon race. one particularly meritorious article was copied in _the temps_ and commented upon editorially. this article created a great stir in political circles. a search was instituted as to the authorship. it was traced to belton, and the politicians gave the school board orders to dump belton forthwith, on the ground that they could not afford to feed and clothe a man who would so vigorously "attack southern institutions," meaning by this phrase the universal practice of thievery and fraud at the ballot box. belton was summarily dismissed. his marriage was of necessity indefinitely postponed. the other teachers were warned to give no further support to belton's paper on pain of losing their positions. they withdrew their influence from belton and he was, by this means, forced to give up the enterprise. he was now completely without an occupation, and began to look around for employment. he decided to make a trial of politics. a campaign came on and he vigorously espoused the cause of the republicans. a congressional and presidential campaign was being conducted at the same time, and belton did yeoman service. owing to frauds in the elections the democrats carried the district in which belton labored, but the vote was closer than was ever known before. the republicans, however, carried the nation and the president appointed a white republican as post-master of richmond. in recognition of his great service to his party, belton was appointed stamping clerk in the post office at a salary of sixty dollars per month. as a rule, the most prominent and lucrative places went to those who were most influential with the voters. measured by this standard and by the standard of real ability, belton was entitled to the best place in the district in the gift of the government; but the color of his skin was against him, and he had to content himself with a clerkship. at the expiration of one year, belton proudly led the charming antoinette nermal to the marriage altar, where they became man and wife. their marriage was the most notable social event that had ever been known among the colored people of richmond. all of the colored people and many of the white people of prominence were at the wedding reception, and costly presents poured in upon them. this brilliant couple were predicted to have a glorious future before them. so all hearts hoped and felt. about two years from belton's appointment as stamping clerk and one year from the date of his marriage, a congressional convention was held for the purpose of nominating a candidate for congress. belton's chief, the postmaster, desired a personal friend to have the honor. this personal friend was known to be prejudiced against colored people and belton could not, therefore, see his way clear to support him for the nomination. he supported another candidate and won for him the nomination; but the postmaster dismissed him from his position as clerk. crushed in spirit, belton came home to tell his wife of their misfortune. although he was entitled to the postmastership, according to the ethics of the existing political condition, he had been given a commonplace clerkship. and now, because he would not play the puppet, he was summarily dismissed from that humble position. his wife cheered him up and bade him to not be despondent, telling him that a man of his talents would beyond all question be sure to succeed in life. belton began to cast around for another occupation, but, in whatever direction he looked, he saw no hope. he possessed a first class college education, but that was all. he knew no trade nor was he equipped to enter any of the professions. it is true that there were positions around by the thousands which he could fill, but his color debarred him. he would have made an excellent drummer, salesman, clerk, cashier, government official (county, city, state, or national) telegraph operator, conductor, or any thing of such a nature. but the color of his skin shut the doors so tight that he could not even peep in. the white people would not employ him in these positions, and the colored people did not have any enterprises in which they could employ him. it is true that such positions as street laborer, hod-carrier, cart driver, factory hand, railroad hand, were open to him; but such menial tasks were uncongenial to a man of his education and polish. and, again, society positively forbade him doing such labor. if a man of education among the colored people did such manual labor, he was looked upon as an eternal disgrace to the race. he was looked upon as throwing his education away and lowering its value in the eyes of the children who were to come after him. so, here was proud, brilliant belton, the husband of a woman whom he fairly worshipped, surrounded in a manner that precluded his earning a livelihood for her. this set belton to studying the labor situation and the race question from this point of view. he found scores of young men just in his predicament. the schools were all supplied with teachers. all other doors were effectually barred. society's stern edict forbade these young men resorting to lower forms of labor. and instead of the matter growing better, it was growing worse, year by year. colleges were rushing class after class forth with just his kind of education, and there was no employment for them. these young men, having no employment, would get together in groups and discuss their respective conditions. some were in love and desired to marry. others were married and desired to support their wives in a creditable way. others desired to acquire a competence. some had aged parents who had toiled hard to educate them and were looking to them for support. they were willing to work but the opportunity was denied them. and the sole charge against them was the color of their skins. they grew to hate a flag that would float in an undisturbed manner over such a condition of affairs. they began to abuse and execrate a national government that would not protect them against color prejudice, but on the contrary actually practiced it itself. beginning with passively hating the flag, they began to think of rebelling against it and would wish for some foreign power to come in and bury it in the dirt. they signified their willingness to participate in such a proceeding. it is true that it was only a class that had thought and spoke of this, but it was an educated class, turned loose with an idle brain and plenty of time to devise mischief. the toiling, unthinking masses went quietly to their labors, day by day, but the educated malcontents moved in and out among them, convincing them that they could not afford to see their men of brains ignored because of color. belton viewed this state of affairs with alarm and asked himself, whither was the nation drifting. he might have joined this army of malcontents and insurrection breeders, but that a very remarkable and novel idea occurred to him. he decided to endeavor to find out just what view the white people were taking of the negro and of the existing conditions. he saw that the nation was drifting toward a terrible cataract and he wished to find out what precautionary steps the white people were going to take. so he left richmond, giving the people to understand that he was gone to get a place to labor to support his wife. the people thought it strange that he did not tell where he was going and what he was to do. speculation was rife. many thought that it was an attempt at deserting his wife, whom he seemed unable to support. he arranged to visit his wife twice a month. he went to new york and completely disguised himself. he bought a wig representing the hair on the head of a colored woman. he had this wig made especially to his order. he bought an outfit of well fitting dresses and other garments worn by women. he clad himself and reappeared in richmond. his wife and most intimate friends failed to recognize him. he of course revealed his identity to his wife but to no one else. he now had the appearance of a healthy, handsome, robust colored girl, with features rather large for a woman but attractive just the same. in this guise belton applied for a position as nurse and was successful in securing a place in the family of a leading white man. he loitered near the family circle as much as he could. his ear was constantly at the key holes, listening. sometimes he would engage in conversation for the purpose of drawing them out on the question of the negro. he found out that the white man was utterly ignorant of the nature of the negro of to-day with whom he has to deal. and more than that, he was not bothering his brain thinking about the negro. he felt that the negro was easily ruled and was not an object for serious thought. the barbers, the nurses, cooks and washerwomen, the police column of the newspapers, comic stories and minstrels were the sources through which the white people gained their conception of the negro. but the real controling power of the race that was shaping its life and thought and preparing the race for action, was unnoticed and in fact unseen by them. the element most bitterly antagonistic to the whites avoided them, through intense hatred; and the whites never dreamed of this powerful inner circle that was gradually but persistently working its way in every direction, solidifying the race for the momentous conflict of securing all the rights due them according to the will of their heavenly father. belton also stumbled upon another misconception, which caused him eventually to lose his job as nurse. the young men in the families in which belton worked seemed to have a poor opinion of the virtue of colored women. time and again they tried to kiss belton, and he would sometimes have to exert his full strength to keep them at a distance. he thought that while he was a nurse, he would do what he could to exalt the character of the colored women. so, at every chance he got, he talked to the men who approached him, of virtue and integrity. he soon got the name of being a "virtuous prude" and the white men decided to corrupt him at all hazards. midnight carriage rides were offered and refused. trips to distant cities were proposed but declined. money was offered freely and lavishly but to no avail. belton did not yield to them. he became the cynosure of all eyes. he seemed so hard to reach, that they began to doubt his sex. a number of them decided to satisfy themselves at all hazards. they resorted to the bold and daring plan of kidnapping and overpowering belton. after that eventful night belton did no more nursing. but fortunately they did not recognize who he was. he secretly left, had it announced that belton piedmont would in a short time return to richmond, and throwing off his disguise, he appeared in richmond as belton piedmont of old. the town was agog with excitement over the male nurse, but none suspected him. he was now again without employment, and another most grievous burden was about to be put on his shoulders. may god enable him to bear it. during all the period of their poverty stricken condition, antoinette bore her deprivations like a heroine. though accustomed from her childhood to plenty, she bore her poverty smilingly and cheerfully. not one sigh of regret, not one word of complaint escaped her lips. she taught belton to hope and have faith in himself. but everything seemed to grow darker and darker for him. in the whole of his school life, he had never encountered a student who could surpass him in intellectual ability; and yet, here he was with all his conceded worth, unable to find a fit place to earn his daily bread, all because of the color of his skin. and now the lord was about to bless him with an offspring. he hardly knew whether to be thankful or sorrowful over this prospective gift from heaven. on the one hand, an infant in the home would be a source of unbounded joy; but over against this pleasing picture there stood cruel want pointing its wicked, mocking finger at him, anxious for another victim. as the time for the expected gift drew near, belton grew more moody and despondent. day by day he grew more and more nervous. one evening the nurse called him into his wife's room, bidding him come and look at his son. the nurse stood in the door and looked hard at belton as he drew near to the side of his wife's bed. he lifted the lamp from the dresser and approached. antoinette turned toward the wall and hid her head under the cover. eagerly, tremblingly, belton pulled the cover from the little child's face, the nurse all the while watching him as though her eyes would pop out of her head. belton bent forward to look at his infant son. a terrible shriek broke from his lips. he dropped the lamp upon the floor and fled out of the house and rushed madly through the city. the color of antoinette was brown. the color of belton was dark. but the child was white! what pen can describe the tumult that raged in belton's bosom for months and months! sadly, disconsolately, broken in spirit, thoroughly dejected, belton dragged himself to his mother's cottage at winchester. like a ship that had started on a voyage, on a bright day, with fair winds, but had been overtaken and overwhelmed in an ocean storm, and had been put back to shore, so belton now brought his battered bark into harbor again. his brothers and sisters had all married and had left the maternal roof. belton would sleep in the loft from which in his childhood he tumbled down, when disturbed about the disappearing biscuits. how he longed and sighed for childhood's happy days to come again. he felt that life was too awful for him to bear. his feelings toward his wife were more of pity than reproach. like the multitude, he supposed that his failure to properly support her had tempted her to ruin. he loved her still if anything, more passionately than ever. but ah! what were his feelings in those days toward the flag which he had loved so dearly, which had floated proudly and undisturbed, while color prejudice, upheld by it, sent, as he thought, cruel want with drawn sword to stab his family honor to death. belton had now lost all hope of personal happiness in this life, and as he grew more and more composed he found himself better prepared than ever to give his life wholly to the righting of the wrongs of his people. tenderly he laid the image of antoinette to rest in a grave in the very center of his heart. he covered her grave with fragrant flowers; and though he acknowledged the presence of a corpse in his heart, 'twas the corpse of one he loved. we must leave our beautiful heroine under a cloud just here, but god is with her and will bring her forth conqueror in the sight of men and angels. chapter xii. on the dissecting board. about this time the legislature of louisiana passed a law designed to prevent white people from teaching in schools conducted in the interest of negroes. a college for negroes had been located at cadeville for many years, presided over by a white minister from the north. under the operations of the law mentioned, he was forced to resign his position. the colored people were, therefore, under the necessity of casting about for a successor. they wrote to the president of stowe university requesting him to recommend a man competent to take charge of the college. the president decided that belton was an ideal man for the place and recommended him to the proper authorities. belton was duly elected. he again bade home adieu and boarded the train for cadeville, louisiana. belton's journey was devoid of special interest until he arrived within the borders of the state. at that time the law providing separate coaches for colored and white people had not been enacted by any of the southern states. but in some of them the whites had an unwritten but inexorable law, to the effect that no negro should be allowed to ride in a first-class coach. louisiana was one of these states, but belton did not know this. so, being in a first-class coach when he entered louisiana, he did not get up and go into a second-class coach. the train was speeding along and belton was quietly reading a newspaper. now and then he would look out of a window at the pine tree forest near the track. the bed of the railway had been elevated some two or three feet above the ground, and to get the dirt necessary to elevate it a sort of trench had been dug, and ran along beside the track. the rain had been falling very copiously for the two or three days previous, and the ditch was full of muddy water. belton's eyes would now and then fall on this water as they sped along. in the meanwhile the train began to get full, passengers getting on at each station. at length the coach was nearly filled. a white lady entered, and not at once seeing a vacant seat, paused a few seconds to look about for one. she soon espied an unoccupied seat. she proceeded to it, but her slight difficulty had been noted by the white passengers. belton happened to glance around and saw a group of white men in an eager, animated conversation, and looking in his direction now and then as they talked. he paid no especial attention to this, however, and kept on reading. before he was aware of what was going on, he was surrounded by a group of angry men. he stood up in surprise to discover its meaning. "get out of this coach. we don't allow niggers in first-class coaches. get out at once," said their spokesman. "show me your authority to order me out, sir," said belton firmly. "we are our own authority, as you will soon find out if you don't get out of here." "i propose," said belton, "to stay right in this coach as long----" he did not finish the sentence, for rough fingers were clutching his throat. the whole group was upon him in an instant and he was soon overpowered. they dragged him into the aisle, and, some at his head and others at his feet, lifted him and bore him to the door. the train was speeding along at a rapid rate. belton grew somewhat quiet in his struggling, thinking to renew it in the second-class coach, whither he supposed they were carrying him. but when they got to the platform, instead of carrying him across they tossed him off the train into that muddy ditch at which belton had been looking. his body and feet fell into the water while his head buried itself in the soft clay bed. the train was speeding on and belton eventually succeeded in extricating himself from his bed of mud and water. covered from head to foot with red clay, the president-elect of cadeville college walked down to the next station, two miles away. there he found his satchel, left by the conductor of the train. he remained at this station until the afternoon, when another train passed. this time he entered the second-class coach and rode unmolested to monroe, louisiana. there he was to have changed cars for cadeville. the morning train, the one from which he was thrown, made connection with the cadeville train, but the afternoon train did not. so he was under the necessity of remaining over night in the city of monroe, a place of some twenty thousand inhabitants. being hungry, he went forth in quest of a meal. he entered a restaurant and asked the white man whom he saw behind the counter for a meal. the white man stepped into a small adjoining room to fill the order, and belton eat down on a high stool at the eating counter. the white man soon returned with some articles of food in a paper bag. seeing belton sitting down, he cried out: "get up from there, you nigger. it would cost me a hundred dollars for you to be seen sitting there." belton looked up in astonishment, "do you mean to say that i must stand up here and eat?" he asked. "no, i don't mean any such thing. you must go out of here to eat." "then," replied belton, "i shall politely leave your food on your hands if i cannot be allowed to eat in here." "i guess you won't," the man replied. "i have cut this ham off for you and you have got to take it." belton, remembering his experience earlier in the day, began to move toward the door to leave. the man seized a whistle and in an instant two or three policemen came running, followed by a crowd. belton stood still to await developments. the clerk said to the policeman: "this high-toned nigger bought a meal of me and because i would not let him sit down and eat like white people he refused to pay me." the officers turned to belton and said: "pay that man what you owe him." belton replied: "i owe him nothing. he refuses to accommodate me, and i therefore owe him nothing." "come along with me, sir. consider yourself under arrest." wondering what kind of a country he had entered, belton followed the officer and incredible as it may seem, was locked up in jail for the night. the next morning he was arraigned before the mayor, whom the officer had evidently posted before the opening of court. belton was fined five dollars for vagrancy and was ordered to leave town within five hours. he paid his fine and boarded the train for cadeville. as the train pulled in for cadeville, a group of white men were seen standing on the platform. one of them was a thin, scrawny looking man with a long beard, very, very white. his body was slightly stooping forward, and whenever he looked at you he had the appearance of bending as if to see you better. when belton stepped on to the platform this man, who was the village doctor, looked at him keenly. belton was a fine specimen of physical manhood. his limbs were well formed, well proportioned and seemed as strong as oak. his manly appearance always excited interest wherever he was seen. the doctor's eyes followed him cadaverously. he went up to the postmaster, a short man with a large head. the postmaster was president of the band of "nigger rulers" of that section. the doctor said to the postmaster: "i'll be durned if that ain't the finest lookin' darkey i ever put my eye on. if i could get his body to dissect, i'd give one of the finest kegs of whiskey in my cellar." the postmaster looked at belton and said: "zakeland," for such was the doctor's name, "you are right. he is a fine looking chap, and he looks a little tony. if we 'nigger rulers' are ever called in to attend to him we will not burn him nor shoot him to pieces. we will kill him kinder decent and let you have him to dissect. i shall not fail to call for that whiskey to treat the boys." so saying they parted. belton did not hear this murderous conversation respecting himself. he was joyfully received by the colored people of cadeville, to whom he related his experiences. they looked at him as though he was a superior being bearing a charmed life, having escaped being killed. it did not come to their minds to be surprised at the treatment accorded him for what he had done. their wonder was as to how he got off so easily. belton took charge of the school and began the faithful performance of his duties. he decided to add an industrial department to his school and traveled over the state and secured the funds for the work. he sent to new orleans for a colored architect and contractor who drew the plans and accepted the contract for erecting the building. they decided to have colored men erect the building and gathered a force for that purpose. the white brick-masons of monroe heard of this. they organized a mob, came to cadeville and ordered the men to quit work. they took charge of the work themselves, letting the colored brick-masons act as hod carriers for them. they employed a white man to supervise the work. the colored people knew that it meant death to resist and they paid the men as though nothing unusual had happened. belton had learned to observe and wait. these outrages sank like molten lead into his heart, but he bore them all. the time for the presidential election was drawing near and he arose in the chapel one morning to lecture to the young men on their duty to vote. one of the village girls told her father of belton's speech. the old man was shaving his face and had just shaved off one side of his beard when his daughter told him. he did not stop to pull the towel from around his neck nor to put down his razor. he rushed over to the house where belton boarded and burst into his room. belton threw up his hands in alarm at seeing this man come, razor in hand, towel around his neck and beard half off and half on. the man sat down to catch his breath. he began: "mr. piedmont, i learn that you are advising our young men to vote. i am sure you don't know in what danger you stand. i have come to give you the political history of this section of louisiana. the colored people of this region far outnumber the white people, and years ago had absolute control of everything. the whites of course did not tamely submit, but armed themselves to overthrow us. we armed ourselves, and every night patrolled this road all night long looking for the whites to come and attack us. my oldest brother is a very cowardly and sycophantic man. the white people made a spy and traitor out of him. when the people found out that there was treachery in our ranks it demoralized them, and our organization went to pieces. "we had not the authority nor disposition to kill a traitor, and consequently we had no effective remedy against a betrayal. when the news of our demoralized condition reached the whites it gave them fresh courage, and they have dominated us ever since. they carry on the elections. we stay in our fields all day long on election day and scarcely know what is going on. not long since a white man came through here and distributed republican ballots. the white people captured him and cut his body into four pieces and threw it in the ouachita river. since then you can't get any man to venture here to distribute ballots. "just before the last presidential campaign, two brothers, samuel and john bowser, colored, happened to go down to new orleans. things are not so bad down there as they are up here in northern louisiana. these two brothers each secured a republican party ballot, and on election day somewhat boastfully cast them into the ballot box. there is, as you have perhaps heard, a society here known as 'nigger rulers.' the postmaster of this place is president of the society, and the teacher of the white public school is the captain of the army thereof. "they sent word to the bowser brothers that they would soon be there to whip them. the brothers prepared to meet them. they cut a hole in the front side of the house, through which they could poke a gun. night came on, and true to their word the 'nigger rulers' came. samuel bowser fired when they were near the house and one man fell dead. all of the rest fled to the cover of the neighboring woods. soon they cautiously returned and bore away their dead comrade. they made no further attack that night. "the brothers hid out in the woods. hearing of this and fearing that the men would make their escape the whites gathered in force and hemmed in the entire settlement on all sides. for three days the men hid in the woods, unable to escape because of the guard kept by the whites. the third night a great rain came up and the whites sought the shelter of their homes. "the brothers thus had a chance to escape. john escaped into arkansas, but samuel, poor fool, went only forty miles, remaining in louisiana. the mob forced one of our number, who escorted him on horseback, to inform them of the road that samuel took. in this way they traced and found him. they tied him on a horse and brought him back here with them. they kept him in the woods three days, torturing him. on the third day we heard the loud report of a gun which we supposed ended his life. none of us know where he lies buried. you can judge from this why we neglect voting." this speech wound up belton's political career in cadeville. he thanked the man for the information, assuring him that it would be of great value to him in knowing how to shape his course. after belton had been at cadeville a few years, he had a number of young men and women to graduate from the various departments of his school. he invited the pastor of a leading white church of monroe to deliver an oration on the day of commencement exercises. the preacher came and was most favorably impressed with belton's work, as exhibited in the students then graduating. he esteemed belton as a man of great intellectual power and invited him to call at his church and house if he ever came to monroe. belton was naturally greatly elated over this invitation from a southerner and felt highly complimented. one sabbath morning, shortly thereafter, belton happened to be in monroe, and thinking of the preacher's kind invitation, went to his church to attend the morning service. he entered and took a seat near the middle of the church. during the opening exercises a young white lady who sat by his side experienced some trouble in finding the hymn. belton had remembered the number given out and kindly took the book to find it. in an instant the whole church was in an uproar. a crowd of men gathered around belton and led him out of doors. a few leaders went off to one side and held a short consultation. they decided that as it was sunday, they would not lynch him. they returned to the body of men yet holding belton and ordered him released. this evidently did not please the majority, but he was allowed to go. that afternoon belton called at the residence of the minister in order to offer an explanation. the minister opened the door, and seeing who it was, slammed it in his face. belton turned away with many misgivings as to what was yet to come. dr. zackland always spent his sundays at monroe and was a witness of the entire scene in which belton had figured so prominently. he hastened out of church, and as soon as he saw belton turned loose, hurried to the station and boarded the train for cadeville, leaving his hymn book and bible on his seat in the church. his face seemed lighted up with joy. "i've got him at last. careful as he has been i've got him," he kept repeating over and over to himself. he left the train at cadeville and ran to the postmaster's house, president of the "nigger rulers," and he was out of breath when he arrived there. he sat down, fanned himself with his hat, and when sufficiently recovered, said: "well, we will have to fix that nigger, piedmont. he is getting too high." "what's that he has been doing now? i have looked upon him as being an uncommonly good nigger. i have kept a good eye on him but haven't even had to hint at him," said the postmaster." "well, he has shown his true nature at last. he had the gall to enter a white church in monroe this morning and actually took a seat down stairs with the white folks; he did not even look at the gallery where he belonged." "is that so?" burst out the postmaster incredulously. "i should say he did, and that's not all. a white girl who sat by him and could not read very well, failed to find the hymn at once. that nigger actually had the impudence to take her book and find the place for her." "the infernal scoundrel. by golly, he shall hang," broke in the postmaster. dr. zackland continued: "naturally the congregation was infuriated and soon hustled the impudent scoundrel out. if services had not been going on, and if it had not been sunday, there is no telling what would have happened. as it was they turned him loose. i came here to tell you, as he is our 'nigger' living here at cadeville, and the 'nigger rulers' of cadeville will be disrespected if they let such presumptuous niggers go about to disturb religious services." "you are right about that, and we must soon put him out of the way. to-night will be his last night on earth," replied the postmaster. "do you remember our bargain that we made about that nigger when he came about here?" asked dr. zackland. "no," answered the postmaster. "well, i do. i have been all along itching for a chance to carry it out. you were to give me the nigger's body for dissecting purposes, in return for which i was to give you a keg of my best whiskey," said dr. zackland. "ha, ha, ha," laughed the postmaster, "i do remember it now." "well, i'll certainly stick up to my part of the program if you will stick to yours." "you can bet on me," returned dr. zackland. "i have a suggestion to make about the taking off of the nigger. don't have any burning or riddling with bullets. just hang him and fire one shot in the back of his head. i want him whole in the interest of society. that whiskey will be the finest that you will ever have and i want a good bargain for it." "i'll follow your instructions to the letter," answered the postmaster. "i'll just tell the boys that he, being a kind of decent nigger, we will give him a decent hanging. meantime, doctor, i must get out. to-day is sunday and we must do our work to-morrow night. i must get a meeting of the boys to-night." so saying, the two arose, left the house and parted, one going to gather up his gang and the other to search up and examine his dissecting appliances. monday night about o'clock a mob came and took belton out into the neighboring woods. he was given five minutes to pray, at the expiration of which time he was to be hanged. belton seemed to have foreseen the coming of the mob, but felt somehow that god was at work to deliver him. therefore he made no resistance, having unshaken faith in god. the rope was adjusted around his neck and thrown over the limb of a tree and belton was swinging up. the postmaster then slipped forward and fired his pistol at the base of his skull and the blood came oozing forth. he then ordered the men to retire, as he did not care for them to remain to shoot holes in the body, as was their custom. as soon as they retired, three men sent by dr. zackland stole out of hiding and cut belton's body down. belton was not then dead, for he had only been hanging for seven minutes, and the bullet had not entered the skull but had simply ploughed its way under the skin. he was, however, unconscious, and to all appearances dead. the three men bore him to dr. zackland's residence, and entered a rear door. they laid him on a dissecting table in the rear room, the room in which the doctor performed all surgical operations. dr. zackland came to the table and looked down on belton with a happy smile. to have such a robust, well-formed, handsome nigger to dissect and examine he regarded as one of the greatest boons of his medical career. the three men started to retire. "wait," said dr. zackland, "let us see if he is dead." belton had now returned to consciousness but kept his eyes closed, thinking it best to feign death. dr. zackland cut off the hair in the neighborhood of the wound in the rear of belton's head and began cutting the skin, trying to trace the bullet. belton did not wince. "the nigger is dead or else he would show some sign of life. but i will try pricking his palm." this was done, but while the pain was exceedingly excruciating, belton showed no sign of feeling. "you may go now," said the doctor to his three attendants, "he is certainly dead." the men left. dr. zackland pulled out his watch and said: "it is now o'clock. those doctors from monroe will be here by twelve. i can have everything exactly ready by that time." a bright ray of hope passed into belton's bosom. he had two hours more of life, two hours more in which to plan an escape. dr. zackland was busy stirring about over the room. he took a long, sharp knife and gazed at its keen edge. he placed this on the dissecting table near belton's feet. he then passed out of doors to get a pail of water, and left the door ajar. he went to his cabinet to get out more surgical instruments, and his back was now turned to belton and he was absorbed in what he was doing. belton's eyes had followed every movement, but in order to escape attention his eyelids were only slightly open. he now raised himself up, seized the knife that was near his feet and at a bound was at the doctor's side. the doctor turned around and was in dread alarm at the sight of the dead man returned to life. at that instant he was too terrified to act or scream, and before he could recover his self-possession belton plunged the knife through his throat. seizing the dying man he laid him on the dissecting board and covered him over with a sheet. he went to the writing desk and quickly scrawled the following note. "doctors: "i have stepped out for a short while. don't touch the nigger until i come. "zackland." he pinned this note on that portion of the sheet where it would attract attention at once if one should begin to uncover the corpse. he did this to delay discovery and thus get a good start on those who might pursue him. having done this he crept cautiously out of the room, leapt the back fence and made his way to his boarding place. he here changed his clothes and disappeared in the woods. he made his way to baton rouge and sought a conference with the governor. the governor ordered him under arrest and told him that the best and only thing he could do was to send him back to cadeville under military escort to be tried for murder. this was accordingly done. the community was aroused over the death of dr. zackland at the hands of a negro. the sending of the military further incensed them. at the trial which followed, all evidence respecting the mob was excluded as irrelevant. robbery was the motive assigned for the deed. the whole family with which belton lived were arraigned as accomplices, because his bloody clothes were found in his room in their house. during the trial, the jury were allowed to walk about and mingle freely with the people and be thus influenced by the bitter public sentiment against belton. men who were in the mob that attempted belton's murder were on the jury. in fact, the postmaster was the foreman. without leaving their seats the jury returned a verdict of guilty in each case and all were sentenced to be hanged. the prisoners were taken to the new orleans jail for safe keeping. while incarcerated here awaiting the day of execution, a newspaper reporter of a liberal new orleans paper called on the prisoners. he was impressed with belton's personality and promised to publish any statement that belton would write. belton then gave a thorough detailed account of every happening. the story was telegraphed broadcast and aroused sympathetic interest everywhere. bernard read an account of it and hastened to his friend's side in new orleans. in response to a telegram from bernard a certain influential democratic senator came to new orleans. influence was brought to bear, and though all precedent was violated, the case was manoeuvred to the supreme court of the united states. before this tribunal bernard made the speech of his life and added to his fame as an orator. competent judges said that the like of it had not been heard since the days of daniel webster. as he pleaded for his friend and the others accused the judges of the supreme court wept scalding tears. bernard told of belton's noble life, his unassuming ways, his pure christianity. the decision of the lower court was reversed, a change of venue granted, a new trial held and an acquittal secured. thus ended the tragic experience that burned all the remaining dross out of belton's nature and prepared him for the even more terrible ordeal to follow in after years. chapter xiii. married and yet not married. bernard was now at the very acme of fame. he had succeeded in becoming the most noted negro of his day. he felt that the time was not ripe for him to gather up his wealth and honors and lay them, with his heart, at viola's feet. one afternoon he invited viola to go out buggy riding with him, and decided to lay bare his heart to her before their return home. they drove out of norfolk over campostella bridge and went far into the country, chatting pleasantly, oblivious of the farm hands preparing the soil for seed sowing; for it was in balmy spring. about eight o'clock they were returning to the city and bernard felt his veins throbbing; for he had determined to know his fate before he reached viola's home. when midway the bridge he pulled his reins and the horse stood still. the dark waters of the small river swept on beneath them. night had just begun to spread out her sombre wings, bedecked with silent stars. just in front of them, as they looked out upon the center of the river, the river took a bend which brought a shore directly facing them. a green lawn began from the shore and ran back to be lost in the shadows of the evening. amid a group of trees, there stood a little hut that looked to be the hut of an old widower, for it appeared neglected, forsaken, sad. bernard gazed at this lonesome cottage and said: "viola, i feel to-night that all my honors are empty. they feel to me like a load crushing me down rather than a pedestal raising me up. i am not happy. i long for the solitude of those trees. that decaying old house calls eloquently unto something within me. how i would like to enter there and lay me down to sleep, free from the cares and divested of the gewgaws of the world." viola was startled by these sombre reflections coming from bernard. she decided that something must be wrong. she was, by nature, exceedingly tender of heart, and she turned her pretty eyes in astonished grief at bernard, handsome, melancholy, musing. "ah, mr. belgrave, something terrible is gnawing at your heart for one so young, so brilliant, so prosperous as you are to talk thus. make a confidante of me and let me help to remove the load, if i can." bernard was silent and eat gazing out on the quiet flowing waters. viola's eyes eagerly scanned his face as if to divine his secret. bernard resumed speaking: "i have gone forth into life to win certain honors and snatch from fame a wreath, and now that i have succeeded, i behold this evening, as never before, that it is not worthy of the purpose for which i designed it. my work is all in vain." "mr. belgrave, you must not talk so sadly," said viola, almost ready to cry. bernard turned and suddenly grasped viola's hands and said in passionate tones: "viola, i love you. i have nothing to offer you worthy of you. i can find nothing worthy, attain nothing worthy. i love you to desperation. will you give yourself to a wretch like me? say no! don't throw away your beauty, your love on so common a piece of clay." viola uttered a loud, piercing scream that dispersed all bernard's thoughts and frightened the horse. he went dashing across the bridge, bernard endeavoring to grasp the reins. when he at last succeeded, viola had fainted. bernard drove hurriedly towards viola's home, puzzled beyond measure. he had never heard of a marriage proposal frightening a girl into a faint and he thought that there was surely something in the matter of which he knew nothing. then, too, he was racking his brain for an excuse to give viola's parents. but happily the cool air revived viola and she awoke trembling violently and begged bernard to take her home at once. this he did and drove away, much puzzled in mind. he revived the whole matter in his mind, and thoughts and opinions came and went. perhaps she deemed him utterly unworthy of her. there was one good reason for this last opinion and one good one against it. he felt himself to be unworthy of such a girl, but on the other hand viola had frequently sung his praises in his own ears and in the ears of others. he decided to go early in the morning and know definitely his doom. that night he did not sleep. he paced up and down the room glancing at the clock every five minutes or so. he would now and then hoist the window and strain his eyes to see if there were any sign of approaching dawn. after what seemed to him at least a century, the sun at last arose and ushered in the day. as soon as he thought miss martin was astir and unengaged, he was standing at the door. they each looked sad and forlorn. viola knew and bernard felt that some dark shadow was to come between them. viola caught hold of bernard's hand and led him silently into the parlor. bernard sat down on the divan and viola took a seat thereon close by his side. she turned her charming face, sweet in its sadness, up to bernard's and whispered "kiss me, bernard." bernard seized her and kissed her rapturously. she then arose and sat in a chair facing him, at a distance. she then said calmly, determinedly, almost icily, looking bernard squarely in the face: "bernard, you know that i love you. it was i that asked you to kiss me. always remember that. but as much as i love you i shall never be your wife. never, never." bernard arose and started toward viola. he paused and gazed down upon that beautiful image that sat before him and said in anguish: "oh god! is all my labor in vain, my honors common dirt, my future one dreary waste? shall i lose that which has been an ever shining, never setting sun to me? viola! if you love me you shall be my wife." viola bowed her head and shook it sadly, saying: "a power higher than either you or i has decreed it otherwise." "who is he? tell me who he is that dare separate us and i swear i will kill him," cried bernard in a frenzy of rage. viola looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, and said: "would you kill god?" this question brought bernard to his senses and he returned to his seat and sat down suddenly. he then said: "viola martin, you are making a fool of me. tell me plainly why we cannot be man and wife, if you love me as you say you do?" "bernard, call here to-morrow at o'clock and i will tell you all. if you can then remove my objections all will be well." bernard leaped up eager to get away, feeling that that would somewhat hasten the time for him to return. viola did not seem to share his feelings of elation. but he did not mind that. he felt himself fully able to demolish any and all objections that viola could bring. he went home and spent the day perusing his text-book on logic. he would conjure up imaginary objections and would proceed to demolish them in short order. he slept somewhat that night, anticipating a decisive victory on the morrow. when bernard left viola that morning, she threw herself prostrate on the floor, moaning and sobbing. after a while she arose and went to the dining room door. she looked in upon her mother, quietly sewing, and tried to say in a cheerful manner: "mamma, i shall be busy writing all day in my room. let no one disturb me." her mother looked at her gently and lovingly and assured her that no one should disturb her. her mother surmised that all had not gone well with her and bernard, and that viola was wrestling with her grief. knowing that spats were common to young people in love she supposed it would soon be over. viola went upstairs and entered her room. this room, thanks to viola's industry and exquisite taste, was the beauty spot of the whole house. pictures of her own painting adorned the walls, and scattered here and there in proper places were articles of fancy work put together in most lovely manner by her delicate fingers. viola was fond of flowers and her room was alive with the scent of pretty flowers and beautiful roses. this room was a fitting scene for what was to follow. she opened her tiny writing desk. she wrote a letter to her father, one to her mother and one to bernard. her letter to bernard had to be torn up and re-written time and again, for fast falling tears spoiled it almost as fast as she wrote. at last she succeeded in finishing his letter to her satisfaction. at eventide she came down stairs and with her mother, sat on the rear porch and saw the sun glide gently out of sight, without a struggle, without a murmur. her eye lingered long on the spot where the sun had set and watched the hidden sun gradually steal all of his rays from the skies to use them in another world. drawing a heavy sigh, she lovingly caught her mother around the waist and led her into the parlor. viola now became all gayety, but her mother could see that it was forced. she took a seat at the piano and played and sang. her rich soprano voice rang out clear and sweet and passers by paused to listen to the glorious strains. those who paused to hear her sing passed on feeling sad at heart. beginning in somewhat low tones, her voice gradually swelled and the full, round tones full of melody and pathos seemed to lift up and bear one irresistibly away. viola's mother sat by and looked with tender solicitude on her daughter singing and playing as she had never before in her life. "what did it mean?" she asked herself. when viola's father came from the postoffice, where he was a clerk, viola ran to him joyously. she pulled him into the parlor and sat on his knee stroking his chin and nestling her head on his bosom. she made him tell her tales as he did when she was a child and she would laugh, but her laugh did not have its accustomed clear, golden ring. kissing them good night, she started up to her bed room. when at the head of the stairway she returned and without saying a word kissed her parents again. when she was gone, the parents looked at each other and shook their heads. they knew that viola was feeling keenly on account of something but felt that her cheerful nature would soon throw it off. but the blade was in her heart deeper than they knew. viola entered her room, fastening the door behind her. she went to her desk, secured the three letters that she had written and placed them on the floor a few inches apart in a position where they would attract immediate attention upon entering the room. she then lay down upon her bed and put one arm across her bosom. with her other hand she turned on the gas jet by the head of her bed. she then placed this other hand across her bosom and ere long fell asleep to wake no more. the moon arose and shed its sad, quiet light through the half turned shutters, through the window pane. it seemed to force its way in in order to linger and weep over such queenly beauty, such worth, meeting with such an accursed end. thus in this forbidden path viola martin had gone to him who said: "come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest." chapter xiv married and yet not married. (continued.) at ten o'clock on the next day, bernard called at viola's residence. viola's mother invited him in and informed him that viola had not arisen. thinking that her daughter had spent much of the night in meditating on whatever was troubling her, she had thought not to awaken her so early. bernard informed her that viola had made an engagement with him for that morning at ten o'clock. mrs. martin looked alarmed. she knew that viola was invariably punctual to an appointment and something unusual must be the matter. she left the room hurriedly and her knees smote together as she fancied she discovered the scent of escaping gas. she clung to the banisters for support and dragged her way to viola's door. as she drew near, the smell of gas became unmistakable, and she fell forward, uttering a loud scream. bernard had noticed the anxious look on viola's mother's face and was listening eagerly. he beard her scream and dashed out of the parlor and up the stairs. he rushed past mrs. martin and burst open the door to viola's door. he drew back aghast at the sight that met his gaze. the next instant he had seized her lifeless form, beautiful in death, and smothered those silent lips with kisses. mrs. martin regained sufficient strength to rush into the room, and when she saw her child was dead uttered a succession of piercing shrieks and fell to the floor in a swoon. this somewhat called bernard's mind from his own grief. he lay viola down upon her own bed most tenderly and set about to restore mrs. martin to consciousness. by this time the room was full of anxious neighbors. while they are making inquiry let us peruse the letters which the poor girl left behind. "my dear, dear, heart-broken mama:-- "i am in the hands of god. whatever he does is just, is right, is the only thing to be done. knowing this, do not grieve after me. take poor bernard for your son and love him as you did me. i make that as my sole dying request of you. one long sweet clinging kiss ere i drop into the ocean of death to be lost in its tossing waves. "viola." "beloved papa:-- "your little daughter is gone. her heart, though torn, bleeding, dead, gave, as it were, an after throb of pain as it thought of you. in life you never denied me a request. i have one to make from my grave, knowing that you will not deny me. love bernard as your son; draw him to you, so that, when in your old age you go tottering to your tomb in quest of me, you may have a son to bear you up. take my lifeless body on your knee and kiss me as you did of old. it will help me to rest sweetly in my grave. "your little vie." "dear bernard:-- "viola has loved and left you. unto you, above all others, i owe a full explanation of the deed which i have committed; and i shall therefore lay bare my heart to you. my father was a colonel in the civil war and when i was very young he would make my little heart thrill with patriotic fervor as he told me of the deeds of daring of the gallant negro soldiers. as a result, when nothing but a tiny girl, i determined to be a heroine and find some outlet for my patriotic feeling. this became a consuming passion. in -- just two years prior to my meeting you, a book entitled, 'white supremacy and negro subordination,' by the merest accident came into my possession. that book made a revelation to me of a most startling nature. "while i lived i could not tell you what i am about to tell you. death has brought me the privilege. that book proved to me that the intermingling of the races in sexual relationship was sapping the vitality of the negro race and, in fact, was slowly but surely exterminating the race. it demonstrated that the fourth generation of the children born of intermarrying mulattoes were invariably sterile or woefully lacking in vital force. it asserted that only in the most rare instances were children born of this fourth generation and in no case did such children reach maturity. this is a startling revelation. while this intermingling was impairing the vital force of our race and exterminating it, it was having no such effect on the white race for the following reason. every half-breed, or for that, every person having a tinge of negro blood, the white people cast off. we receive the cast off with open arms and he comes to us with his devitalizing power. thus, the white man was slowly exterminating us and our total extinction was but a short period of time distant. i looked out upon our strong, tender hearted, manly race being swept from the face of the earth by immorality, and the very marrow in my bones seemed chilled at the thought thereof. i determined to spend my life fighting the evil. my first step was to solemnly pledge god to never marry a mulatto man. my next resolve was to part in every honorable way all courting couples of mulatto people that i could. my other and greatest task was to persuade the evil women of my race to cease their criminal conduct with white men and i went about pleading with them upon my knees to desist. i pointed out that such a course was wrong before god and was rapidly destroying the negro race. i told them of my resolve to never marry a mulatto man. many had faith in me and i was the means of redeeming numbers of these erring ones. when you came, i loved you. i struggled hard against that love. god, alone, knows how i battled against it. i prayed him to take it from me, as it was eating my heart away. sometimes i would appear indifferent to you with the hope of driving you away, but then my love would come surging with all the more violence and sweep me from my feet. at last, you seemed to draw away from me and i was happy. i felt free to you. but you at last proposed to me when i thought all such notions were dead. at once i foresaw my tragic end. my heart shed bloody tears, weeping over my own sad end, weeping for my beloved parents, weeping for my noble bernard who was so true, so noble, so great in all things. "bernard, how happy would i have been, how deliriously happy, could i but have stood beside you at the altar and sworn fidelity to you. ours would have been an ideal home. but it was not to be. i had to choose between you and my race. your noble heart, in its sober moments will sanction my choice, i would not have died if i could have lived without proving false to my race. had i lived, my love and your agony, which i cannot bear, would have made me prove false to every vow. "dear bernard, i have a favor to ask of you. secure the book of which i spoke to you. study the question of the intermingling of the races. if miscegenation is in reality destroying us, dedicate your soul to the work of separating the white and colored races. do not let them intermingle. erect moral barriers to separate them. if you fail in this, make the separation physical; lead our people forth from this accursed land. do this and i shall not have died in vain. visit my grave now and then to drop thereon a flower and a flag, but no tears. if in the shadowy beyond, whose mists i feel gathering about me, there is a place where kindred spirits meet, you and i shall surely meet again. though i could not in life, i will in death sign myself, "your loving wife, "viola belgrave." let us not enter this saddened home when the seals of those letters were broken. let us not break the solemn silence of those who bowed their heads and bore the grief, too poignant for words. dropping a tear of regret on the little darling who failed to remember that we have one atonement for all mankind and that further sacrifice was therefore needless, we pass out and leave the loving ones alone with their dead. but, we may gaze on bernard belgrave as he emerges from the room where his sun has set to rise no more. his eyes flash, his nostrils dilate, his bosom heaves, he lifts his proud head and turns his face so that the light of the sky may fall full upon it. and lifting up his hands, trembling with emotion as though supplicating for the strength of a god, he cries out; "by the eternal heavens these abominable horrors shall cease. the races, whose union has been fraught with every curse known to earth and hell, must separate. viola demands it and bernard obeys." it was this that sent him forth to where kings were eager to court his favor. chapter xv. weighty matters. with his hands thrust into his pockets, and his hat pulled over his grief stricken eyes, bernard slowly wended his way to his boarding place. he locked himself in his room and denied himself to all callers. he paced to and fro, his heart a cataract of violent, tossing, whirling emotions. he sat down and leaned his head upon the bed, pressing his hand to his forehead as if to restore order there. while thus employed his landlady knocked at the door and called through the key hole, informing him that there was a telegram for him. bernard arose, came out, signed for and received the telegram, tore it open and read as follows: waco, texas, ----l ---- "hon. bernard belgrave, m.c., "come to waco at once. if you fail to come you will make the mistake of your life. come. "belton piedmont." "yes, i'll go," shouted bernard, "anywhere, for anything." he seemed to feel grateful for something to divert his thoughts and call him away from the scene where his hopes had died. he sent viola's family a note truthfully stating that he was unequal to the task of attending viola's funeral, and that for his part she was not dead and never should be. the parents had read bernard's letter left by viola and knew the whole story. they, too, felt that it was best for bernard to go. bernard took the train that afternoon and after a journey of four days arrived at waco. belton being apprised by telegram of the hour of his arrival, was at the station to meet him. belton was actually shocked at the haggard appearance of his old play-fellow. it was such a contrast from the brilliant, glowing, handsome bernard of former days. after the exchange of greetings, they entered a carriage and drove through the city. they passed out, leaving the city behind. after going about five miles, they came in sight of a high stone wall enclosure. in the middle of the enclosed place, upon a slight elevation, stood a building four stories high and about two hundred feet long and one hundred and eighty feet wide. in the center of the front side arose a round tower, half of it bulging out. this extended from the ground to a point about twenty feet above the roof of the building. the entrance to the building was through a wide door in this tower. off a few paces was a small white cottage. here and there trees abounded in patches in the enclosure, which seemed to comprise about twenty acres. the carriage drove over a wide, gravel driveway which curved so as to pass the tower door, and on out to another gate. belton and bernard alighted and proceeded to enter. carved in large letters on the top of the stone steps were these words: "thomas jefferson college." they entered the tower and found themselves on the floor of an elevator, and on this they ascended to the fourth story. the whole of this story was one huge room, devoid of all kinds of furniture save a table and two chairs in a corner. in the center was an elevated platform about ten feet square, and on this stood what might have passed for either a gallows or an acting pole. belton led bernard to the spot where the two chairs and table stood and they sat down. belton informed bernard that he had brought him there so that there would be no possibility of anyone hearing what, he had to say. bernard instantly became all attention. belton began his recital: "i have been so fortunate as to unearth a foul conspiracy that is being hatched by our people. i have decided to expose them and see every one of them hung," "pray tell me, belton, what is the motive that prompts you to be so zealous in the work of ferreting out conspirators among your people to be hanged by the whites?" "it is this," said belton: "you know as it is, the negro has a hard time in this country. if we begin to develop traitors and conspirators we shall fare even worse. it is necessary, therefore, that we kill these vipers that come, lest we all be slain as vipers." "that may be true, but i don't like to see you in that kind of business," said bernard. "don't talk that way," said belton, "for i counted upon your aid. i desire to secure you as prosecuting attorney in the case. when we thus expose the traitors, we shall earn the gratitude of the government and our race will be treated with more consideration in the future. we will add another page to the glorious record of our people's devotion by thus spurning these traitors." "belton, i tell you frankly that my share in that kind of business will be infinitessimally small. but go on. let me know the whole story, that i may know better what to think and do," replied bernard. "well, it is this," began belton; "you know that there is one serious flaw in the constitution of the united states, which has already caused a world of trouble, and there is evidently a great deal more to come. you know that a ship's boilers, engines, rigging, and so forth may be in perfect condition, but a serious leak in her bottom will sink the proudest vessel afloat. this flaw or defect in the constitution of the united states is the relation of the general government to the individual state. the vague, unsettled state of the relationship furnished the pretext for the civil war. the general government says to the citizen: 'i am your sovereign. you are my citizen and not the citizen of only one state. if i call on you to defend my sovereignty, you must do so even if you have to fight against your own state. but while i am your supreme earthly sovereign i am powerless to protect you against crimes, injustices, outrages against you. your state may disfranchise you with or without law, may mob you; but my hands are so tied that i can't help you at all, although i shall force you to defend my sovereignty with your lives. if you are beset by klu klux, white cappers, bulldozers, lynchers, do not turn your dying eyes on me for i am unable to help you.' such is what the federal government has to say to the negro. the negro must therefore fight to keep afloat a flag that can afford him no more protection than could a helpless baby. the weakness of the general government in this particular was revealed with startling clearness in connection with the murder of those italians in new orleans, a few years ago. this government had promised italy to afford protection to the property and lives of her citizens sojourning in our midst. but when these men were murdered the general government could not even bring the murderers to trial for their crime. its treaty had been broken by a handfull of its own citizens and it was powerless to punish them. it had to confess its impotence to the world, and paid italy a specified sum of money. the negro finds himself an unprotected foreigner in his own home. whatever outrages may be perpetrated upon him by the people of the state in which he lives, he cannot expect any character of redress from the general government. so in order to supply this needed protection, this conspiracy of which i have spoken has been formed to attempt to unite all negroes in a body to do that which the whimpering government childishly but truthfully says it cannot do. "these men are determined to secure protection for their lives and the full enjoyment of all rights and privileges due american citizens. they take a solemn oath, offering their very blood for the cause. i see that this will lead, eventually, to a clash of arms, and i wish to expose the conspiracy before it is too late. cooperate with me and glory and honor shall attend us all of our days. now, bernard, tell me candidly what you think of the whole matter. may i not rely on you?" "well, let me tell you just exactly what i think and just what i shall do," thundered bernard, rising as he spoke. pointing his finger at belton, he said: "i think, sir, that you are the most infernal scoundrel that i ever saw, and those whom you call conspirators are a set of sublime patriots; and further," hissed bernard in rage through his teeth, "if you betray those men, i will kill you." to bernard's surprise belton did not seem enraged as bernard thought he would be. knowing belton's spirit he had expected an encounter after such words as he had just spoken. belton looked indifferent and unconcerned, and arose, as if to yawn, when suddenly he threw himself on bernard with the agility of a tiger and knocked him to the floor. from secret closets in the room sprang six able bodied men. they soon had bernard securely bound. belton then told bernard that he must retract what he had said and agree to keep his revealed purpose a secret or he would never leave that room alive. "then i shall die, and my only regret will be that i shall die at the hands of such an abominable wretch as you are," was bernard's answer. bernard was stood against the wall. the six men retired to their closets and returned with rifles. bernard gazed at the men unflinchingly. they formed a line, ten paces in front of him. belton gave bernard one last chance, as he said, to save his life, by silence as to his plans. bernard said: "if i live i shall surely proclaim your infamy to our people and slay you besides. the curse of our doomed race is just such white folks' niggers as you are. shoot, shoot, shoot, you whelps." they took aim and, at a command from belton, fired. when the smoke had lifted, belton said: "bernard, those were blank cartridges. i desired to give you another chance. if you consent to leave me unmolested to ferret out those conspirators i will take your word as your bond and spare your life. will you accept your life at such a low price?" "come here and let me give you my answer," said bernard. "let me whisper something in your ear." belton drew near and bernard spat in his face and said, "take that, you knave." belton ordered bernard seized and carried to the center of the room where stood what appeared to be an acting pole, but what was in reality a complete gallows. a black cap was adjusted over bernard's head and a rope tied to his hands. he was told that a horrible death awaited him. he was informed that the platform on which he stood was a trap door that concealed an opening in the center of the building, that extended to the first floor. he was told that he would be dropped far enough to have his arms torn from his body and would be left to die. bernard perceptibly shuddered at the fate before him but he had determined long since to be true to every higher aspiration of his people, and he would die a death however horrible rather than stand by and see aspiring souls slaughtered for organizing to secure their rights at all hazards. he muttered a prayer to god, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and nerved himself for the ordeal, refusing to answer belton's last appeal. belton gave command to spring the trap door after he had counted three. in order to give bernard a chance to weaken he put one minute between each count. "one----two----three----" he called out. bernard felt the floor give way beneath his feet and he shot down with terrific speed. he nerved himself for the shock that was to tear his limbs from his body, but, strange to say, he felt the speed lessening as he fell and his feet eventually struck a floor with not sufficient force to even jar him severely. "was this death? was he dead or alive?" he was thinking within himself, when suddenly the mask was snatched from his face and he found himself in a large room containing desks arranged in a semi-circular form. there were one hundred and forty-five desks, and at each a person was seated. "where was he? what did that assemblage mean? what did his strange experiences mean?" he asked himself. he stood there, his hands tied, his eye wandering from face to face. within a few minutes belton entered and the assemblage broke forth into cheers. bernard had alighted on a platform directly facing the assemblage. belton walked to his side and spread out his hands and said: "behold the chiefs of the conspirators whom you would not betray. behold me, whom they have called the arch conspirator. you have nobly stood the test. come, your reward awaits you. you are worthy of it and i assure you it is worthy of you." bernard had not been killed in his fall because of a parachute which had been so arranged, unknown to him, to save him in the descent. chapter xvi. unwritten history. belton, smiling, locked his arm in bernard's and said: "come with me. i will explain it all to you." they walked down the aisle together. at the sight of these two most conspicuous representatives of all that was good and great in the race, moving down the aisle side by side, the audience began to cheer wildly and a band of musicians began playing "hail to the chief." all of this was inexplicable to bernard; but he was soon to learn what and how much it meant. belton escorted him across the campus to the small but remarkably pretty white cottage with green vines clinging to trellis work all around it. here they entered. the rooms were furnished with rare and antique furniture and were so tastefully arranged as to astonish and please even bernard, who had been accustomed from childhood to choice, luxuriant magnificence. they entered a side room, overlooking a beautiful lawn which could boast of lovely flowers and rose bushes scattered here and there. they sat down, facing each other. bernard was a bundle of expectancy. he had passed through enough to make him so. belton said: "bernard, i am now about to put the keeping of the property, the liberty, and the very lives of over seven million five hundred thousand people into your hands." bernard opened his eyes wide in astonishment and waited for belton to further explain himself. "realize," said belton, "that i am carefully weighing each remark i make and am fully conscious of how much my statement involves." bernard bowed his head in solemn thought. viola's recent death, the blood-curdling experiences of the day, and now belton's impressive words all united to make that a sober moment with him; as sober as any that he had ever had in his life. he looked belton in the face and said: "may revengeful lightning transfix me with her fiercest bolts; may hell's most fiery pillars roll in fury around me; may i be despised of man and forgotten of my god, if i ever knowingly, in the slightest way, do aught to betray this solemn, this most sacred trust." belton gazed fondly on the handsome features of his noble friend and sighed to think that only the coloring of his skin prevented him from being enrolled upon the scroll containing the names of the very noblest sons of earth. arousing himself as from a reverie he drew near to bernard and said: "i must begin. another government, complete in every detail, exercising the sovereign right of life and death over its subjects, has been organized and maintained within the united states for many years. this government has a population of seven million two hundred and fifty thousand." "do you mean all that you say, belton?" asked bernard eagerly. "i shall in a short time submit to you positive proofs of my assertion. you shall find that i have not overstated anything." "but, belton, how in the world can such a thing be when i, who am thoroughly conversant with every movement of any consequence, have not even dreamed of such a thing." "all of that shall be made perfectly clear to you in the course of the narrative which i shall now relate." bernard leaned forward, anxious to hear what purported to be one of the most remarkable and at the same time one of the most important things connected with modern civilization. belton began: "you will remember, bernard, that there lived, in the early days of the american republic, a negro scientist who won an international reputation by his skill and erudition. in our school days, we spoke of him often. because of his learning and consequent usefulness, this negro enjoyed the association of the moving spirits of the revolutionary period. by the publication of a book of science which outranked any other book of the day that treated of the same subject, this negro became a very wealthy man. of course the book is now obsolete, science having made such great strides since his day. this wealthy negro secretly gathered other free negroes together and organized a society that had a two-fold object. the first object was to endeavor to secure for the free negroes all the rights and privileges of men, according to the teachings of thomas jefferson. its other object was to secure the freedom of the enslaved negroes the world over. all work was done by this organization with the sole stipulation that it should be used for the furtherance of the two above named objects of the society, and for those objects alone. "during slavery this organization confined its membership principally to free negroes, as those who were yet in physical bondage were supposed to have aspirations for nothing higher than being released from chains, and were, therefore, not prepared to eagerly aspire to the enjoyment of the highest privileges of freedom. when the war of secession was over and all negroes were free, the society began to cautiously spread its membership among the emancipated. they conducted a campaign of education, which in every case preceded an attempt at securing members. this campaign of education had for its object the instruction of the negro as to what real freedom was. he was taught that being released from chains was but the lowest form of liberty, and that he was no more than a common cur if he was satisfied with simply that. that much was all, they taught, that a dog howled for. they made use of jefferson's writings, educating the negro to feel that he was not in the full enjoyment of his rights until he was on terms of equality with any other human being that was alive or had ever lived. this society used its influence secretly to have appointed over southern schools of all kinds for negroes such teachers as would take especial pains to teach the negro to aspire for equality with all other races of men. "they were instructed to pay especial attention to the history of the united states during the revolutionary period. thus, the campaign of education moved forward. the negroes gained political ascendancy in many southern states, but were soon hurled from power, by force in some quarters, and by fraud in others. the negroes turned their eyes to the federal government for redress and a guarantee of their rights. the federal government said: 'take care of yourselves, we are powerless to help you.' the 'civil rights bill,' was declared null and void, by the supreme court. an 'honest election bill' was defeated in congress by james g. blaine and others. separate coach laws were declared by the supreme court to be constitutional. state constitutions were revised and so amended as to nullify the amendment of the federal constitution, giving the negro the right to vote. more than sixty thousand defenseless negroes were unlawfully slain. governors would announce publicly that they favored lynching. the federal government would get elected to power by condemning these outrages, and when there, would confess its utter helplessness. one president plainly declared, what was already well known, 'that the only thing that they could do, would be to create a healthy sentiment.' this secret organization of which we have been speaking decided that some means must be found to do what the general government could not do, because of a defect in the constitution. they decided to organize a general government that would protect the negro in his rights. this course of action decided upon, the question was as to how this could be done the most quickly and successfully. you well know that the negro has been a marvelous success since the war, as a builder of secret societies. "one member of this patriotic secret society, of which we have been speaking, conceived the idea of making use of all of these secret orders already formed by negroes. the idea met with instant approval. a house was found already to hand. these secret orders were all approached and asked to add one more degree and let this added degree be the same in every negro society. this proposition was accepted, and the government formed at once. each order remained, save in this last degree where all were one. this last degree was nothing more nor less than a compact government exercising all the functions of a nation. the grand purpose of the government was so apparent, and so needful of attention, that men rushed into this last degree pledging their lives to the new government. "all differences between the race were to be settled by this government, as it had a well organized judiciary. negroes, members of this government, were to be no longer seen fighting negroes before prejudiced white courts. an army was organized and every able-bodied citizen enlisted. after the adjournment of the lodge sessions, army drills were always executed. a congress was duly elected, one member for every fifty thousand citizens. branch legislatures were formed in each state. except in a few, but important particulars, the constitution was modeled after that of the united states. "there is only one branch to our congress, the members of which are elected by a majority vote, for an indefinite length of time, and may be recalled at any time by a majority vote. "this congress passes laws relating to the general welfare of our people, and whenever a bill is introduced in the congress of the united states affecting our race it is also introduced and debated here. "every race question submitted to the united states judiciary, is also submitted to our own. a record of our decisions is kept side by side with the decisions of the united states. "the money which the scientist left was wisely invested, and at the conclusion of the civil war amounted to many millions. good land at the south was offered after the war for twenty-five cents an acre. these millions were expended in the purchase of such lands, and our treasury is now good for $ , , . our citizens own about $ , , . and all of this is pledged to our government in case it is needed. "we have at our disposal, therefore, $ , , . this money can he used by the government in any way that it sees fit, so long as it is used to secure the recognition of the rights of our people. they are determined to be free and will give their lives, as freely as they have given their property. "this place is known as jefferson college, but it is in reality the capitol of our government, and those whom you have just left are the congressmen." "but, belton," broke in bernard, "how does it happen that i have been excluded from all this?" "that is explained in this way. the relation of your mother to the anglo-saxon race has not been clearly understood, and you and she have been under surveillance for many years. "it was not until recently deemed advisable to let you in, your loyalty to the race never having fully been tested. i have been a member for years. while i was at stowe university, though a young man, i was chairman of the bureau of education and had charge of the work of educating the race upon the doctrine of human liberty. "while i was at cadeville, la., that was my work. though not attracting public attention, i was sowing seed broadcast. after my famous case i was elected to congress here and soon thereafter chosen speaker, which position i now hold. "i shall now come to matters that concern you. our constitution expressly stipulates that the first president of our government should be a man whom the people unanimously desired. each congressman had to be instructed to vote for the same man, else there would be no election. this was done because it was felt that the responsibility of the first president would be so great, and have such a formative influence that he should be the selection of the best judgment of the entire nation. "in the second place, this would ensure his having a united nation at his back. again, this forcing the people to be unanimous would have a tendency to heal dissensions within their ranks. in other words, we needed a george washington. "various men have been put forward for this honor and vigorous campaigns have been waged in their behalf. but these all failed of the necessary unanimous vote. at last, one young man arose, who was brilliant and sound, genial and true, great and good. on every tongue was his name and in every heart his image. unsolicited by him, unknown to him, the nation by its unanimous voice has chosen him the president of our beloved government. this day he has unflinchingly met the test that our congress decreed and has come out of the furnace, purer than gold. he feared death no more than the caress of his mother, when he felt that that death was to be suffered in behalf of his oppressed people. i have the great honor, on this the proudest occasion of my life, to announce that i am commissioned to inform you that the name of our president is bernard belgrave. you, sir, are president of the imperium in imperio, the name of our government, and to you we devote our property, our lives, our all, promising to follow your banner into every post of danger until it is planted on freedom's hill. you are given three months in which to verify all of my claims, and give us answer as to whether you will serve us." * * * * * bernard took three months to examine into the reality and stability of the imperium. he found it well nigh perfect in every part and presented a form of government unexcelled by that of any other nation. chapter xvii. crossing the rubicon. bernard assumed the presidency of the imperium and was duly inaugurated in a manner in keeping with the importance of his high office. he began the direction of its affairs with such energy and tactful discretion as betokened great achievements. he familiarized himself with every detail of his great work and was thoroughly posted as to all the resources at his command. he devoted much time to assuaging jealousies and healing breaches wherever such existed in the ranks of the imperium. he was so gentle, so loving, yet so firm and impartial, that all factional differences disappeared at his approach. added to his great popularity because of his talents, there sprang up for him personal attachments, marvelous in depth. he rose to the full measure of the responsibilities of his commanding position, and more than justified the fondest anticipations of his friends and admirers. in the meanwhile he kept an observant eye upon the trend of events in the united states, and his fingers were ever on the pulse of the imperium. all of the evils complained of by the imperium continued unabated; in fact, they seemed to multiply and grow instead of diminishing. bernard started a secret newspaper whose business it was to chronicle every fresh discrimination, every new act of oppression, every additional unlawful assault upon the property, the liberty or the lives of any of the members of the imperium. this was an illustrated journal, and pictures of horrors, commented upon in burning words, spread fire-brands everywhere in the ranks of the imperium. only members of the imperium had access to this fiery journal. at length an insurrection broke out in cuba, and the whole imperium watched this struggle with keenest interest, as the cubans were in a large measure negroes. in proportion as the cubans drew near to their freedom, the fever of hope correspondingly rose in the veins of the imperium. the united states of america sent a war ship to cuba. one night while the sailors slept in fancied security, some powerful engine of destruction demolished the vessel and ended the lives of some american seamen. a board of inquiry was sent by the united states government to the scene of the disaster, and, after a careful investigation of a most thorough character, decided that the explosion was not internal and accidental but external and by design. this finding made war between the united states and spain practically inevitable. while the whole nation was in the throes of war excitement, a terrible tragedy occurred. president mckinley had appointed mr. felix a. cook, a colored man of ability, culture and refinement as postmaster of lake city, south carolina. the white citizens of this place made no protest against the appointment and all was deemed satisfactory. one morning the country awoke to be horrified with the news that mr. cook's home had been assaulted at night by a mob of white demons in human form. the mob set fire to the house while the occupants slept, and when mr. cook with his family endeavored to escape from the flames he was riddled with bullets and killed, and his wife and children were wounded. and the sole offense for which this dastardly crime was perpetrated, was that he decided to accept the honor which the government conferred upon him in appointing him postmaster of a village of inhabitants. it was the color of his skin that made this acceptance odious in the eyes of his anglo-saxon neighbors! this incident naturally aroused as much indignation among the members of the imperium as did the destruction of the war ship in the bosoms of the anglo-saxons of the united states. all things considered, bernard regarded this as the most opportune moment for the imperium to meet and act upon the whole question of the relationship of the negro race to the anglo-saxons. the congress of the imperium was called and assembled in special session at the capitol building just outside of waco. the session began on the morning of april--the same day on which the congress of the united states had under consideration the resolutions, the adoption of which meant war with spain. these two congresses on this same day had under consideration questions of vital import to civilization. the proceedings of the anglo-saxons have been told to the world in minute detail, but the secret deliberations of the imperium are herein disclosed for the first time. the exterior of the capitol at waco was decorated with american flags, and red, white and blue bunting. passers-by commented on the patriotism of jefferson college. but, enveloped in this decoration there was cloth of the color of mourning. the huge weeping willows stood, one on each side of the speaker's desk. to the right of the desk, there was a group of women in widow's weeds, sitting on an elevated platform. there were fifty of these, their husbands having been made the victims of mobs since the first day of january just gone. to the left of the speaker's desk, there were huddled one hundred children whose garments were in tatters and whose looks bespoke lives of hardship. these were the offsprings robbed of their parents by the brutish cruelty of unthinking mobs. postmaster cook, while alive, was a member of the imperium and his seat was now empty and draped in mourning. in the seat was a golden casket containing his heart, which had been raked from the burning embers on the morning following the night of the murderous assault. it was amid such surrounding as these that the already aroused and determined members of the congress assembled. promptly at o'clock, speaker belton piedmont took the chair. he rapped for order, and the chaplain offered a prayer, in which he invoked the blessings of god upon the negro race at the most important crisis in its history. word was sent, by proper committee, across the campus informing the president that congress was in session awaiting his further pleasure. according to custom, the president came in person to orally deliver his message. he entered in the rear of the building and marched forward. the congress arose and stood with bowed heads as he passed through. the speaker's desk was moved back as a sign of the president's superior position, and directly in the center of the platform the president stood to speak. he was dressed in a prince albert suit of finest black. he wore a standing collar and a necktie snowy white. the hair was combed away from that noble brow of his, and his handsome face showed that he was nerved for what he regarded as the effort of his life. in his fierce, determined glance you could discover that latent fires, hitherto unsuspected even in his warm bosom, had been aroused. the whole man was to speak that day. and he spoke. we can give you his words but not his speech. man can photograph the body, but in the photograph you can only glimpse the soul. words can portray the form of a speech, but the spirit, the life, are missing and we turn away disappointed. that sweet, well modulated voice, full of tender pathos, of biting sarcasm, of withering irony, of swelling rage, of glowing fervor, according as the occasion demanded, was a most faithful vehicle to bernard; conveying fully every delicate shade of thought. the following gives you but a faint idea of his masterly effort. in proportion as you can throw yourself into his surroundings, and feel, as he had felt, the iron in his soul, to that extent will you be able to realize how much power there was in what is now to follow: the president's message. "two terrible and discordant sounds have burst forth upon the erstwhile quiet air and now fill your bosom with turbulent emotions. one is the blast of the bugle, fierce and loud, calling us to arms against a foreign nation to avenge the death of american seamen and to carry the cup of liberty to a people perishing for its healing draught. the other is the crackling of a burning house in the night's dead hours, the piteous cries of pain and terror from the lips of wounded babes; the despairing, heart-rending, maddening shrieks of the wife and mother; the harrowing groans of the dying husband and father, and the gladsome shout of the fiendish mob of white american citizens, who have wrought the havoc just described, a deed sufficiently horrible to make satan blush and hell hastily hide her face in shame. "i deem this, my fellow countrymen, as an appropriate time for us to consider what shall be our attitude, immediate and future, to this anglo-saxon race, which calls upon us to defend the fatherland and at the same moment treats us in a manner to make us execrate it. let us, then, this day decide what shall be the relations that shall henceforth exist between us and the anglo-saxon race of the united states of america. "seven million eyes are riveted upon you, hoping that you will be brave and wise enough to take such action as will fully atone for all the horrors of the past and secure for us every right due to all honorable, loyal, law-abiding citizens of the united states. pleadingly they look to you to extract the arrow of shame which hangs quivering in every bosom, shame at continued humiliation, unavenged. "in order to arrive at a proper conclusion as to what the duty of the hour is, it would be well to review our treatment received at the hands of the anglo-saxon race and note the position that we are now sternly commanded by them to accept. "when this is done, to my mind, the path of duty will be as plain before our eyes as the path of the sun across the heavens. i shall, therefore, proceed to review our treatment and analyze our present condition, in so far as it is traceable to the treatment which we now receive from the anglo-saxon. "when in our forefathers landed on the american shore, the music of welcome with which they were greeted, was the clanking of iron chains ready to fetter them; the crack of the whip to be used to plow furrows in their backs; and the yelp of the blood-hound who was to bury his fangs deep into their flesh, in case they sought for liberty. such was the music with which the anglo-saxon came down to the shore to extend a hearty welcome to the forlorn children of night, brought from a benighted heathen land to a community of _christians!_ "the negro was seized and forced to labor hard that the anglo-saxon might enjoy rest and ease. while he sat in his cushioned chair, in his luxurious home, and dreamed of the blessedness of freedom, the enforced labor of slaves felled the forest trees, cleared away the rubbish, planted the seed and garnered the ripened grain, receiving therefor no manner of pay, no token of gratitude, no word of coldest thanks. "that same hammer and anvil that forged the steel sword of the anglo-saxon, with which he fought for freedom from england's yoke, also forged the chain that the anglo-saxon used to bind the negro more securely in the thralldom of slavery. for two hundred and forty-four years the anglo-saxon imposed upon the hapless, helpless negro, the bondage of abject slavery, robbed him of the just recompense of his unceasing toil, treated him with the utmost cruelty, kept his mind shrouded in the dense fog of ignorance, denied his poor sinful soul access to the healing word of god, and, while the world rolled on to joy and light, the negro was driven cowering and trembling, back, back into the darkest corners of night's deepest gloom. and when, at last, the negro was allowed to come forth and gaze with the eyes of a freeman on the glories of the sky, even this holy act, the freeing of the negro, was a matter of compulsion and has but little, if anything, in it demanding gratitude, except such gratitude as is due to be given unto god. for the emancipation proclamation, as we all know, came not so much as a message of love for the slave as a message of love for the union; its primary object was to save the union, its incident, to liberate the slave. such was the act which brought to a close two hundred and forty-four years of barbarous maltreatment and inhuman oppression! after all these years of unremitting toil, the negro was pushed out into the world without one morsel of food, one cent of money, one foot of land. naked and unarmed he was pushed forward into a dark cavern and told to beard the lion in his den. in childlike simplicity he undertook the task. soon the air was filled with his agonizing cries; for the claws and teeth of the lion were ripping open every vein and crushing every bone. in this hour of dire distress the negro lifted up his voice in loud, long piteous wails calling upon those for help at whose instance and partially for whose sake he had dared to encounter the deadly foe. these whilom friends rushed with a loud shout to the cavern's mouth. but when they saw the fierce eyes of the lion gleaming in the dark and heard his fearful growl, this loud shout suddenly died away into a feeble, cowardly whimper, and these boastful creatures at the crackling of a dry twig turned and scampered away like so many jack-rabbits. "having thus briefly reviewed our past treatment at the hand of the anglo-saxon, we now proceed to consider the treatment which we receive at his hands to-day. the industrial situation. "during the long period of slavery the negro race was not allowed to use the mind as a weapon in the great 'battle for bread.' "the anglo-saxon said to the negro, in most haughty tones: 'in this great "battle for bread," you must supply the brute force while i will supply the brain. if you attempt to use your brain i will kill you; and before i will stoop so low as to use my own physical power to earn my daily bread i will kill myself.' "this edict of the anglo-saxon race, issued in the days of slavery, is yet in force in a slightly modified form. "he yet flees from physical exertion as though it were the leprosy itself, and yet, violently pushes the negro into that from which he has so precipitately fled, crying in a loud voice, 'unclean, unclean.' "if forced by circumstances to resort to manual labor, he chooses the higher forms of this, where skill is the main factor. but he will not labor even here with the negro, but drives him out and bars the door. "he will contribute the public funds to educate the negro and then exert every possible influence to keep the negro from earning a livelihood by means of that education. "it is true, that in the goodness of his heart he will allow the negro community to have a negro preacher, teacher, doctor, pharmacist and jackleg lawyer, but further than this he will not go. practically all of the other higher forms of labor are hermetically sealed so far as the negro is concerned. "thus, like tantalus of old, we are placed in streams of water up to our necks, but when we stoop down to drink thereof the waters recede; luscious fruit, tempting to the eye and pleasing to the taste, is placed above our heads, only to be wafted away by the winds of prejudice, when, like tantalus we reach up to grasp and eat. our civil rights. "an italian, a frenchman, a german, a russian, a chinaman and a swede come, let us suppose, on a visit to our country. "as they draw near our public parks they look up and see placards forbidding somebody to enter these places. they pause to read the signs to see who it is that is forbidden to enter. "unable to understand our language, they see a negro child returning from school and they call the child to read and interpret the placard. it reads thus: 'negroes and dogs not allowed in here.' "the little negro child, whose father's sweaty, unrequited toil cleared the spot whereon the park now stands, loiters outside of the wicker gate in company with the dogs of the foreigners and gazes wistfully through the cracks at the children of these strangers sporting on the lawn. "this is but a fair sample of the treatment which our race receives everywhere in the south. "if we enter a place where a sign tells us that the public is served, we do not know whether we are to be waited upon or driven out like dogs. "and the most shameful and hopeless feature connected with the question of our civil rights is that the supreme court has lent its official sanction to all such acts of discrimination. the highest court in the land is the chief bulwark of caste prejudice in democratic america. education. "the race that thinks of us and treats us as we have just indicated has absolute charge of the education of our children. "they pay our teachers poorer salaries than they do their own; they give us fewer and inferior school buildings and they make us crawl in the dust before the very eyes of our children in order to secure the slightest concessions. "they attempt to muzzle the mouths of negro teachers, and he who proclaims too loudly the doctrine of equality as taught by thomas jefferson, will soon be in search of other employment. "thus, they attempt to cripple our guides so that we may go forward at a feeble pace. "our children, early in life, learn of our maltreatment, and having confidence in the unused strength of their parents, urge us to right our wrongs. "we listen to their fiery words and gaze in fondness on their little clinched fists. we then bow our heads in shame and lay bare to them the chains that yet hold our ankles, though the world has pronounced us free. "in school, they are taught to bow down and worship at the shrine of the men who died for the sake of liberty, and day by day they grow to disrespect us, their parents who have made no blow for freedom. but it will not always be thus! courts of justice. "colored men are excluded from the jury box; colored lawyers are discriminated against at the bar; and negroes, with the highest legal attainments, are not allowed to even dream of mounting the seat of a judge. "before a court that has been lifted into power by the very hands of prejudice, justice need not be expected. the creature will, presumably, serve its creator; this much the creator demands. "we shall mention just one fact that plainly illustrates the character of the justice to be found in our courts. "if a negro murders an anglo-saxon, however justifiably, let him tremble for his life if he is to be tried in our courts. on the other hand, if an anglo-saxon murders a negro in cold blood, without the slightest provocation, he will, if left to the pleasure of our courts, die of old age and go down to his grave in perfect peace. "a court that will thus carelessly dabble and play in puddles of human blood needs no further comment at my hands. mob law. "the courts of the land are the facile instruments of the anglo-saxon race. they register its will as faithfully as the thermometer does the slightest caprice of the weather. and yet, the poor boon of a trial in even such courts as these is denied the negro, even when his character is being painted with hell's black ink and charges that threaten his life are being laid at his door. he is allowed no chance to clear his name; no opportunity to bid a friend good bye; no time to formulate a prayer to god. "about this way of dealing with criminals there are three horrible features: first, innocent men are often slain and forced to sleep eternally in dishonored graves. secondly, when men who are innocent are thus slain the real culprits are left behind to repeat their deeds and thus continue to bring reproach upon the race to which they belong. thirdly, illegal execution always begets sympathy in the hearts of our people for a criminal, however dastardly may be his crime. thus the execution loses all of its moral force as a deterrent. that wrath, that eloquence, which would all be used in abuse of the criminal is divided between him and his lynchers. thus the crime for which the man suffers, is not dwelt upon with that unanimity to make it sufficiently odious, and, as a consequence, lynching increases crime. and, too, under the operation of the lynch-law the criminal knows that any old tramp is just as liable as himself to be seized and hanged. "this accursed practice, instead of decreasing, grows in extent year by year. since the close of the civil war no less than sixty thousand of our comrades, innocent of all crime, have been hurried to their graves by angry mobs, and to-day their widows and orphans and their own departed spirits cry out to you to avenge their wrongs. "woe unto that race, whom the tears of the widows, the cries of starving orphans, the groans of the innocent dying, and the gaping wounds of those unjustly slain, accuse before a righteous god! politics. "'governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed!' "these words were penned by the man whom the south has taught us to revere as the greatest and noblest american statesman, whether those who are now alive or those who are dead. we speak of thomas jefferson. they have taught us that he was too wise to err and that his sayings are truth incarnate. they are ready to anathematize any man in their own ranks who will decry the self-evident truths which he uttered. "the bible which the white people gave us, teaches us that we are men. the declaration of independence, which we behold them wearing over their hearts, tells us that all men are created equal. if, as the bible says, we are men; if, as jefferson says, all men are equal; if, as he further states, governments derive all just powers from the consent of the governed, then it follows that the american government is in duty bound to seek to know our will as respects the laws and the men who are to govern us. "but instead of seeking to know our will, they employ every device that human ingenuity can contrive to prevent us from expressing our opinion. the monarchial trait seems not to have left their blood. they have apparently chosen our race as an empire, and each anglo-saxon regards himself as a petty king, and some gang or community of negroes as his subjects. "thus our voice is not heard in the general government. our kings, the anglo-saxons, speak for us, their slaves. in some states we are deprived of our right to vote by frauds, in others by violence, and in yet others by statutory enactment. but in all cases it is most effectually done. "burdens may be put upon our shoulders that are weighing us down, but we have no means of protesting. men who administer the laws may discriminate against us to an outrageous degree, but we have no power to remove or to punish them. "like lean, hungry dogs, we must crouch beneath our master's table and snap eagerly at the crumbs that fall. if in our scramble for these crumbs we make too much noise, we are violently kicked and driven out of doors, where, in the sleet and snow, we must whimper and whine until late the next morning when the cook opens the door and we can then crouch down in the corner of the kitchen. "oh! my comrades, we cannot longer endure our shame and misery! "we can no longer lay supinely down upon our backs and let oppression dig his iron heel in our upturned pleading face until, perchance, the pity of a bystander may meekly request him to desist. "fellow countrymen, we must be free. the sun that bathes our land in light yet rises and sets upon a race of slaves. "the question remaining before us, then, is, how we are to obtain this freedom? in olden times, revolutions were effected by the sword and spear. in modern times the ballot has been used for that purpose. but the ballot has been snatched from our hands. the modern implement of revolutions has been denied us. i need not say more. your minds will lead you to the only gate left open. "but this much i will say: let not so light, so common, so universal a thing as that which we call death be allowed to frighten you from the path that leads to true liberty and absolute equality. let that which under any circumstances must come to one and all be no terror to you. "to the martyr, who perishes in freedom's cause, death comes with a beauteous smile and with most tender touch. but to the man whose blood is nothing but sour swill; who prefers to stay like fattening swine until pronounced fit for the butcher's knife; to such, death comes with a most horrifying visage, and seizing the victim with cold and clammy hands hurries with his disgusting load to some far away dumping ground. "how glad am i that i can glance over this audience and see written upon your faces utter disdain of death. "in concluding let me say, i congratulate you that after years of suffering and disunion our faces are now _all_ turned toward the golden shores of liberty's lovely land. "some tell us that a sea is in our way, so deep that we cannot cross. let us answer back in joyful tones as our vessels push out from the shore, that our clotted blood, shed in the middle of the sea, will float to the other side, even if we do not reach there ourselves. "others tell us that towering, snow-capped mountains enclose the land. to this we answer, if we die on the mountain-side, we shall be shrouded in sheets of whitest snow, and all generations of men yet to come upon the earth will have to gaze upward in order to see our whitened forms. "let us then, at all hazards, strike a blow for freedom. if it calls for a thermopylæ, be free. if it calls for a valley forge, be free. if contending for our rights, given unto us by god, causes us to be slain, let us perish on the field of battle, singing as we pass out of the world, 'sweet freedom's song,' though every word of this soul-inspiring hymn must come forth wrapped in our hearts' warm blood. "gentlemen of the imperium in imperio, i await your pleasure." chapter xviii. the storm's master. when bernard ceased speaking and took his seat the house was as silent as a graveyard. all felt that the time for words had passed and the next and only thing in order was a deed. each man seemed determined to keep his seat and remain silent until he had some definite plan to suggest. at length one man, somewhat aged, arose and spoke as follows: "fellow citizens, our condition is indeed past enduring and we must find a remedy. i have spent the major portion of my life in close study of this subject, searching for a solution. my impression is that the negro will never leave this country. the day for the wholesale exodus of nations is past. we must, then, remain here. as long as we remain here as a separate and distinct race we shall continue to be oppressed. we must lose our identity. i, therefore, urge that we abandon the idea of becoming anything noteworthy as a separate and distinct race and send the word forth that we amalgamate." when the word "amalgamate" escaped his lips a storm of hisses and jeers drowned further speech and he quickly crouched down in his seat. another arose and advocated emigration to the african congo free state. he pointed out that this state, great in area and rich in resources, was in the hands of the weak kingdom of belgium and could be wrested from belgium with the greatest ease. in fact, it might be possible to purchase it, as it was the personal property of king leopold. he further stated that one of his chief reasons for suggesting emigration was that it would be a terrible blow to the south. the proud southerner would then have his own forests to fell and fields to tend. he pictured the haughty southern lady at last the queen of her own kitchen. he then called attention to the loss of influence and prestige which the south would sustain in the nation. by losing nearly one half of its population the south's representation in congress would be reduced to such a point that the south would have no appreciable influence on legislation for one half a century to come. he called attention to the business depression that would ensue when the southern supply merchant lost such an extensive consumer as the negro. he wound up by urging the imperium to go where they would enjoy all the rights of free men, and by picturing the demoralization and ruin of the south when they thus went forth. his suggestion met with much favor but he did not make clear the practicability of his scheme. at length a bold speaker arose who was courageous enough to stick a match to the powder magazine which bernard had left uncovered in all their bosoms. his first declaration was: "i am for war!" and it was cheered to the echo. it was many minutes before the applause died away. he then began an impassioned invective against the south and recited in detail horror after horror, for which the south was answerable. he described hangings, revolting in their brutality; he drew vivid word pictures of various burnings, mentioning one where a white woman struck the match and ignited the pile of wood that was to consume the trembling negro. he told of the texas horror, when a colored man named smith was tortured with a red hot poker, and his eyes gouged out; after which he was slowly roasted to death. he then had mrs. cook arise and gather her children about her, and tell her sorrowful story. as she proceeded the entire assembly broke down in tears, and men fell on each other's necks and wept like babes. and oh! their hearts swelled, their bosoms heaved, their breath came quick with choking passion, and there burst from all their throats the one hoarse cry: "war! war! war!" bernard turned his head away from this affecting sight and in his soul swore a terrible oath to avenge the wrongs of his people. when quiet was sufficiently restored, the man with the match arose and offered the following resolutions: "whereas, the history of our treatment by the anglo-saxon race is but the history of oppression, and whereas, our patient endurance of evil has not served to decrease this cruelty, but seems rather to increase it; and whereas, the ballot box, the means of peaceful revolution is denied us, therefore; "_be it resolved_: that the hour for wreaking vengeance for our multiplied wrongs has come. "_resolved_ secondly: that we at once proceed to war for the purpose of accomplishing the end just named, and for the further purpose of obtaining all our rights due us as men. "_resolved_ thirdly: that no soldier of the imperium leave the field of battle until the ends for which this war was inaugurated are fully achieved." a dozen men were on their feet at once to move the adoption of these resolutions. the motion was duly seconded and put before the house. the chairman asked: "are you ready to vote?" "ready!" was the unanimous, vociferous response. the chairman, belton piedmont, quietly said: "not ready." all eyes were then pointed eagerly and inquiringly to him. he called the senior member of the house to the chair and came down upon the floor to speak. we are now about to record one of the most remarkable feats of oratory known to history. belton stood with his massive, intellectual head thrown back and a look of determined defiance shot forth from his eyes. his power in debate was well known and the members settled themselves back for a powerful onslaught of some kind; but exactly what to expect they did not know. fortunately for belton's purpose, surprise, wonder, expectancy, had, for the time being, pushed into the background the more violent emotions surging a moment before. belton turned his head slowly, letting his eye sweep the entire circle of faces before him, and there seemed to be a force and an influence emanating from the look. he began: "i call upon you all to bear me witness that i have ever in word and deed been zealous in the work of building up this imperium, whose holy mission it is to grapple with our enemy and wrest from him our stolen rights, given to us by nature and nature's god. if there be one of you that knowest aught against my patriotism, i challenge him to declare it now; and if there be anything to even cast a suspicion upon me, i shall gladly court a traitor's ignoble doom." he paused here. no one accepted the challenge, for belton was the acknowledged guiding star that had led the imperium to the high point of efficiency where bernard found it. "by your silence," belton continued, "i judge that my patriotism is above suspicion; and this question being settled, i shall feel free to speak all that is within me on the subject now before me. i have a word to say in defence of the south--" "no! no! no! no!" burst from a score of throats. friends crowded around belton and begged him to desist. they told him that the current was so strong that it was death to all future usefulness to try to breast it. belton waved them away and cried out in impassioned tones: "on her soil i was born; on her bosom i was reared; into her arms i hope to fall in death; and i shall not from fear of losing popular favor desist from pointing out the natural sources from which her sins arise, so that when judgment is pronounced justice will not hesitate to stamp it with her righteous seal." "remember your scars!" shouted one. "yes, i am scarred," returned belton. "i have been in the hands of an angry mob; i have dangled from a tree at the end of a rope; i have felt the murderous pistol drive cold lead into my flesh; i have been accounted dead and placed upon the dissecting table; i have felt the sharp surgical knife ripping my flesh apart when i was supposed to be dead; all of these hardships and more besides i have received at the hands of the south; but she has not and cannot drive truth from my bosom, and the truth shall i declare this day." seeing that it was useless to attempt to deter him, belton continued his speech without interruption: "there are many things in the message of our most worthy president that demand attention. it was indeed an awful sin for the anglo-saxon to enslave the negro. but in judging a people we must judge them according to the age in which they lived, and the influence that surrounded them. "if david were on earth alive to-day and the ruler of an enlightened kingdom, he would be impeached forthwith, fined for adultery, imprisoned for bigamy, and hanged for murder. yet while not measuring up to the standard of morality of to-day, he was the man after god's own heart in his day and generation. "if abraham were here to-day he would be expelled from any church that had any regard for decency; and yet, he was the father of the faithful, for he walked according to the little light that struggled through the clouds and reached him. "when slavery was introduced into america, it was the universal practice of mankind to enslave. knowing how quick we all are to heed the universal voice of mankind, we should be lenient toward others who are thus tempted and fall. "it has appeared strange to some that the americans could fight for their own freedom from england and yet not think of those whom they then held in slavery. it should be remembered that the two kinds of slavery were by no means identical. the americans fought for a theory and abstract principle. the negro did not even discern the points at issue; and the anglo-saxon naturally did not concern himself at that time with any one so gross as not to know anything of a principle for which he, (the anglo-saxon) was ready to offer up his life. "our president alluded to the fact that the negro was unpaid for all his years of toil. it is true that he was not paid in coin, but he received that from the anglo-saxons which far outweighs in value all the gold coin on earth. he received instruction in the arts of civilization, a knowledge of the english language, and a conception of the one true god and his christ. "while all of the other races of men were behind the ball of progress rolling it up the steep hill of time, the negro was asleep in the jungles of africa. newton dug for the law of gravitation; herschel swept the starry sky in search of other worlds; columbus stood upon the prow of the ship and braved the waves of the ocean and the fiercer ridicule of men; martin luther, single handed and alone, fought the pope, the religious guide of the world; and all of this was done while the negro slept. after others had toiled so hard to give the bright light of civilization to the world, it was hardly to be expected that a race that slept while others worked could step up and at once enjoy all the fruits of others' toil. "allow me to note this great fact; that by enslavement in america the negro has come into possession of the great english language. he is thus made heir to all the richest thoughts of earth. had he retained his mother tongue, it would perhaps have been centuries untold before the masterpieces of earth were given him. as it is we can now enjoy the companionship of shakespeare, bacon, milton, bunyan, together with the favorite sons of other nations adopted into the english language, such as dante, hugo, goethe, dumas and hosts of others. nor must we ever forget that it was the anglo-saxon who snatched from our idolatrous grasp the deaf images to which we prayed, and the anglo-saxon who pointed us to the lamb of god that takes away the sins of the world. "so, beloved fellow citizens, when we calmly survey the evil and the good that came to us through american slavery, it is my opinion that we find more good for which to thank god than we find evil for which to curse man. "our president truly says that abraham lincoln was in such a position that he was forced to set the negro free. but let us remember that it was abraham lincoln and those who labored with him that created this position, from which he could turn neither to the right nor to the left. "if, in his patriotic soul, we see love for the flag of his country overshadowing every other love, let us not ignorantly deny that other loves were there, deep, strong, and incapable of eradication; and let us be grateful for that. the labor question. "prejudice, pride, self-interest, prompt the whites to oppose our leaving in too large numbers the lower forms of labor for the higher; and they resort to any extreme to carry out their purpose. but this opposition is not an unmixed evil. the prejudice and pride that prompt them to exclude the negro from the higher forms of labor, also exclude themselves from the lower forms, thus leaving the negro in undisputed possession of a whole kingdom of labor. "furthermore, by denying us clerical positions, and other higher types of labor we shall be forced into enterprises of our own to furnish labor for our own talent. let us accept the lesson so plainly taught and provide enterprises to supply our own needs and employ our own talents. "if there is any one thing, more than another, that will push the negro forth to build enterprises of his own, it will be this refusal of the whites to employ the higher order of labor that the race from time to time produces. this refusal will prove a blessing if we accept the lesson that it teaches. and, too, in considering this subject let us not feel that we are the only people who have a labor problem on hand to be solved. the anglo-saxon race is divided into two hostile camps--labor and capital. these two forces are gradually drawing together for a tremendous conflict, a momentous battle. the riots at homestead, at chicago, at lattimer are but skirmishes between the picket lines, informing us that a general conflict is imminent. let us thank god that we are not in the struggle. let us thank him that our labor problem is no worse than it is. our civil rights. "for our civil rights we are struggling and we must secure them. but if they had all come to us when they first belonged to us, we must frankly admit that we would have been unprepared for them. "our grotesque dress, our broken language, our ignorant curiosity, and, on the part of many our boorish manners, would have been nauseating in the extreme to men and women accustomed to refined association. of course these failings are passing away: but the polished among you have often been made ashamed at the uncouth antics of some ignorant negroes, courting the attention of the whites in their presence. let us see to it, then, that we as a people, not a small minority of us, are prepared to use and not abuse the privileges that must come to us. "let us reduce the question of our rejection to a question pure and simple of the color of our skins, and by the help of that god who gave us that color we shall win. "on the question of education much might be said in blame of the south, but far more may be said in her praise. "the evils of which our president spoke are grave and must be righted, but let us not fail to see the bright side. "the anglo-saxon child virtually pays for the education of the negro child. you might hold that he might do more. it is equally true that he might do less. when we contrast the anglo-saxon, opening his purse and pouring out his money for the education of the negro, with the anglo-saxon plaiting a scourge to flog the negro aspiring to learn, the progress is marvelous indeed. "and, let us not complain too bitterly of the school maintained by the southerner, for it was there that we learned what true freedom was. it was in school that our hearts grew warm as we read of washington, of jefferson, of henry, apostles of human liberty. it was the school of the southerner that has builded the imperium which now lifts its hand in power and might to strike a last grand blow for liberty. courts of justice. "as for the courts of justice, i have not one word to say in palliation of the way in which they pander to the prejudices of the people. if the courts be corrupt; if the arbitrator between man and man be unjust; if the wretched victim of persecution is to be stabbed to death in the house of refuge; then, indeed, has mortal man sunk to the lowest level. though every other branch of organized society may reek with filth and slime, let the ermine on the shoulders of the goddess of justice ever be clean and spotless. "but remember this, that the court of last resort has set the example which the lower courts have followed. the supreme court of the united states, it seems, may be relied upon to sustain any law born of prejudice against the negro, and to demolish any law constructed in his interest. witness the dred scott decision, and, in keeping with this, the decision on the civil rights bill and separate coach law. "if this court, commonly accepted as being constituted with our friends, sets such a terrible example of injustice, it is not surprising that its filthy waters corrupt the various streams of justice in all their ramifications. mob law. "of all the curses that have befallen the south, this is the greatest. it cannot be too vehemently declaimed against. but let us look well and see if we, as a people, do not bear some share of the responsibility for the prevalence of this curse. "our race has furnished some brutes lower than the beasts of the field, who have stirred the passions of the anglo-saxon as nothing in all of human history has before stirred them. the shibboleth of the anglo-saxon race is the courage of man and the virtue of woman: and when, by violence, a member of a despised race assails a defenseless woman; robs her of her virtue, her crown of glory; and sends her back to society broken and crushed in spirit, longing, sighing, praying for the oblivion of the grave, it is not to be wondered at that hell is scoured by the southern white man in search of plans to vent his rage. the lesson for him to learn is that passion is ever a blind guide and the more violent the more blind. let him not cease to resent with all the intensity of his proud soul the accursed crime; but let this resentment pursue such a channel as will ensure the execution of the guilty and the escape of the innocent. as for us, let us cease to furnish the inhuman brutes whose deeds suggest inhuman punishments. "but, i am aware that in a large majority of cases where lynchings occur, outrages upon women are not even mentioned. this fact but serves as an argument against all lynchings; for when lawlessness breaks forth, no man can set a limit where it will stop. it also warns us as a race to furnish no crime that provokes lynching; for when lynching once gets started, guilty and innocent alike will suffer, and crimes both great and small will be punished alike. "in regard to the lynching of our comrade cook, i have this to say. every feature connected with that crime but emphasizes its heinousness. cook was a quiet, unassuming, gentlemanly being, enjoying the respect of all in a remarkable degree. having wronged no one he was unconscious of having enemies. his wife and loving little ones had retired to rest and were enjoying the deep sleep of the innocent. a band of whites crept to his house under the cover of darkness, and thought to roast all alive. in endeavoring to make their escape the family was pursued by a shower of bullets and cook fell to the ground, a corpse, leaving his loved ones behind, pursued by a fiendish mob. and the color of cook's skin was the only crime laid at his door. "if ye who speculate and doubt as to the existence of a hell but peer into the hearts of those vile creatures who slew poor cook, you will draw back in terror; for hell, black hell is there. to give birth to a deed of such infamy, their hearts must be hells in miniature. but there is one redeeming feature about this crime. unlike others, it found no defense anywhere. the condemnation of the crime was universal. and the entire south cried out in bitter tones against the demons who had at last succeeded in putting the crown of infamy of all the ages upon her brow. politics. "the south has defrauded us out of the ballot and she must restore it. but in judging her crime let us take an impartial view of its occasion. the ballot is supposed to be an expression of opinion. it is a means employed to record men's ideas. it is not designed as a vehicle of prejudice or gratitude, but of thought, opinion. when the negro was first given the ballot he used it to convey expression of love and gratitude to the north, while it bore to the south a message of hate and revenge. no negro, on pain of being ostracised or probably murdered, was allowed to exercise the ballot in any other way than that just mentioned. they voted in a mass, according to the dictates of love and hate. "the ballot was never designed for such a purpose. the white man snatched the ballot from the negro. his only crime was, in not snatching it from him also, for he was voting on the same principle. neither race was thinking. they were both simply feeling, and ballots are not meant to convey feelings. "but happily that day has passed and both races are thinking and are better prepared to vote. but the white man is still holding on to the stolen ballot box and he must surrender it. if we can secure possession of that right again, we shall use it to correct the many grievous wrongs under which we suffer. that is the one point on which all of our efforts are focused. here is the storm center. let us carry this point and our flag will soon have all of our rights inscribed thereon. the struggle is on, and my beloved congress, let me urge one thing upon you. leave out revenge as one of the things at which to aim. "in his holy word our most high god has said: 'vengeance is mine.' great as is this imperium, let it not mount god's throne and attempt by violence to rob him of his prerogatives. in this battle, we want him on our side and let us war as becometh men who fear and reverence him. hitherto, we have seen vengeance terrible in his hands. "while we, the oppressed, stayed upon the plantation in peace, our oppressors were upon the field of battle engaged in mortal combat; and it was the blood of our oppressor, not our own, that was paid as the price of our freedom. and that same god is alive to-day; and let us trust him for vengeance, and if we pray let our prayer be for mercy on those who have wronged us, for direful shall be their woes. "and now, i have a substitute proposition. fellow comrades, i am not for internecine war. o! eternal god, lend unto these, my comrades, the departed spirit of dante, faithful artist of the horrors of hell, for we feel that he alone can paint the shudder-making, soul-sickening scenes that follow in the wake of fast moving internecine war. "now, hear my solution of the race problem. the anglo-saxon does not yet know that we have caught the fire of liberty. he does not yet know that we have learned what a glorious thing it is to die for a principle, and especially when that principle is liberty. he does not yet know how the genius of his institutions has taken hold of our very souls. in the days of our enslavement we did not seem to him to be much disturbed about physical freedom. during the whole period of our enslavement we made only two slight insurrections. "when at last the war came to set us free we stayed in the field and fed the men who were reddening the soil with their blood in a deadly struggle to keep us in bondage forever. we remained at home and defended the helpless wives and children of men, who if they had been at home would have counted it no crime to have ignored all our family ties and scattered husbands and wives, mothers and children as ruthlessly as the autumn winds do the falling leaves. "the anglo-saxon has seen the eyes of the negro following the american eagle in its glorious flight. the eagle has alighted on some mountain top and the poor negro has been seen climbing up the rugged mountain side, eager to caress the eagle. when he has attempted to do this, the eagle has clawed at his eyes and dug his beak into his heart and has flown away in disdain; and yet, so majestic was its flight that the negro, with tears in his eyes, and blood dripping from his heart has smiled and shouted: 'god save the eagle.' "these things have caused us to be misunderstood. we know that our patient submission in slavery was due to our consciousness of weakness; we know that our silence and inaction during the civil war was due to a belief that god was speaking for us and fighting our battle; we know that our devotion to the flag will not survive one moment after our hope is dead; but we must not be content with knowing these things ourselves. we must change the conception which the anglo-saxon has formed of our character. we should let him know that patience has a limit; that strength brings confidence; that faith in god will demand the exercise of our own right arm; that hope and despair are each equipped with swords, the latter more dreadful than the former. before we make a forward move, let us pull the veil from before the eyes of the anglo-saxon that he may see the new negro standing before him humbly, but firmly demanding every right granted him by his maker and wrested from him by man. "if, however, the revelation of our character and the full knowledge of our determined attitude does not procure our rights, my proposition, which i am about to submit, will still offer a solution. resolutions. " . be it _resolved_: that we no longer conceal from the anglo-saxon the fact that the imperium exists, so that he may see that the love of liberty in our bosoms is strong enough to draw us together into this compact government. he will also see that each individual negro does not stand by himself, but is a link in a great chain that must not be broken with impunity. " . _resolved_: that we earnestly strive to convince the anglo-saxon that we are now thoroughly wedded to the doctrine of patrick henry: 'give me liberty or give me death,' let us teach the anglo-saxon that we have arrived at the stage of development as a people, where we prefer to die in honor rather than live in disgrace. " . _resolved_: that we spend four years in endeavors to impress the anglo-saxon that he has a new negro on his hands and must surrender what belongs to him. in case we fail by these means to secure our rights and privileges we shall all, at once, abandon our several homes in the various other states and emigrate in a body to the state of texas, broad in domain, rich in soil and salubrious in climate. having an unquestioned majority of votes we shall secure possession of the state government. " . _resolved_: that when once lawfully in control of that great state we shall, every man, die in his shoes before we shall allow vicious frauds or unlawful force to pursue us there and rob us of our acknowledged right. " . _resolved_: that we sojourn in the state of texas, working out our destiny as a separate and distinct race in the united states of america. "such is the proposition which i present. it is primarily pacific: yet it is firm and unyielding. it courts a peaceable adjustment, yet it does not shirk war, if war is forced. "but in concluding, let me emphasize that my aim, my hope, my labors, my fervent prayer to god is for a peaceable adjustment of all our differences upon the high plane of the equality of man. our beloved president, in his message to this congress, made a serious mistake when he stated that there were only two weapons to be used in accomplishing revolutions. he named the sword (and spear) and ballot. there is a weapon mightier than either of these. i speak of the pen. if denied the use of the ballot let us devote our attention to that mightier weapon, the pen. "other races which have obtained their freedom erect monuments over bloody spots where they slew their fellow men. may god favor us to obtain our freedom without having to dot our land with these relics of barbaric ages. "the negro is the latest comer upon the scene of modern civilization. it would be the crowning glory of even this marvelous age; it would be the grandest contribution ever made to the cause of human civilization; it would be a worthy theme for the songs of the holy angels, if every negro, away from the land of his nativity, can by means of the pen, force an acknowledgment of equality from the proud lips of the fierce, all conquering anglo-saxon, thus eclipsing the record of all other races of men, who without exception have had to wade through blood to achieve their freedom. "amid all the dense gloom that surrounds us, this transcendent thought now and then finds its way to my heart and warms it like a glorious sun. center your minds, beloved congress, on this sublime hope, and god may grant it to you. but be prepared, if he deems us unfit for so great a boon, to buckle on our swords and go forth to win our freedom with the sword just as has been done by all other nations of men. "my speech is made, my proposition is before you. i have done my duty. your destiny is in your own hands." belton's speech had, like dynamite, blasted away all opposition. he was in thorough mastery of the situation. the waves of the sea were now calm, the fierce winds had abated, there was a great rift in the dark clouds. the ship of state was sailing placidly on the bosom of the erstwhile troubled sea, and belton was at the helm. his propositions were adopted in their entirety without one dissenting voice. when the members left the congress hall that evening they breathed freely, feeling that the great race problem was, at last, about to be definitely settled. but, alas! how far wrong they were! as belton was leaving the chamber bernard approached him and put his hands fondly on his shoulders. bernard's curly hair was disordered and a strange fire gleamed in his eye. he said: "come over to the mansion to-night. i wish much to see you. come about nine p.m." belton agreed to go. chapter xix. the parting of ways. at the hour appointed belton was at the door of the president's mansion and bernard was there to meet him. they walked in and entered the same room where years before belton had, in the name of the congress, offered bernard the presidency of the imperium. the evening was mild, and the window, which ran down to the floor, was hoisted. the moon was shedding her full light and bernard had not lighted his lamp. each of them took seats near the window, one on one side and the other on the other, their faces toward the lawn. "belton," said bernard, "that was a masterly speech you made to-day. if orations are measured according to difficulties surmounted and results achieved, yours ought to rank as a masterpiece. aside from that, it was a daring deed. few men would have attempted to rush in and quell that storm as you did. they would have been afraid of being torn to shreds, so to speak, and all to no purpose. let me congratulate you." so saying he extended his hand and grasped belton's feelingly. belton replied in a somewhat melancholy strain: "bernard, that speech and its result ended my life's work. i have known long since that a crisis between the two races would come some day and i lived with the hope of being used by god to turn the current the right way. this i have done, and my work is over." "ah, no, belton; greater achievements, by far, you shall accomplish. the fact is, i have called you over here to-night to acquaint you with a scheme that means eternal glory and honor to us both." belton smiled and shook his head. "when i fully reveal my plan to you, you will change your mind." "well, bernard, let us hear it." "when you closed your speech to-day, a bright light shot athwart my brain and revealed to me something glorious. i came home determined to work it out in detail. this i have done, and now i hand this plan to you to ascertain your views and secure your cooperation." so saying he handed belton a foolscap sheet of paper on which the following was written: a plan of action for the imperium in imperio. . reconsider our determination to make known the existence of our imperium, and avoid all mention of an emigration to texas. . quietly purchase all texas land contiguous to states and territories of the union. build small commonplace huts on these lands and place rapid fire disappearing guns in fortifications dug beneath them. all of this is to be done secretly, the money to be raised by the issuance of bonds by the imperium. . encourage all negroes who can possibly do so to enter the united states navy. . enter into secret negotiations with all of the foreign enemies of the united states, acquainting them of our military strength and men aboard the united states war ships. . secure an appropriation from congress to hold a fair at galveston, inviting the governor of texas to be present. it will afford an excuse for all negro families to pour into texas. it will also be an excuse for having the war ships of nations friendly to us, in the harbor for a rendezvous. . while the governor is away, let the troops proceed quietly to austin, seize the capitol and hoist the flag of the imperium. . we can then, if need be, wreck the entire navy of the united states in a night; the united states will then be prostrate before us and our allies. . we will demand the surrender of texas and louisiana to the imperium. texas, we will retain. louisiana, we will cede to our foreign allies in return for their aid. thus will the negro have an empire of his own, fertile in soil, capable of sustaining a population of fifty million people. belton ceased reading the paper and returned it to bernard. "what is your opinion of the matter, belton?" "it is treason," was belton's terse reply. "are you in favor of it?" asked bernard. "no. i am not and never shall be. i am no traitor and never shall be one. our imperium was organized to secure our rights within the united states and we will make any sacrifice that can be named to attain that end. our efforts have been to wash the flag free of all blots, not to rend it; to burnish every star in the cluster, but to pluck none out. "candidly, bernard, i love the union and i love the south. soaked as old glory is with my people's tears and stained as it is with their warm blood, i could die as my forefathers did, fighting for its honor and asking no greater boon than old glory for my shroud and native soil for my grave. this may appear strange, but love of country is one of the deepest passions in the human bosom, and men in all ages have been known to give their lives for the land in which they had known nothing save cruelty and oppression. i shall never give up my fight for freedom, but i shall never prove false to the flag. i may fight to keep her from floating over cesspools of corruption by removing the cesspool; but i shall never fight to restrict the territory in which she is to float. these are my unalterable opinions." bernard said: "well, belton, we have at last arrived at a point of separation in our lives. i know the anglo-saxon race. he will never admit you to equality with him. i am fully determined on my course of action and will persevere." each knew that further argument was unnecessary, and they arose to part. they stood up, looking each other squarely in the face, and shook hands in silence. tears were in the eyes of both men. but each felt that he was heeding the call of duty, and neither had ever been known to falter. belton returned to his room and retired to rest. bernard called his messenger and sent him for every man of prominence in the congress of the imperium. they all slept in the building. the leaders got out of bed and hurried to the president. he laid before them the plan he had shown belton. they all accepted it and pronounced it good. he then told them that he had submitted it to belton but that belton was opposed. this took them somewhat by surprise, and finding that belton was opposed to it they were sorry that they had spoken so hastily. bernard knew that such would be their feelings. he produced a written agreement and asked all who favored that plan to sign that paper, as that would be of service in bringing over other members. ashamed to appear vacillating, they signed. they then left. the congress assembled next day, and president belgrave submitted his plan. belton swept the assembly with his eyes and told at a glance that there was a secret, formidable combination, and he decided that it would be useless to oppose the plan. the president's plan was adopted. belton alone voted no. belton then arose and said: "being no longer able to follow where the imperium leads, i hereby tender my resignation as a member." the members stood aghast at these words, for death alone removed a member from the ranks of the imperium, and asking to resign, according to their law was asking to be shot. bernard and every member of the congress crowded around belton and begged him to reconsider, and not be so cruel to his comrades as to make them fire bullets into his noble heart. belton was obdurate. according to the law of the imperium, he was allowed thirty days in which to reconsider his request. ordinarily those under sentence of death were kept in close confinement, but not so with belton. he was allowed all liberty. in fact, it was the secret wish of every one that he might take advantage of his freedom and escape. but belton was resolved to die. as he now felt that his days on earth were few, his mind began to turn toward antoinette. he longed to see her once more and just let her know that he loved her still. he at length decided to steal away to richmond and have a last interview with her. all the pent up passion of years now burst forth in his soul, and as the train sped toward virginia, he felt that love would run him mad ere he saw antoinette once more. while his train goes speeding on, let us learn a little of the woman whom he left years ago. antoinette nermal piedmont had been tried and excluded from her church on the charge of adultery. she did not appear at the trial nor speak a word in her own defense. society dropped her as you would a poisonous viper, and she was completely ostracised. but, conscious of her innocence and having an abiding faith in the justice of god, she moved along undisturbed by the ostracism. the only person about whom she was concerned was belton. she yearned, oh! so much, to be able to present to him proofs of her chastity; but there was that white child. but god had the matter in hand. as the child grew, its mother noticed that its hair began to change. she also thought she discovered his skin growing darker by degrees. as his features developed he was seen to be the very image of belton. antoinette frequently went out with him and the people began to shake their heads in doubt. at length the child became antoinette's color, retaining belton's features. public sentiment was fast veering around. her former friends began to speak to her more kindly, and the people began to feel that she was a martyr instead of a criminal. but the child continued to steadily grow darker and darker until he was a shade darker than his father. the church met and rescinded its action of years ago. every social organization of standing elected antoinette nermal piedmont an honorary member. society came rushing to her. she gently smiled, but did not seek their company. she was only concerned about belton. she prayed hourly for god to bring him back to her. and now, unknown to her, he was coming. one morning as she was sitting on her front porch enjoying the morning breeze, she looked toward the gate and saw her husband entering. she screamed loudly, and rushed into her son's room and dragged him out of bed. she did not allow him time to dress, but was dragging him to the door. belton rushed into the house. antoinette did not greet him, but cried in anxious, frenzied tones: "belton! there is your white child! look at him! look at him!" the boy looked up at belton, and if ever one person favored another, this child favored him. belton was dazed. he looked from child to mother and from mother to child. by and by it began to dawn on him that that child was somehow his child. his wife eyed him eagerly. she rushed to her album and showed him pictures of the child taken at various stages of its growth. belton discerned the same features in each photograph, but a different shade of color of the skin. his knees began to tremble. he had come, as the most wronged of men, to grant pardon. he now found himself the vilest of men, unfit for pardon. a picture of all that his innocent wife had suffered came before him, and he gasped: "o, god, what crime is this with which my soul is stained?" he put his hands before his face. antoinette divined his thoughts and sprang toward him. she tore his hands from his face and kissed him passionately, and begged him to kiss and embrace her once more. belton shook his head sadly and cried: "unworthy, unworthy." antoinette now burst forth into weeping. the boy said: "papa, why don't you kiss mama?" hearing the boy's voice, belton raised his eyes, and seeing his image, which antoinette had brought into the world, he grasped her in his arms and covered her face with kisses; and there was joy enough in those two souls to almost excite envy in the bosom of angels. belton was now recalled to life. he again loved the world. the cup of his joy was full. he was proud of his beautiful, noble wife, proud of his promising son. for days he was lost in contemplation of his new found happiness. but at last, a frightful picture arose before him. he remembered that he was doomed to die, and the day of his death came galloping on at a rapid pace. thus a deep river of sadness went flowing on through his happy elysian fields. but he remained unshaken in his resolve. he had now learned to put duty to country above everything else. then, too, he looked upon his boy and he felt that his son would fill his place in the world. but antoinette was so happy that he could not have the heart to tell her of his fate. she was a girl again. she chatted and laughed and played as though her heart was full of love. in her happiness she freely forgave the world for all the wrongs that it had perpetrated upon her. at length the day drew near for belton to go to waco. he took a tender leave of his loved ones. it was so tender that antoinette was troubled, and pressed him hard for an answer as to when he was to return or send for them. he begged her to be assured of his love and know that he would not stay away one second longer than was necessary. thus assured, she let him go, after kissing him more than a hundred times. belton turned his back on this home of happiness and love, to walk into the embrace of death. he arrived in waco in due time, and the morning of his execution came. in one part of the campus there was a high knoll surrounded on all sides by trees. this knoll had been selected as the spot for the execution. in the early morn while the grass yet glittered with pearls of water, and as the birds began to chirp, belton was led forth to die. little did those birds know that they were chirping the funeral march of the world's noblest hero. little did they dream that they were chanting his requiem. the sun had not yet risen but had reddened the east with his signal of approach. belton was stationed upon the knoll, his face toward the coming dawn. with his hands folded calmly across his bosom, he stood gazing over the heads of the executioners, at the rosy east. his executioners, five in number, stood facing him, twenty paces away. they were commanded by bernard, the president of the imperium. bernard gazed on belton with eyes of love and admiration. he loved his friend but he loved his people more. he could not sacrifice his race for his dearest friend. viola had taught him that lesson. bernard's eyes swam with tears as he said to belton in a hoarse whisper: "belton piedmont, your last hour has come. have you anything to say?" "tell posterity," said belton, in firm ringing tones that startled the birds into silence, "that i loved the race to which i belonged and the flag that floated over me; and, being unable to see these objects of my love engage in mortal combat, i went to my god, and now look down upon both from my home in the skies to bless them with my spirit." bernard gave the word of command to fire, and belton fell forward, a corpse. on the knoll where he fell he was buried, shrouded in an american flag. chapter xx. personal.--(berl trout) i was a member of the imperium that ordered belton to be slain. it fell to my lot to be one of the five who fired the fatal shots and i saw him fall. oh! that i could have died in his stead! when he fell, the spirit of conservatism in the negro race, fell with him. he was the last of that peculiar type of negro heroes that could so fondly kiss the smiting hand. his influence, which alone had just snatched us from the edge of the precipice of internecine war, from whose steep heights we had, in our rage, decided to leap into the dark gulf beneath, was now gone; his restraining hand was to be felt no more. henceforth bernard belgrave's influence would be supreme. born of distinguished parents, reared in luxury, gratified as to every whim, successful in every undertaking, idolized by the people, proud, brilliant, aspiring, deeming nothing impossible of achievement, with viola's tiny hand protruding from the grave pointing him to move forward, bernard belgrave, president of the imperium in imperio, was a man to be feared. as bernard stood by the side of belton's grave and saw the stiffened form of his dearest friend lowered to its last resting place, his grief was of a kind too galling for tears. he laughed a fearful, wicked laugh like unto that of a maniac, and said: "float on proud flag, while yet you may. rejoice, oh! ye anglo-saxons, yet a little while. make my father ashamed to own me, his lawful son; call me a bastard child; look upon my pure mother as a harlot; laugh at viola in the grave of a self-murderer; exhume belton's body if you like and tear your flag from around him to keep him from polluting it! yes, stuff your vile stomachs full of all these horrors. you shall be richer food for the buzzards to whom i have solemnly vowed to give your flesh." these words struck terror to my soul. with belton gone and this man at our head, our well-organized, thoroughly equipped imperium was a serious menace to the peace of the world. a chance spark might at any time cause a conflagration, which, unchecked, would spread destruction, devastation and death all around. i felt that beneath the south a mine had been dug and filled with dynamite, and that lighted fuses were lying around in careless profusion, where any irresponsible hand might reach them and ignite the dynamite. i fancied that i saw a man do this very thing in a sudden fit of uncontrollable rage. there was a dull roar as of distant rumbling thunder. suddenly there was a terrific explosion and houses, fences, trees, pavement stones, and all things on earth were hurled high into the air to come back a mass of ruins such as man never before had seen. the only sound to be heard was a universal groan; those who had not been killed were too badly wounded to cry out. such were the thoughts that passed through my mind. i was determined to remove the possibility of such a catastrophe. i decided to prove traitor and reveal the existence of the imperium that it might be broken up or watched. my deed may appear to be the act of a vile wretch, but it is done in the name of humanity. long ere you shall have come to this line, i shall have met the fate of a traitor. i die for mankind, for humanity, for civilization. if the voice of a poor negro, who thus gives his life, will be heard, i only ask as a return that all mankind will join hands and help my poor down-trodden people to secure those rights for which they organized the imperium, which my betrayal has now destroyed. i urge this because love of liberty is such an inventive genius, that if you destroy one device it at once constructs another more powerful. when will all races and classes of men learn that men made in the image of god will not be the slaves of another image? the end. the house behind the cedars by charles w. chesnutt contents i a stranger from south carolina ii an evening visit iii the old judge iv down the river v the tournament vi the queen of love and beauty vii 'mid new surroundings viii the courtship ix doubts and fears x the dream xi a letter and a journey xii tryon goes to patesville xiii an injudicious payment xiv a loyal friend xv mine own people xvi the bottom falls out xvii two letters xviii under the old regime xix god made us all xx digging up roots xxi a gilded opportunity xxii imperative business xxiii the guest of honor xxiv swing your partners xxv balance all xxvi the schoolhouse in the woods xxvii an interesting acquaintance xxviii the lost knife xxix plato earns half a dollar xxx an unusual honor xxxi in deep waters xxxii the power of love xxxiii a mule and a cart the house behind the cedars i a stranger from south carolina time touches all things with destroying hand; and if he seem now and then to bestow the bloom of youth, the sap of spring, it is but a brief mockery, to be surely and swiftly followed by the wrinkles of old age, the dry leaves and bare branches of winter. and yet there are places where time seems to linger lovingly long after youth has departed, and to which he seems loath to bring the evil day. who has not known some even-tempered old man or woman who seemed to have drunk of the fountain of youth? who has not seen somewhere an old town that, having long since ceased to grow, yet held its own without perceptible decline? some such trite reflection--as apposite to the subject as most random reflections are--passed through the mind of a young man who came out of the front door of the patesville hotel about nine o'clock one fine morning in spring, a few years after the civil war, and started down front street toward the market-house. arriving at the town late the previous evening, he had been driven up from the steamboat in a carriage, from which he had been able to distinguish only the shadowy outlines of the houses along the street; so that this morning walk was his first opportunity to see the town by daylight. he was dressed in a suit of linen duck--the day was warm--a panama straw hat, and patent leather shoes. in appearance he was tall, dark, with straight, black, lustrous hair, and very clean-cut, high-bred features. when he paused by the clerk's desk on his way out, to light his cigar, the day clerk, who had just come on duty, glanced at the register and read the last entry:-- "'john warwick, clarence, south carolina.' "one of the south ca'lina bigbugs, i reckon--probably in cotton, or turpentine." the gentleman from south carolina, walking down the street, glanced about him with an eager look, in which curiosity and affection were mingled with a touch of bitterness. he saw little that was not familiar, or that he had not seen in his dreams a hundred times during the past ten years. there had been some changes, it is true, some melancholy changes, but scarcely anything by way of addition or improvement to counterbalance them. here and there blackened and dismantled walls marked the place where handsome buildings once had stood, for sherman's march to the sea had left its mark upon the town. the stores were mostly of brick, two stories high, joining one another after the manner of cities. some of the names on the signs were familiar; others, including a number of jewish names, were quite unknown to him. a two minutes' walk brought warwick--the name he had registered under, and as we shall call him--to the market-house, the central feature of patesville, from both the commercial and the picturesque points of view. standing foursquare in the heart of the town, at the intersection of the two main streets, a "jog" at each street corner left around the market-house a little public square, which at this hour was well occupied by carts and wagons from the country and empty drays awaiting hire. warwick was unable to perceive much change in the market-house. perhaps the surface of the red brick, long unpainted, had scaled off a little more here and there. there might have been a slight accretion of the moss and lichen on the shingled roof. but the tall tower, with its four-faced clock, rose as majestically and uncompromisingly as though the land had never been subjugated. was it so irreconcilable, warwick wondered, as still to peal out the curfew bell, which at nine o'clock at night had clamorously warned all negroes, slave or free, that it was unlawful for them to be abroad after that hour, under penalty of imprisonment or whipping? was the old constable, whose chief business it had been to ring the bell, still alive and exercising the functions of his office, and had age lessened or increased the number of times that obliging citizens performed this duty for him during his temporary absences in the company of convivial spirits? a few moments later, warwick saw a colored policeman in the old constable's place--a stronger reminder than even the burned buildings that war had left its mark upon the old town, with which time had dealt so tenderly. the lower story of the market-house was open on all four of its sides to the public square. warwick passed through one of the wide brick arches and traversed the building with a leisurely step. he looked in vain into the stalls for the butcher who had sold fresh meat twice a week, on market days, and he felt a genuine thrill of pleasure when he recognized the red bandana turban of old aunt lyddy, the ancient negro woman who had sold him gingerbread and fried fish, and told him weird tales of witchcraft and conjuration, in the old days when, as an idle boy, he had loafed about the market-house. he did not speak to her, however, or give her any sign of recognition. he threw a glance toward a certain corner where steps led to the town hall above. on this stairway he had once seen a manacled free negro shot while being taken upstairs for examination under a criminal charge. warwick recalled vividly how the shot had rung out. he could see again the livid look of terror on the victim's face, the gathering crowd, the resulting confusion. the murderer, he recalled, had been tried and sentenced to imprisonment for life, but was pardoned by a merciful governor after serving a year of his sentence. as warwick was neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet, he could not foresee that, thirty years later, even this would seem an excessive punishment for so slight a misdemeanor. leaving the market-house, warwick turned to the left, and kept on his course until he reached the next corner. after another turn to the right, a dozen paces brought him in front of a small weather-beaten frame building, from which projected a wooden sign-board bearing the inscription:-- archibald straight, lawyer. he turned the knob, but the door was locked. retracing his steps past a vacant lot, the young man entered a shop where a colored man was employed in varnishing a coffin, which stood on two trestles in the middle of the floor. not at all impressed by the melancholy suggestiveness of his task, he was whistling a lively air with great gusto. upon warwick's entrance this effusion came to a sudden end, and the coffin-maker assumed an air of professional gravity. "good-mawnin', suh," he said, lifting his cap politely. "good-morning," answered warwick. "can you tell me anything about judge straight's office hours?" "de ole jedge has be'n a little onreg'lar sence de wah, suh; but he gin'ally gits roun' 'bout ten o'clock er so. he's be'n kin' er feeble fer de las' few yeahs. an' i reckon," continued the undertaker solemnly, his glance unconsciously seeking a row of fine caskets standing against the wall,--"i reckon he'll soon be goin' de way er all de earth. 'man dat is bawn er 'oman hath but a sho't time ter lib, an' is full er mis'ry. he cometh up an' is cut down lack as a flower.' 'de days er his life is three-sco' an' ten'--an' de ole jedge is libbed mo' d'n dat, suh, by five yeahs, ter say de leas'." "'death,'" quoted warwick, with whose mood the undertaker's remarks were in tune, "'is the penalty that all must pay for the crime of living.'" "dat 's a fac', suh, dat 's a fac'; so dey mus'--so dey mus'. an' den all de dead has ter be buried. an' we does ou' sheer of it, suh, we does ou' sheer. we conduc's de obs'quies er all de bes' w'ite folks er de town, suh." warwick left the undertaker's shop and retraced his steps until he had passed the lawyer's office, toward which he threw an affectionate glance. a few rods farther led him past the old black presbyterian church, with its square tower, embowered in a stately grove; past the catholic church, with its many crosses, and a painted wooden figure of st. james in a recess beneath the gable; and past the old jefferson house, once the leading hotel of the town, in front of which political meetings had been held, and political speeches made, and political hard cider drunk, in the days of "tippecanoe and tyler too." the street down which warwick had come intersected front street at a sharp angle in front of the old hotel, forming a sort of flatiron block at the junction, known as liberty point,--perhaps because slave auctions were sometimes held there in the good old days. just before warwick reached liberty point, a young woman came down front street from the direction of the market-house. when their paths converged, warwick kept on down front street behind her, it having been already his intention to walk in this direction. warwick's first glance had revealed the fact that the young woman was strikingly handsome, with a stately beauty seldom encountered. as he walked along behind her at a measured distance, he could not help noting the details that made up this pleasing impression, for his mind was singularly alive to beauty, in whatever embodiment. the girl's figure, he perceived, was admirably proportioned; she was evidently at the period when the angles of childhood were rounding into the promising curves of adolescence. her abundant hair, of a dark and glossy brown, was neatly plaited and coiled above an ivory column that rose straight from a pair of gently sloping shoulders, clearly outlined beneath the light muslin frock that covered them. he could see that she was tastefully, though not richly, dressed, and that she walked with an elastic step that revealed a light heart and the vigor of perfect health. her face, of course, he could not analyze, since he had caught only the one brief but convincing glimpse of it. the young woman kept on down front street, warwick maintaining his distance a few rods behind her. they passed a factory, a warehouse or two, and then, leaving the brick pavement, walked along on mother earth, under a leafy arcade of spreading oaks and elms. their way led now through a residential portion of the town, which, as they advanced, gradually declined from staid respectability to poverty, open and unabashed. warwick observed, as they passed through the respectable quarter, that few people who met the girl greeted her, and that some others whom she passed at gates or doorways gave her no sign of recognition; from which he inferred that she was possibly a visitor in the town and not well acquainted. their walk had continued not more than ten minutes when they crossed a creek by a wooden bridge and came to a row of mean houses standing flush with the street. at the door of one, an old black woman had stooped to lift a large basket, piled high with laundered clothes. the girl, as she passed, seized one end of the basket and helped the old woman to raise it to her head, where it rested solidly on the cushion of her head-kerchief. during this interlude, warwick, though he had slackened his pace measurably, had so nearly closed the gap between himself and them as to hear the old woman say, with the dulcet negro intonation:-- "t'anky', honey; de lawd gwine bless you sho'. you wuz alluz a good gal, and de lawd love eve'ybody w'at he'p de po' ole nigger. you gwine ter hab good luck all yo' bawn days." "i hope you're a true prophet, aunt zilphy," laughed the girl in response. the sound of her voice gave warwick a thrill. it was soft and sweet and clear--quite in harmony with her appearance. that it had a faint suggestiveness of the old woman's accent he hardly noticed, for the current southern speech, including his own, was rarely without a touch of it. the corruption of the white people's speech was one element--only one--of the negro's unconscious revenge for his own debasement. the houses they passed now grew scattering, and the quarter of the town more neglected. warwick felt himself wondering where the girl might be going in a neighborhood so uninviting. when she stopped to pull a half-naked negro child out of a mudhole and set him upon his feet, he thought she might be some young lady from the upper part of the town, bound on some errand of mercy, or going, perhaps, to visit an old servant or look for a new one. once she threw a backward glance at warwick, thus enabling him to catch a second glimpse of a singularly pretty face. perhaps the young woman found his presence in the neighborhood as unaccountable as he had deemed hers; for, finding his glance fixed upon her, she quickened her pace with an air of startled timidity. "a woman with such a figure," thought warwick, "ought to be able to face the world with the confidence of phryne confronting her judges." by this time warwick was conscious that something more than mere grace or beauty had attracted him with increasing force toward this young woman. a suggestion, at first faint and elusive, of something familiar, had grown stronger when he heard her voice, and became more and more pronounced with each rod of their advance; and when she stopped finally before a gate, and, opening it, went into a yard shut off from the street by a row of dwarf cedars, warwick had already discounted in some measure the surprise he would have felt at seeing her enter there had he not walked down front street behind her. there was still sufficient unexpectedness about the act, however, to give him a decided thrill of pleasure. "it must be rena," he murmured. "who could have dreamed that she would blossom out like that? it must surely be rena!" he walked slowly past the gate and peered through a narrow gap in the cedar hedge. the girl was moving along a sanded walk, toward a gray, unpainted house, with a steep roof, broken by dormer windows. the trace of timidity he had observed in her had given place to the more assured bearing of one who is upon his own ground. the garden walks were bordered by long rows of jonquils, pinks, and carnations, inclosing clumps of fragrant shrubs, lilies, and roses already in bloom. toward the middle of the garden stood two fine magnolia-trees, with heavy, dark green, glistening leaves, while nearer the house two mighty elms shaded a wide piazza, at one end of which a honeysuckle vine, and at the other a virginia creeper, running over a wooden lattice, furnished additional shade and seclusion. on dark or wintry days, the aspect of this garden must have been extremely sombre and depressing, and it might well have seemed a fit place to hide some guilty or disgraceful secret. but on the bright morning when warwick stood looking through the cedars, it seemed, with its green frame and canopy and its bright carpet of flowers, an ideal retreat from the fierce sunshine and the sultry heat of the approaching summer. the girl stooped to pluck a rose, and as she bent over it, her profile was clearly outlined. she held the flower to her face with a long-drawn inhalation, then went up the steps, crossed the piazza, opened the door without knocking, and entered the house with the air of one thoroughly at home. "yes," said the young man to himself, "it's rena, sure enough." the house stood on a corner, around which the cedar hedge turned, continuing along the side of the garden until it reached the line of the front of the house. the piazza to a rear wing, at right angles to the front of the house, was open to inspection from the side street, which, to judge from its deserted look, seemed to be but little used. turning into this street and walking leisurely past the back yard, which was only slightly screened from the street by a china-tree, warwick perceived the young woman standing on the piazza, facing an elderly woman, who sat in a large rocking-chair, plying a pair of knitting-needles on a half-finished stocking. warwick's walk led him within three feet of the side gate, which he felt an almost irresistible impulse to enter. every detail of the house and garden was familiar; a thousand cords of memory and affection drew him thither; but a stronger counter-motive prevailed. with a great effort he restrained himself, and after a momentary pause, walked slowly on past the house, with a backward glance, which he turned away when he saw that it was observed. warwick's attention had been so fully absorbed by the house behind the cedars and the women there, that he had scarcely noticed, on the other side of the neglected by-street, two men working by a large open window, in a low, rude building with a clapboarded roof, directly opposite the back piazza occupied by the two women. both the men were busily engaged in shaping barrel-staves, each wielding a sharp-edged drawing-knife on a piece of seasoned oak clasped tightly in a wooden vise. "i jes' wonder who dat man is, an' w'at he 's doin' on dis street," observed the younger of the two, with a suspicious air. he had noticed the gentleman's involuntary pause and his interest in the opposite house, and had stopped work for a moment to watch the stranger as he went on down the street. "nev' min' 'bout dat man," said the elder one. "you 'ten' ter yo' wuk an' finish dat bairl-stave. you spen's enti'ely too much er yo' time stretchin' yo' neck atter other people. an' you need n' 'sturb yo'se'f 'bout dem folks 'cross de street, fer dey ain't yo' kin', an' you're wastin' yo' time both'in' yo' min' wid 'em, er wid folks w'at comes on de street on account of 'em. look sha'p now, boy, er you'll git dat stave trim' too much." the younger man resumed his work, but still found time to throw a slanting glance out of the window. the gentleman, he perceived, stood for a moment on the rotting bridge across the old canal, and then walked slowly ahead until he turned to the right into back street, a few rods farther on. ii an evening visit toward evening of the same day, warwick took his way down front street in the gathering dusk. by the time night had spread its mantle over the earth, he had reached the gate by which he had seen the girl of his morning walk enter the cedar-bordered garden. he stopped at the gate and glanced toward the house, which seemed dark and silent and deserted. "it's more than likely," he thought, "that they are in the kitchen. i reckon i'd better try the back door." but as he drew cautiously near the corner, he saw a man's figure outlined in the yellow light streaming from the open door of a small house between front street and the cooper shop. wishing, for reasons of his own, to avoid observation, warwick did not turn the corner, but walked on down front street until he reached a point from which he could see, at a long angle, a ray of light proceeding from the kitchen window of the house behind the cedars. "they are there," he muttered with a sigh of relief, for he had feared they might be away. "i suspect i'll have to go to the front door, after all. no one can see me through the trees." he retraced his steps to the front gate, which he essayed to open. there was apparently some defect in the latch, for it refused to work. warwick remembered the trick, and with a slight sense of amusement, pushed his foot under the gate and gave it a hitch to the left, after which it opened readily enough. he walked softly up the sanded path, tiptoed up the steps and across the piazza, and rapped at the front door, not too loudly, lest this too might attract the attention of the man across the street. there was no response to his rap. he put his ear to the door and heard voices within, and the muffled sound of footsteps. after a moment he rapped again, a little louder than before. there was an instant cessation of the sounds within. he rapped a third time, to satisfy any lingering doubt in the minds of those who he felt sure were listening in some trepidation. a moment later a ray of light streamed through the keyhole. "who's there?" a woman's voice inquired somewhat sharply. "a gentleman," answered warwick, not holding it yet time to reveal himself. "does mis' molly walden live here?" "yes," was the guarded answer. "i'm mis' walden. what's yo'r business?" "i have a message to you from your son john." a key clicked in the lock. the door opened, and the elder of the two women warwick had seen upon the piazza stood in the doorway, peering curiously and with signs of great excitement into the face of the stranger. "you 've got a message from my son, you say?" she asked with tremulous agitation. "is he sick, or in trouble?" "no. he's well and doing well, and sends his love to you, and hopes you've not forgotten him." "fergot him? no, god knows i ain't fergot him! but come in, sir, an' tell me somethin' mo' about him." warwick went in, and as the woman closed the door after him, he threw a glance round the room. on the wall, over the mantelpiece, hung a steel engraving of general jackson at the battle of new orleans, and, on the opposite wall, a framed fashion-plate from "godey's lady's book." in the middle of the room an octagonal centre-table with a single leg, terminating in three sprawling feet, held a collection of curiously shaped sea-shells. there was a great haircloth sofa, somewhat the worse for wear, and a well-filled bookcase. the screen standing before the fireplace was covered with confederate bank-notes of various denominations and designs, in which the heads of jefferson davis and other confederate leaders were conspicuous. "imperious caesar, dead, and turned to clay, might stop a hole to keep the wind away," murmured the young man, as his eye fell upon this specimen of decorative art. the woman showed her visitor to a seat. she then sat down facing him and looked at him closely. "when did you last see my son?" she asked. "i've never met your son," he replied. her face fell. "then the message comes through you from somebody else?" "no, directly from your son." she scanned his face with a puzzled look. this bearded young gentleman, who spoke so politely and was dressed so well, surely--no, it could not be! and yet-- warwick was smiling at her through a mist of tears. an electric spark of sympathy flashed between them. they rose as if moved by one impulse, and were clasped in each other's arms. "john, my john! it is john!" "mother--my dear old mother!" "i didn't think," she sobbed, "that i'd ever see you again." he smoothed her hair and kissed her. "and are you glad to see me, mother?" "am i glad to see you? it's like the dead comin' to life. i thought i'd lost you forever, john, my son, my darlin' boy!" she answered, hugging him strenuously. "i couldn't live without seeing you, mother," he said. he meant it, too, or thought he did, although he had not seen her for ten years. "you've grown so tall, john, and are such a fine gentleman! and you are a gentleman now, john, ain't you--sure enough? nobody knows the old story?" "well, mother, i've taken a man's chance in life, and have tried to make the most of it; and i haven't felt under any obligation to spoil it by raking up old stories that are best forgotten. there are the dear old books: have they been read since i went away?" "no, honey, there's be'n nobody to read 'em, excep' rena, an' she don't take to books quite like you did. but i've kep' 'em dusted clean, an' kep' the moths an' the bugs out; for i hoped you'd come back some day, an' knowed you'd like to find 'em all in their places, jus' like you left 'em." "that's mighty nice of you, mother. you could have done no more if you had loved them for themselves. but where is rena? i saw her on the street to-day, but she didn't know me from adam; nor did i guess it was she until she opened the gate and came into the yard." "i've be'n so glad to see you that i'd fergot about her," answered the mother. "rena, oh, rena!" the girl was not far away; she had been standing in the next room, listening intently to every word of the conversation, and only kept from coming in by a certain constraint that made a brother whom she had not met for so many years seem almost as much a stranger as if he had not been connected with her by any tie. "yes, mamma," she answered, coming forward. "rena, child, here's yo'r brother john, who's come back to see us. tell 'im howdy." as she came forward, warwick rose, put his arm around her waist, drew her toward him, and kissed her affectionately, to her evident embarrassment. she was a tall girl, but he towered above her in quite a protecting fashion; and she thought with a thrill how fine it would be to have such a brother as this in the town all the time. how proud she would be, if she could but walk up the street with such a brother by her side! she could then hold up her head before all the world, oblivious to the glance of pity or contempt. she felt a very pronounced respect for this tall gentleman who held her blushing face between his hands and looked steadily into her eyes. "you're the little sister i used to read stories to, and whom i promised to come and see some day. do you remember how you cried when i went away?" "it seems but yesterday," she answered. "i've still got the dime you gave me." he kissed her again, and then drew her down beside him on the sofa, where he sat enthroned between the two loving and excited women. no king could have received more sincere or delighted homage. he was a man, come into a household of women,--a man of whom they were proud, and to whom they looked up with fond reverence. for he was not only a son,--a brother--but he represented to them the world from which circumstances had shut them out, and to which distance lent even more than its usual enchantment; and they felt nearer to this far-off world because of the glory which warwick reflected from it. "you're a very pretty girl," said warwick, regarding his sister thoughtfully. "i followed you down front street this morning, and scarcely took my eyes off you all the way; and yet i didn't know you, and scarcely saw your face. you improve on acquaintance; to-night, i find you handsomer still." "now, john," said his mother, expostulating mildly, "you'll spile her, if you don't min'." the girl was beaming with gratified vanity. what woman would not find such praise sweet from almost any source, and how much more so from this great man, who, from his exalted station in the world, must surely know the things whereof he spoke! she believed every word of it; she knew it very well indeed, but wished to hear it repeated and itemized and emphasized. "no, he won't, mamma," she asserted, "for he's flattering me. he talks as if i was some rich young lady, who lives on the hill,"--the hill was the aristocratic portion of the town,--"instead of a poor." "instead of a poor young girl, who has the hill to climb," replied her brother, smoothing her hair with his hand. her hair was long and smooth and glossy, with a wave like the ripple of a summer breeze upon the surface of still water. it was the girl's great pride, and had been sedulously cared for. "what lovely hair! it has just the wave that yours lacks, mother." "yes," was the regretful reply, "i've never be'n able to git that wave out. but her hair's be'n took good care of, an' there ain't nary gal in town that's got any finer." "don't worry about the wave, mother. it's just the fashionable ripple, and becomes her immensely. i think my little albert favors his aunt rena somewhat." "your little albert!" they cried. "you've got a child?" "oh, yes," he replied calmly, "a very fine baby boy." they began to purr in proud contentment at this information, and made minute inquiries about the age and weight and eyes and nose and other important details of this precious infant. they inquired more coldly about the child's mother, of whom they spoke with greater warmth when they learned that she was dead. they hung breathless on warwick's words as he related briefly the story of his life since he had left, years before, the house behind the cedars--how with a stout heart and an abounding hope he had gone out into a seemingly hostile world, and made fortune stand and deliver. his story had for the women the charm of an escape from captivity, with all the thrill of a pirate's tale. with the whole world before him, he had remained in the south, the land of his fathers, where, he conceived, he had an inalienable birthright. by some good chance he had escaped military service in the confederate army, and, in default of older and more experienced men, had undertaken, during the rebellion, the management of a large estate, which had been left in the hands of women and slaves. he had filled the place so acceptably, and employed his leisure to such advantage, that at the close of the war he found himself--he was modest enough to think, too, in default of a better man--the husband of the orphan daughter of the gentleman who had owned the plantation, and who had lost his life upon the battlefield. warwick's wife was of good family, and in a more settled condition of society it would not have been easy for a young man of no visible antecedents to win her hand. a year or two later, he had taken the oath of allegiance, and had been admitted to the south carolina bar. rich in his wife's right, he had been able to practice his profession upon a high plane, without the worry of sordid cares, and with marked success for one of his age. "i suppose," he concluded, "that i have got along at the bar, as elsewhere, owing to the lack of better men. many of the good lawyers were killed in the war, and most of the remainder were disqualified; while i had the advantage of being alive, and of never having been in arms against the government. people had to have lawyers, and they gave me their business in preference to the carpet-baggers. fortune, you know, favors the available man." his mother drank in with parted lips and glistening eyes the story of his adventures and the record of his successes. as rena listened, the narrow walls that hemmed her in seemed to draw closer and closer, as though they must crush her. her brother watched her keenly. he had been talking not only to inform the women, but with a deeper purpose, conceived since his morning walk, and deepened as he had followed, during his narrative, the changing expression of rena's face and noted her intense interest in his story, her pride in his successes, and the occasional wistful look that indexed her self-pity so completely. "an' i s'pose you're happy, john?" asked his mother. "well, mother, happiness is a relative term, and depends, i imagine, upon how nearly we think we get what we think we want. i have had my chance and haven't thrown it away, and i suppose i ought to be happy. but then, i have lost my wife, whom i loved very dearly, and who loved me just as much, and i'm troubled about my child." "why?" they demanded. "is there anything the matter with him?" "no, not exactly. he's well enough, as babies go, and has a good enough nurse, as nurses go. but the nurse is ignorant, and not always careful. a child needs some woman of its own blood to love it and look after it intelligently." mis' molly's eyes were filled with tearful yearning. she would have given all the world to warm her son's child upon her bosom; but she knew this could not be. "did your wife leave any kin?" she asked with an effort. "no near kin; she was an only child." "you'll be gettin' married again," suggested his mother. "no," he replied; "i think not." warwick was still reading his sister's face, and saw the spark of hope that gleamed in her expressive eye. "if i had some relation of my own that i could take into the house with me," he said reflectively, "the child might be healthier and happier, and i should be much more at ease about him." the mother looked from son to daughter with a dawning apprehension and a sudden pallor. when she saw the yearning in rena's eyes, she threw herself at her son's feet. "oh, john," she cried despairingly, "don't take her away from me! don't take her, john, darlin', for it'd break my heart to lose her!" rena's arms were round her mother's neck, and rena's voice was sounding in her ears. "there, there, mamma! never mind! i won't leave you, mamma--dear old mamma! your rena'll stay with you always, and never, never leave you." john smoothed his mother's hair with a comforting touch, patted her withered cheek soothingly, lifted her tenderly to her place by his side, and put his arm about her. "you love your children, mother?" "they're all i've got," she sobbed, "an' they cos' me all i had. when the las' one's gone, i'll want to go too, for i'll be all alone in the world. don't take rena, john; for if you do, i'll never see her again, an' i can't bear to think of it. how would you like to lose yo'r one child?" "well, well, mother, we'll say no more about it. and now tell me all about yourself, and about the neighbors, and how you got through the war, and who's dead and who's married--and everything." the change of subject restored in some degree mis' molly's equanimity, and with returning calmness came a sense of other responsibilities. "good gracious, rena!" she exclaimed. "john 's be'n in the house an hour, and ain't had nothin' to eat yet! go in the kitchen an' spread a clean tablecloth, an' git out that 'tater pone, an' a pitcher o' that las' kag o' persimmon beer, an' let john take a bite an' a sip." warwick smiled at the mention of these homely dainties. "i thought of your sweet-potato pone at the hotel to-day, when i was at dinner, and wondered if you'd have some in the house. there was never any like yours; and i've forgotten the taste of persimmon beer entirely." rena left the room to carry out her hospitable commission. warwick, taking advantage of her absence, returned after a while to the former subject. "of course, mother," he said calmly, "i wouldn't think of taking rena away against your wishes. a mother's claim upon her child is a high and holy one. of course she will have no chance here, where our story is known. the war has wrought great changes, has put the bottom rail on top, and all that--but it hasn't wiped that out. nothing but death can remove that stain, if it does not follow us even beyond the grave. here she must forever be--nobody! with me she might have got out into the world; with her beauty she might have made a good marriage; and, if i mistake not, she has sense as well as beauty." "yes," sighed the mother, "she's got good sense. she ain't as quick as you was, an' don't read as many books, but she's keerful an' painstakin', an' always tries to do what's right. she's be'n thinkin' about goin' away somewhere an' tryin' to git a school to teach, er somethin', sence the yankees have started 'em everywhere for po' white folks an' niggers too. but i don't like fer her to go too fur." "with such beauty and brains," continued warwick, "she could leave this town and make a place for herself. the place is already made. she has only to step into my carriage--after perhaps a little preparation--and ride up the hill which i have had to climb so painfully. it would be a great pleasure to me to see her at the top. but of course it is impossible--a mere idle dream. your claim comes first; her duty chains her here." "it would be so lonely without her," murmured the mother weakly, "an' i love her so--my las' one!" "no doubt--no doubt," returned warwick, with a sympathetic sigh; "of course you love her. it's not to be thought of for a moment. it's a pity that she couldn't have a chance here--but how could she! i had thought she might marry a gentleman, but i dare say she'll do as well as the rest of her friends--as well as mary b., for instance, who married--homer pettifoot, did you say? or maybe billy oxendine might do for her. as long as she has never known any better, she'll probably be as well satisfied as though she married a rich man, and lived in a fine house, and kept a carriage and servants, and moved with the best in the land." the tortured mother could endure no more. the one thing she desired above all others was her daughter's happiness. her own life had not been governed by the highest standards, but about her love for her beautiful daughter there was no taint of selfishness. the life her son had described had been to her always the ideal but unattainable life. circumstances, some beyond her control, and others for which she was herself in a measure responsible, had put it forever and inconceivably beyond her reach. it had been conquered by her son. it beckoned to her daughter. the comparison of this free and noble life with the sordid existence of those around her broke down the last barrier of opposition. "o lord!" she moaned, "what shall i do with out her? it'll be lonely, john--so lonely!" "you'll have your home, mother," said warwick tenderly, accepting the implied surrender. "you'll have your friends and relatives, and the knowledge that your children are happy. i'll let you hear from us often, and no doubt you can see rena now and then. but you must let her go, mother,--it would be a sin against her to refuse." "she may go," replied the mother brokenly. "i'll not stand in her way--i've got sins enough to answer for already." warwick watched her pityingly. he had stirred her feelings to unwonted depths, and his sympathy went out to her. if she had sinned, she had been more sinned against than sinning, and it was not his part to judge her. he had yielded to a sentimental weakness in deciding upon this trip to patesville. a matter of business had brought him within a day's journey of the town, and an over-mastering impulse had compelled him to seek the mother who had given him birth and the old town where he had spent the earlier years of his life. no one would have acknowledged sooner than he the folly of this visit. men who have elected to govern their lives by principles of abstract right and reason, which happen, perhaps, to be at variance with what society considers equally right and reasonable, should, for fear of complications, be careful about descending from the lofty heights of logic to the common level of impulse and affection. many years before, warwick, when a lad of eighteen, had shaken the dust of the town from his feet, and with it, he fondly thought, the blight of his inheritance, and had achieved elsewhere a worthy career. but during all these years of absence he had cherished a tender feeling for his mother, and now again found himself in her house, amid the familiar surroundings of his childhood. his visit had brought joy to his mother's heart, and was now to bring its shrouded companion, sorrow. his mother had lived her life, for good or ill. a wider door was open to his sister--her mother must not bar the entrance. "she may go," the mother repeated sadly, drying her tears. "i'll give her up for her good." "the table 's ready, mamma," said rena, coming to the door. the lunch was spread in the kitchen, a large unplastered room at the rear, with a wide fireplace at one end. only yesterday, it seemed to warwick, he had sprawled upon the hearth, turning sweet potatoes before the fire, or roasting groundpeas in the ashes; or, more often, reading, by the light of a blazing pine-knot or lump of resin, some volume from the bookcase in the hall. from bulwer's novel, he had read the story of warwick the kingmaker, and upon leaving home had chosen it for his own. he was a new man, but he had the blood of an old race, and he would select for his own one of its worthy names. overhead loomed the same smoky beams, decorated with what might have been, from all appearances, the same bunches of dried herbs, the same strings of onions and red peppers. over in the same corner stood the same spinning-wheel, and through the open door of an adjoining room he saw the old loom, where in childhood he had more than once thrown the shuttle. the kitchen was different from the stately dining-room of the old colonial mansion where he now lived; but it was homelike, and it was familiar. the sight of it moved his heart, and he felt for the moment a sort of a blind anger against the fate which made it necessary that he should visit the home of his childhood, if at all, like a thief in the night. but he realized, after a moment, that the thought was pure sentiment, and that one who had gained so much ought not to complain if he must give up a little. he who would climb the heights of life must leave even the pleasantest valleys behind. "rena," asked her mother, "how'd you like to go an' pay yo'r brother john a visit? i guess i might spare you for a little while." the girl's eyes lighted up. she would not have gone if her mother had wished her to stay, but she would always have regarded this as the lost opportunity of her life. "are you sure you don't care, mamma?" she asked, hoping and yet doubting. "oh, i'll manage to git along somehow or other. you can go an' stay till you git homesick, an' then john'll let you come back home." but mis' molly believed that she would never come back, except, like her brother, under cover of the night. she must lose her daughter as well as her son, and this should be the penance for her sin. that her children must expiate as well the sins of their fathers, who had sinned so lightly, after the manner of men, neither she nor they could foresee, since they could not read the future. the next boat by which warwick could take his sister away left early in the morning of the next day but one. he went back to his hotel with the understanding that the morrow should be devoted to getting rena ready for her departure, and that warwick would visit the household again the following evening; for, as has been intimated, there were several reasons why there should be no open relations between the fine gentleman at the hotel and the women in the house behind the cedars, who, while superior in blood and breeding to the people of the neighborhood in which they lived, were yet under the shadow of some cloud which clearly shut them out from the better society of the town. almost any resident could have given one or more of these reasons, of which any one would have been sufficient to most of them; and to some of them warwick's mere presence in the town would have seemed a bold and daring thing. iii the old judge on the morning following the visit to his mother, warwick visited the old judge's office. the judge was not in, but the door stood open, and warwick entered to await his return. there had been fewer changes in the office, where he had spent many, many hours, than in the town itself. the dust was a little thicker, the papers in the pigeon-holes of the walnut desk were a little yellower, the cobwebs in the corners a little more aggressive. the flies droned as drowsily and the murmur of the brook below was just as audible. warwick stood at the rear window and looked out over a familiar view. directly across the creek, on the low ground beyond, might be seen the dilapidated stone foundation of the house where once had lived flora macdonald, the jacobite refugee, the most romantic character of north carolina history. old judge straight had had a tree cut away from the creek-side opposite his window, so that this historic ruin might be visible from his office; for the judge could trace the ties of blood that connected him collaterally with this famous personage. his pamphlet on flora macdonald, printed for private circulation, was highly prized by those of his friends who were fortunate enough to obtain a copy. to the left of the window a placid mill-pond spread its wide expanse, and to the right the creek disappeared under a canopy of overhanging trees. a footstep sounded in the doorway, and warwick, turning, faced the old judge. time had left greater marks upon the lawyer than upon his office. his hair was whiter, his stoop more pronounced; when he spoke to warwick, his voice had some of the shrillness of old age; and in his hand, upon which the veins stood out prominently, a decided tremor was perceptible. "good-morning, judge straight," said the young man, removing his hat with the graceful southern deference of the young for the old. "good-morning, sir," replied the judge with equal courtesy. "you don't remember me, i imagine," suggested warwick. "your face seems familiar," returned the judge cautiously, "but i cannot for the moment recall your name. i shall be glad to have you refresh my memory." "i was john walden, sir, when you knew me." the judge's face still gave no answering light of recognition. "your old office-boy," continued the younger man. "ah, indeed, so you were!" rejoined the judge warmly, extending his hand with great cordiality, and inspecting warwick more closely through his spectacles. "let me see--you went away a few years before the war, wasn't it?" "yes, sir, to south carolina." "yes, yes, i remember now! i had been thinking it was to the north. so many things have happened since then, that it taxes an old man's memory to keep track of them all. well, well! and how have you been getting along?" warwick told his story in outline, much as he had given it to his mother and sister, and the judge seemed very much interested. "and you married into a good family?" he asked. "yes, sir." "and have children?" "one." "and you are visiting your mother?" "not exactly. i have seen her, but i am stopping at a hotel." "h'm! are you staying long?" "i leave to-morrow." "it's well enough. i wouldn't stay too long. the people of a small town are inquisitive about strangers, and some of them have long memories. i remember we went over the law, which was in your favor; but custom is stronger than law--in these matters custom is law. it was a great pity that your father did not make a will. well, my boy, i wish you continued good luck; i imagined you would make your way." warwick went away, and the old judge sat for a moment absorbed in reflection. "right and wrong," he mused, "must be eternal verities, but our standards for measuring them vary with our latitude and our epoch. we make our customs lightly; once made, like our sins, they grip us in bands of steel; we become the creatures of our creations. by one standard my old office-boy should never have been born. yet he is a son of adam, and came into existence in the way ordained by god from the beginning of the world. in equity he would seem to be entitled to his chance in life; it might have been wiser, though, for him to seek it farther afield than south carolina. it was too near home, even though the laws were with him." iv down the river neither mother nor daughter slept a great deal during the night of warwick's first visit. mis' molly anointed her sacrifice with tears and cried herself to sleep. rena's emotions were more conflicting; she was sorry to leave her mother, but glad to go with her brother. the mere journey she was about to make was a great event for the two women to contemplate, to say nothing of the golden vision that lay beyond, for neither of them had ever been out of the town or its vicinity. the next day was devoted to preparations for the journey. rena's slender wardrobe was made ready and packed in a large valise. towards sunset, mis' molly took off her apron, put on her slat-bonnet,--she was ever the pink of neatness,--picked her way across the street, which was muddy from a rain during the day, traversed the foot-bridge that spanned the ditch in front of the cooper shop, and spoke first to the elder of the two men working there. "good-evenin', peter." "good-evenin', ma'm," responded the man briefly, and not relaxing at all the energy with which he was trimming a barrel-stave. mis' molly then accosted the younger workman, a dark-brown young man, small in stature, but with a well-shaped head, an expressive forehead, and features indicative of kindness, intelligence, humor, and imagination. "frank," she asked, "can i git you to do somethin' fer me soon in the mo'nin'?" "yas 'm, i reckon so," replied the young man, resting his hatchet on the chopping-block. "w'at is it, mis' molly?" "my daughter 's goin' away on the boat, an' i 'lowed you would n' min' totin' her kyarpet-bag down to the w'arf, onless you'd ruther haul it down on yo'r kyart. it ain't very heavy. of co'se i'll pay you fer yo'r trouble." "thank y', ma'm," he replied. he knew that she would not pay him, for the simple reason that he would not accept pay for such a service. "is she gwine fur?" he asked, with a sorrowful look, which he could not entirely disguise. "as fur as wilmin'ton an' beyon'. she'll be visitin' her brother john, who lives in--another state, an' wants her to come an' see him." "yas 'm, i'll come. i won' need de kyart--i'll tote de bag. 'bout w'at time shill i come over?" "well, 'long 'bout seven o'clock or half pas'. she's goin' on the old north state, an' it leaves at eight." frank stood looking after mis' molly as she picked her way across the street, until he was recalled to his duty by a sharp word from his father. "'ten' ter yo' wuk, boy, 'ten' ter yo' wuk. you 're wastin' yo' time--wastin' yo' time!" yes, he was wasting his time. the beautiful young girl across the street could never be anything to him. but he had saved her life once, and had dreamed that he might render her again some signal service that might win her friendship, and convince her of his humble devotion. for frank was not proud. a smile, which peter would have regarded as condescending to a free man, who, since the war, was as good as anybody else; a kind word, which peter would have considered offensively patronizing; a piece of mis' molly's famous potato pone from rena's hands,--a bone to a dog, peter called it once;--were ample rewards for the thousand and one small services frank had rendered the two women who lived in the house behind the cedars. frank went over in the morning a little ahead of the appointed time, and waited on the back piazza until his services were required. "you ain't gwine ter be gone long, is you, miss rena?" he inquired, when rena came out dressed for the journey in her best frock, with broad white collar and cuffs. rena did not know. she had been asking herself the same question. all sorts of vague dreams had floated through her mind during the last few hours, as to what the future might bring forth. but she detected the anxious note in frank's voice, and had no wish to give this faithful friend of the family unnecessary pain. "oh, no, frank, i reckon not. i'm supposed to be just going on a short visit. my brother has lost his wife, and wishes me to come and stay with him awhile, and look after his little boy." "i'm feared you'll lack it better dere, miss rena," replied frank sorrowfully, dropping his mask of unconcern, "an' den you won't come back, an' none er yo' frien's won't never see you no mo'." "you don't think, frank," asked rena severely, "that i would leave my mother and my home and all my friends, and never come back again?" "why, no 'ndeed," interposed mis' molly wistfully, as she hovered around her daughter, giving her hair or her gown a touch here and there; "she'll be so homesick in a month that she'll be willin' to walk home." "you would n' never hafter do dat, miss rena," returned frank, with a disconsolate smile. "ef you ever wanter come home, an' can't git back no other way, jes' let me know, an' i'll take my mule an' my kyart an' fetch you back, ef it's from de een' er de worl'." "thank you, frank, i believe you would," said the girl kindly. "you're a true friend, frank, and i'll not forget you while i'm gone." the idea of her beautiful daughter riding home from the end of the world with frank, in a cart, behind a one-eyed mule, struck mis' molly as the height of the ridiculous--she was in a state of excitement where tears or laughter would have come with equal ease--and she turned away to hide her merriment. her daughter was going to live in a fine house, and marry a rich man, and ride in her carriage. of course a negro would drive the carriage, but that was different from riding with one in a cart. when it was time to go, mis' molly and rena set out on foot for the river, which was only a short distance away. frank followed with the valise. there was no gathering of friends to see rena off, as might have been the case under different circumstances. her departure had some of the characteristics of a secret flight; it was as important that her destination should not be known, as it had been that her brother should conceal his presence in the town. mis' molly and rena remained on the bank until the steamer announced, with a raucous whistle, its readiness to depart. warwick was seen for a moment on the upper deck, from which he greeted them with a smile and a slight nod. he had bidden his mother an affectionate farewell the evening before. rena gave her hand to frank. "good-by, frank," she said, with a kind smile; "i hope you and mamma will be good friends while i'm gone." the whistle blew a second warning blast, and the deck hands prepared to draw in the gang-plank. rena flew into her mother's arms, and then, breaking away, hurried on board and retired to her state-room, from which she did not emerge during the journey. the window-blinds were closed, darkening the room, and the stewardess who came to ask if she should bring her some dinner could not see her face distinctly, but perceived enough to make her surmise that the young lady had been weeping. "po' chile," murmured the sympathetic colored woman, "i reckon some er her folks is dead, er her sweetheart 's gone back on her, er e'se she's had some kin' er bad luck er 'nuther. w'ite folks has deir troubles jes' ez well ez black folks, an' sometimes feels 'em mo', 'cause dey ain't ez use' ter 'em." mis' molly went back in sadness to the lonely house behind the cedars, henceforth to be peopled for her with only the memory of those she had loved. she had paid with her heart's blood another installment on the shylock's bond exacted by society for her own happiness of the past and her children's prospects for the future. the journey down the sluggish river to the seaboard in the flat-bottomed, stern-wheel steamer lasted all day and most of the night. during the first half-day, the boat grounded now and then upon a sand-bank, and the half-naked negro deck-hands toiled with ropes and poles to release it. several times before rena fell asleep that night, the steamer would tie up at a landing, and by the light of huge pine torches she watched the boat hands send the yellow turpentine barrels down the steep bank in a long string, or pass cord-wood on board from hand to hand. the excited negroes, their white teeth and eyeballs glistening in the surrounding darkness to which their faces formed no relief; the white officers in brown linen, shouting, swearing, and gesticulating; the yellow, flickering torchlight over all,--made up a scene of which the weird interest would have appealed to a more blase traveler than this girl upon her first journey. during the day, warwick had taken his meals in the dining-room, with the captain and the other cabin passengers. it was learned that he was a south carolina lawyer, and not a carpet-bagger. such credentials were unimpeachable, and the passengers found him a very agreeable traveling companion. apparently sound on the subject of negroes, yankees, and the righteousness of the lost cause, he yet discussed these themes in a lofty and impersonal manner that gave his words greater weight than if he had seemed warped by a personal grievance. his attitude, in fact, piqued the curiosity of one or two of the passengers. "did your people lose any niggers?" asked one of them. "my father owned a hundred," he replied grandly. their respect for his views was doubled. it is easy to moralize about the misfortunes of others, and to find good in the evil that they suffer;--only a true philosopher could speak thus lightly of his own losses. when the steamer tied up at the wharf at wilmington, in the early morning, the young lawyer and a veiled lady passenger drove in the same carriage to a hotel. after they had breakfasted in a private room, warwick explained to his sister the plan he had formed for her future. henceforth she must be known as miss warwick, dropping the old name with the old life. he would place her for a year in a boarding-school at charleston, after which she would take her place as the mistress of his house. having imparted this information, he took his sister for a drive through the town. there for the first time rena saw great ships, which, her brother told her, sailed across the mighty ocean to distant lands, whose flags he pointed out drooping lazily at the mast-heads. the business portion of the town had "an ancient and fishlike smell," and most of the trade seemed to be in cotton and naval stores and products of the sea. the wharves were piled high with cotton bales, and there were acres of barrels of resin and pitch and tar and spirits of turpentine. the market, a long, low, wooden structure, in the middle of the principal street, was filled with a mass of people of all shades, from blue-black to saxon blonde, gabbling and gesticulating over piles of oysters and clams and freshly caught fish of varied hue. by ten o'clock the sun was beating down so fiercely that the glitter of the white, sandy streets dazzled and pained the eyes unaccustomed to it, and rena was glad to be driven back to the hotel. the travelers left together on an early afternoon train. thus for the time being was severed the last tie that bound rena to her narrow past, and for some time to come the places and the people who had known her once were to know her no more. some few weeks later, mis' molly called upon old judge straight with reference to the taxes on her property. "your son came in to see me the other day," he remarked. "he seems to have got along." "oh, yes, judge, he's done fine, john has; an' he's took his sister away with him." "ah!" exclaimed the judge. then after a pause he added, "i hope she may do as well." "thank you, sir," she said, with a curtsy, as she rose to go. "we've always knowed that you were our friend and wished us well." the judge looked after her as she walked away. her bearing had a touch of timidity, a shade of affectation, and yet a certain pathetic dignity. "it is a pity," he murmured, with a sigh, "that men cannot select their mothers. my young friend john has builded, whether wisely or not, very well; but he has come back into the old life and carried away a part of it, and i fear that this addition will weaken the structure." v the tournament the annual tournament of the clarence social club was about to begin. the county fairground, where all was in readiness, sparkled with the youth and beauty of the town, standing here and there under the trees in animated groups, or moving toward the seats from which the pageant might be witnessed. a quarter of a mile of the race track, to right and left of the judges' stand, had been laid off for the lists. opposite the grand stand, which occupied a considerable part of this distance, a dozen uprights had been erected at measured intervals. projecting several feet over the track from each of these uprights was an iron crossbar, from which an iron hook depended. between the uprights stout posts were planted, of such a height that their tops could be easily reached by a swinging sword-cut from a mounted rider passing upon the track. the influence of walter scott was strong upon the old south. the south before the war was essentially feudal, and scott's novels of chivalry appealed forcefully to the feudal heart. during the month preceding the clarence tournament, the local bookseller had closed out his entire stock of "ivanhoe," consisting of five copies, and had taken orders for seven copies more. the tournament scene in this popular novel furnished the model after which these bloodless imitations of the ancient passages-at-arms were conducted, with such variations as were required to adapt them to a different age and civilization. the best people gradually filled the grand stand, while the poorer white and colored folks found seats outside, upon what would now be known as the "bleachers," or stood alongside the lists. the knights, masquerading in fanciful costumes, in which bright-colored garments, gilt paper, and cardboard took the place of knightly harness, were mounted on spirited horses. most of them were gathered at one end of the lists, while others practiced their steeds upon the unoccupied portion of the race track. the judges entered the grand stand, and one of them, after looking at his watch, gave a signal. immediately a herald, wearing a bright yellow sash, blew a loud blast upon a bugle, and, big with the importance of his office, galloped wildly down the lists. an attendant on horseback busied himself hanging upon each of the pendent hooks an iron ring, of some two inches in diameter, while another, on foot, placed on top of each of the shorter posts a wooden ball some four inches through. "it's my first tournament," observed a lady near the front of the grand stand, leaning over and addressing john warwick, who was seated in the second row, in company with a very handsome girl. "it is somewhat different from ashby-de-la-zouch." "it is the renaissance of chivalry, mrs. newberry," replied the young lawyer, "and, like any other renaissance, it must adapt itself to new times and circumstances. for instance, when we build a greek portico, having no pentelic marble near at hand, we use a pine-tree, one of nature's columns, which grecian art at its best could only copy and idealize. our knights are not weighted down with heavy armor, but much more appropriately attired, for a day like this, in costumes that recall the picturesqueness, without the discomfort, of the old knightly harness. for an iron-headed lance we use a wooden substitute, with which we transfix rings instead of hearts; while our trusty blades hew their way through wooden blocks instead of through flesh and blood. it is a south carolina renaissance which has points of advantage over the tournaments of the olden time." "i'm afraid, mr. warwick," said the lady, "that you're the least bit heretical about our chivalry--or else you're a little too deep for me." "the last would be impossible, mrs. newberry; and i'm sure our chivalry has proved its valor on many a hard-fought field. the spirit of a thing, after all, is what counts; and what is lacking here? we have the lists, the knights, the prancing steeds, the trial of strength and skill. if our knights do not run the physical risks of ashby-de-la-zouch, they have all the mental stimulus. wounded vanity will take the place of wounded limbs, and there will be broken hopes in lieu of broken heads. how many hearts in yonder group of gallant horsemen beat high with hope! how many possible queens of love and beauty are in this group of fair faces that surround us!" the lady was about to reply, when the bugle sounded again, and the herald dashed swiftly back upon his prancing steed to the waiting group of riders. the horsemen formed three abreast, and rode down the lists in orderly array. as they passed the grand stand, each was conscious of the battery of bright eyes turned upon him, and each gave by his bearing some idea of his ability to stand fire from such weapons. one horse pranced proudly, another caracoled with grace. one rider fidgeted nervously, another trembled and looked the other way. each horseman carried in his hand a long wooden lance and wore at his side a cavalry sabre, of which there were plenty to be had since the war, at small expense. several left the ranks and drew up momentarily beside the grand stand, where they took from fair hands a glove or a flower, which was pinned upon the rider's breast or fastened upon his hat--a ribbon or a veil, which was tied about the lance like a pennon, but far enough from the point not to interfere with the usefulness of the weapon. as the troop passed the lower end of the grand stand, a horse, excited by the crowd, became somewhat unmanageable, and in the effort to curb him, the rider dropped his lance. the prancing animal reared, brought one of his hoofs down upon the fallen lance with considerable force, and sent a broken piece of it flying over the railing opposite the grand stand, into the middle of a group of spectators standing there. the flying fragment was dodged by those who saw it coming, but brought up with a resounding thwack against the head of a colored man in the second row, who stood watching the grand stand with an eager and curious gaze. he rubbed his head ruefully, and made a good-natured response to the chaffing of his neighbors, who, seeing no great harm done, made witty and original remarks about the advantage of being black upon occasions where one's skull was exposed to danger. finding that the blow had drawn blood, the young man took out a red bandana handkerchief and tied it around his head, meantime letting his eye roam over the faces in the grand stand, as though in search of some one that he expected or hoped to find there. the knights, having reached the end of the lists, now turned and rode back in open order, with such skillful horsemanship as to evoke a storm of applause from the spectators. the ladies in the grand stand waved their handkerchiefs vigorously, and the men clapped their hands. the beautiful girl seated by warwick's side accidentally let a little square of white lace-trimmed linen slip from her hand. it fluttered lightly over the railing, and, buoyed up by the air, settled slowly toward the lists. a young rider in the approaching rear rank saw the handkerchief fall, and darting swiftly forward, caught it on the point of his lance ere it touched the ground. he drew up his horse and made a movement as though to extend the handkerchief toward the lady, who was blushing profusely at the attention she had attracted by her carelessness. the rider hesitated a moment, glanced interrogatively at warwick, and receiving a smile in return, tied the handkerchief around the middle of his lance and quickly rejoined his comrades at the head of the lists. the young man with the bandage round his head, on the benches across the lists, had forced his way to the front row and was leaning against the railing. his restless eye was attracted by the falling handkerchief, and his face, hitherto anxious, suddenly lit up with animation. "yas, suh, yas, suh, it's her!" he muttered softly. "it's miss rena, sho's you bawn. she looked lack a' angel befo', but now, up dere 'mongs' all dem rich, fine folks, she looks lack a whole flock er angels. dey ain' one er dem ladies w'at could hol' a candle ter her. i wonder w'at dat man's gwine ter do wid her handkercher? i s'pose he's her gent'eman now. i wonder ef she'd know me er speak ter me ef she seed me? i reckon she would, spite er her gittin' up so in de worl'; fer she wuz alluz good ter ev'ybody, an' dat let even me in," he concluded with a sigh. "who is the lady, tryon?" asked one of the young men, addressing the knight who had taken the handkerchief. "a miss warwick," replied the knight pleasantly, "miss rowena warwick, the lawyer's sister." "i didn't know he had a sister," rejoined the first speaker. "i envy you your lady. there are six rebeccas and eight rowenas of my own acquaintance in the grand stand, but she throws them all into the shade. she hasn't been here long, surely; i haven't seen her before." "she has been away at school; she came only last night," returned the knight of the crimson sash, briefly. he was already beginning to feel a proprietary interest in the lady whose token he wore, and did not care to discuss her with a casual acquaintance. the herald sounded the charge. a rider darted out from the group and galloped over the course. as he passed under each ring, he tried to catch it on the point of his lance,--a feat which made the management of the horse with the left hand necessary, and required a true eye and a steady arm. the rider captured three of the twelve rings, knocked three others off the hooks, and left six undisturbed. turning at the end of the lists, he took the lance with the reins in the left hand and drew his sword with the right. he then rode back over the course, cutting at the wooden balls upon the posts. of these he clove one in twain, to use the parlance of chivalry, and knocked two others off their supports. his performance was greeted with a liberal measure of applause, for which he bowed in smiling acknowledgment as he took his place among the riders. again the herald's call sounded, and the tourney went forward. rider after rider, with varying skill, essayed his fortune with lance and sword. some took a liberal proportion of the rings; others merely knocked them over the boundaries, where they were collected by agile little negro boys and handed back to the attendants. a balking horse caused the spectators much amusement and his rider no little chagrin. the lady who had dropped the handkerchief kept her eye upon the knight who had bound it round his lance. "who is he, john?" she asked the gentleman beside her. "that, my dear rowena, is my good friend and client, george tryon, of north carolina. if he had been a stranger, i should have said that he took a liberty; but as things stand, we ought to regard it as a compliment. the incident is quite in accord with the customs of chivalry. if george were but masked and you were veiled, we should have a romantic situation,--you the mysterious damsel in distress, he the unknown champion. the parallel, my dear, might not be so hard to draw, even as things are. but look, it is his turn now; i'll wager that he makes a good run." "i'll take you up on that, mr. warwick," said mrs. newberry from behind, who seemed to have a very keen ear for whatever warwick said. rena's eyes were fastened on her knight, so that she might lose no single one of his movements. as he rode down the lists, more than one woman found him pleasant to look upon. he was a tall, fair young man, with gray eyes, and a frank, open face. he wore a slight mustache, and when he smiled, showed a set of white and even teeth. he was mounted on a very handsome and spirited bay mare, was clad in a picturesque costume, of which velvet knee-breeches and a crimson scarf were the most conspicuous features, and displayed a marked skill in horsemanship. at the blast of the bugle his horse started forward, and, after the first few rods, settled into an even gallop. tryon's lance, held truly and at the right angle, captured the first ring, then the second and third. his coolness and steadiness seemed not at all disturbed by the applause which followed, and one by one the remaining rings slipped over the point of his lance, until at the end he had taken every one of the twelve. holding the lance with its booty of captured rings in his left hand, together with the bridle rein, he drew his sabre with the right and rode back over the course. his horse moved like clockwork, his eye was true and his hand steady. three of the wooden balls fell from the posts, split fairly in the middle, while from the fourth he sliced off a goodly piece and left the remainder standing in its place. this performance, by far the best up to this point, and barely escaping perfection, elicited a storm of applause. the rider was not so well known to the townspeople as some of the other participants, and his name passed from mouth to mouth in answer to numerous inquiries. the girl whose token he had worn also became an object of renewed interest, because of the result to her in case the knight should prove victor in the contest, of which there could now scarcely be a doubt; for but three riders remained, and it was very improbable that any one of them would excel the last. wagers for the remainder of the tourney stood anywhere from five, and even from ten to one, in favor of the knight of the crimson sash, and when the last course had been run, his backers were jubilant. no one of those following him had displayed anything like equal skill. the herald now blew his bugle and declared the tournament closed. the judges put their heads together for a moment. the bugle sounded again, and the herald announced in a loud voice that sir george tryon, having taken the greatest number of rings and split the largest number of balls, was proclaimed victor in the tournament and entitled to the flowery chaplet of victory. tryon, having bowed repeatedly in response to the liberal applause, advanced to the judges' stand and received the trophy from the hands of the chief judge, who exhorted him to wear the garland worthily, and to yield it only to a better man. "it will be your privilege, sir george," announced the judge, "as the chief reward of your valor, to select from the assembled beauty of clarence the lady whom you wish to honor, to whom we will all do homage as the queen of love and beauty." tryon took the wreath and bowed his thanks. then placing the trophy on the point of his lance, he spoke earnestly for a moment to the herald, and rode past the grand stand, from which there was another outburst of applause. returning upon his tracks, the knight of the crimson sash paused before the group where warwick and his sister sat, and lowered the wreath thrice before the lady whose token he had won. "oyez! oyez!" cried the herald; "sir george tryon, the victor in the tournament, has chosen miss rowena warwick as the queen of love and beauty, and she will be crowned at the feast to-night and receive the devoirs of all true knights." the fair-ground was soon covered with scattered groups of the spectators of the tournament. in one group a vanquished knight explained in elaborate detail why it was that he had failed to win the wreath. more than one young woman wondered why some one of the home young men could not have taken the honors, or, if the stranger must win them, why he could not have selected some belle of the town as queen of love and beauty instead of this upstart girl who had blown into the town over night, as one might say. warwick and his sister, standing under a spreading elm, held a little court of their own. a dozen gentlemen and several ladies had sought an introduction before tryon came up. "i suppose john would have a right to call me out, miss warwick," said tryon, when he had been formally introduced and had shaken hands with warwick's sister, "for taking liberties with the property and name of a lady to whom i had not had an introduction; but i know john so well that you seemed like an old acquaintance; and when i saw you, and recalled your name, which your brother had mentioned more than once, i felt instinctively that you ought to be the queen. i entered my name only yesterday, merely to swell the number and make the occasion more interesting. these fellows have been practicing for a month, and i had no hope of winning. i should have been satisfied, indeed, if i hadn't made myself ridiculous; but when you dropped your handkerchief, i felt a sudden inspiration; and as soon as i had tied it upon my lance, victory perched upon my saddle-bow, guided my lance and sword, and rings and balls went down before me like chaff before the wind. oh, it was a great inspiration, miss warwick!" rena, for it was our patesville acquaintance fresh from boarding-school, colored deeply at this frank and fervid flattery, and could only murmur an inarticulate reply. her year of instruction, while distinctly improving her mind and manners, had scarcely prepared her for so sudden an elevation into a grade of society to which she had hitherto been a stranger. she was not without a certain courage, however, and her brother, who remained at her side, helped her over the most difficult situations. "we'll forgive you, george," replied warwick, "if you'll come home to luncheon with us." "i'm mighty sorry--awfully sorry," returned tryon, with evident regret, "but i have another engagement, which i can scarcely break, even by the command of royalty. at what time shall i call for miss warwick this evening? i believe that privilege is mine, along with the other honors and rewards of victory,--unless she is bound to some one else." "she is entirely free," replied warwick. "come as early as you like, and i'll talk to you until she's ready." tryon bowed himself away, and after a number of gentlemen and a few ladies had paid their respects to the queen of love and beauty, and received an introduction to her, warwick signaled to the servant who had his carriage in charge, and was soon driving homeward with his sister. no one of the party noticed a young negro, with a handkerchief bound around his head, who followed them until the carriage turned into the gate and swept up the wide drive that led to warwick's doorstep. "well, rena," said warwick, when they found themselves alone, "you have arrived. your debut into society is a little more spectacular than i should have wished, but we must rise to the occasion and make the most of it. you are winning the first fruits of your opportunity. you are the most envied woman in clarence at this particular moment, and, unless i am mistaken, will be the most admired at the ball to-night." vi the queen of love and beauty shortly after luncheon, rena had a visitor in the person of mrs. newberry, a vivacious young widow of the town, who proffered her services to instruct rena in the etiquette of the annual ball. "now, my dear," said mrs. newberry, "the first thing to do is to get your coronation robe ready. it simply means a gown with a long train. you have a lovely white waist. get right into my buggy, and we'll go down town to get the cloth, take it over to mrs. marshall's, and have her run you up a skirt this afternoon." rena placed herself unreservedly in the hands of mrs. newberry, who introduced her to the best dressmaker of the town, a woman of much experience in such affairs, who improvised during the afternoon a gown suited to the occasion. mrs. marshall had made more than a dozen ball dresses during the preceding month; being a wise woman and understanding her business thoroughly, she had made each one of them so that with a few additional touches it might serve for the queen of love and beauty. this was her first direct order for the specific garment. tryon escorted rena to the ball, which was held in the principal public hall of the town, and attended by all the best people. the champion still wore the costume of the morning, in place of evening dress, save that long stockings and dancing-pumps had taken the place of riding-boots. rena went through the ordeal very creditably. her shyness was palpable, but it was saved from awkwardness by her native grace and good sense. she made up in modesty what she lacked in aplomb. her months in school had not eradicated a certain self-consciousness born of her secret. the brain-cells never lose the impressions of youth, and rena's patesville life was not far enough removed to have lost its distinctness of outline. of the two, the present was more of a dream, the past was the more vivid reality. at school she had learned something from books and not a little from observation. she had been able to compare herself with other girls, and to see wherein she excelled or fell short of them. with a sincere desire for improvement, and a wish to please her brother and do him credit, she had sought to make the most of her opportunities. building upon a foundation of innate taste and intelligence, she had acquired much of the self-possession which comes from a knowledge of correct standards of deportment. she had moreover learned without difficulty, for it suited her disposition, to keep silence when she could not speak to advantage. a certain necessary reticence about the past added strength to a natural reserve. thus equipped, she held her own very well in the somewhat trying ordeal of the ball, at which the fiction of queenship and the attendant ceremonies, which were pretty and graceful, made her the most conspicuous figure. few of those who watched her move with easy grace through the measures of the dance could have guessed how nearly her heart was in her mouth during much of the time. "you're doing splendidly, my dear," said mrs. newberry, who had constituted herself rena's chaperone. "i trust your gracious majesty is pleased with the homage of your devoted subjects," said tryon, who spent much of his time by her side and kept up the character of knight in his speech and manner. "very much," replied the queen of love and beauty, with a somewhat tired smile. it was pleasant, but she would be glad, she thought, when it was all over. "keep up your courage," whispered her brother. "you are not only queen, but the belle of the ball. i am proud of you. a dozen women here would give a year off the latter end of life to be in your shoes to-night." rena felt immensely relieved when the hour arrived at which she could take her departure, which was to be the signal for the breaking-up of the ball. she was driven home in tryon's carriage, her brother accompanying them. the night was warm, and the drive homeward under the starlight, in the open carriage, had a soothing effect upon rena's excited nerves. the calm restfulness of the night, the cool blue depths of the unclouded sky, the solemn croaking of the frogs in a distant swamp, were much more in harmony with her nature than the crowded brilliancy of the ball-room. she closed her eyes, and, leaning back in the carriage, thought of her mother, who she wished might have seen her daughter this night. a momentary pang of homesickness pierced her tender heart, and she furtively wiped away the tears that came into her eyes. "good-night, fair queen!" exclaimed tryon, breaking into her reverie as the carriage rolled up to the doorstep, "and let your loyal subject kiss your hand in token of his fealty. may your majesty never abdicate her throne, and may she ever count me her humble servant and devoted knight." "and now, sister," said warwick, when tryon had been driven away, "now that the masquerade is over, let us to sleep, and to-morrow take up the serious business of life. your day has been a glorious success!" he put his arm around her and gave her a kiss and a brotherly hug. "it is a dream," she murmured sleepily, "only a dream. i am cinderella before the clock has struck. good-night, dear john." "good-night, rowena." vii 'mid new surroundings warwick's residence was situated in the outskirts of the town. it was a fine old plantation house, built in colonial times, with a stately colonnade, wide verandas, and long windows with venetian blinds. it was painted white, and stood back several rods from the street, in a charming setting of palmettoes, magnolias, and flowering shrubs. rena had always thought her mother's house large, but now it seemed cramped and narrow, in comparison with this roomy mansion. the furniture was old-fashioned and massive. the great brass andirons on the wide hearth stood like sentinels proclaiming and guarding the dignity of the family. the spreading antlers on the wall testified to a mighty hunter in some past generation. the portraits of warwick's wife's ancestors--high featured, proud men and women, dressed in the fashions of a bygone age--looked down from tarnished gilt frames. it was all very novel to her, and very impressive. when she ate off china, with silver knives and forks that had come down as heirlooms, escaping somehow the ravages and exigencies of the war time,--warwick told her afterwards how he had buried them out of reach of friend or foe,--she thought that her brother must be wealthy, and she felt very proud of him and of her opportunity. the servants, of whom there were several in the house, treated her with a deference to which her eight months in school had only partly accustomed her. at school she had been one of many to be served, and had herself been held to obedience. here, for the first time in her life, she was mistress, and tasted the sweets of power. the household consisted of her brother and herself, a cook, a coachman, a nurse, and her brother's little son albert. the child, with a fine instinct, had put out his puny arms to rena at first sight, and she had clasped the little man to her bosom with a motherly caress. she had always loved weak creatures. kittens and puppies had ever found a welcome and a meal at rena's hands, only to be chased away by mis' molly, who had had a wider experience. no shiftless poor white, no half-witted or hungry negro, had ever gone unfed from mis' molly's kitchen door if rena were there to hear his plaint. little albert was pale and sickly when she came, but soon bloomed again in the sunshine of her care, and was happy only in her presence. warwick found pleasure in their growing love for each other, and was glad to perceive that the child formed a living link to connect her with his home. "dat chile sutt'nly do lub miss rena, an' dat's a fac', sho 's you bawn," remarked 'lissa the cook to mimy the nurse one day. "you'll get yo' nose put out er j'int, ef you don't min'." "i ain't frettin', honey," laughed the nurse good-naturedly. she was not at all jealous. she had the same wages as before, and her labors were materially lightened by the aunt's attention to the child. this gave mimy much more time to flirt with tom the coachman. it was a source of much gratification to warwick that his sister seemed to adapt herself so easily to the new conditions. her graceful movements, the quiet elegance with which she wore even the simplest gown, the easy authoritativeness with which she directed the servants, were to him proofs of superior quality, and he felt correspondingly proud of her. his feeling for her was something more than brotherly love,--he was quite conscious that there were degrees in brotherly love, and that if she had been homely or stupid, he would never have disturbed her in the stagnant life of the house behind the cedars. there had come to him from some source, down the stream of time, a rill of the greek sense of proportion, of fitness, of beauty, which is indeed but proportion embodied, the perfect adaptation of means to ends. he had perceived, more clearly than she could have appreciated it at that time, the undeveloped elements of discord between rena and her former life. he had imagined her lending grace and charm to his own household. still another motive, a purely psychological one, had more or less consciously influenced him. he had no fear that the family secret would ever be discovered,--he had taken his precautions too thoroughly, he thought, for that; and yet he could not but feel, at times, that if peradventure--it was a conceivable hypothesis--it should become known, his fine social position would collapse like a house of cards. because of this knowledge, which the world around him did not possess, he had felt now and then a certain sense of loneliness; and there was a measure of relief in having about him one who knew his past, and yet whose knowledge, because of their common interest, would not interfere with his present or jeopardize his future. for he had always been, in a figurative sense, a naturalized foreigner in the world of wide opportunity, and rena was one of his old compatriots, whom he was glad to welcome into the populous loneliness of his adopted country. viii the courtship in a few weeks the echoes of the tournament died away, and rena's life settled down into a pleasant routine, which she found much more comfortable than her recent spectacular prominence. her queenship, while not entirely forgiven by the ladies of the town, had gained for her a temporary social prominence. among her own sex, mrs. newberry proved a warm and enthusiastic friend. rumor whispered that the lively young widow would not be unwilling to console warwick in the loneliness of the old colonial mansion, to which his sister was a most excellent medium of approach. whether this was true or not it is unnecessary to inquire, for it is no part of this story, except as perhaps indicating why mrs. newberry played the part of the female friend, without whom no woman is ever launched successfully in a small and conservative society. her brother's standing gave her the right of social entry; the tournament opened wide the door, and mrs. newberry performed the ceremony of introduction. rena had many visitors during the month following the tournament, and might have made her choice from among a dozen suitors; but among them all, her knight of the handkerchief found most favor. george tryon had come to clarence a few months before upon business connected with the settlement of his grandfather's estate. a rather complicated litigation had grown up around the affair, various phases of which had kept tryon almost constantly in the town. he had placed matters in warwick's hands, and had formed a decided friendship for his attorney, for whom he felt a frank admiration. tryon was only twenty-three, and his friend's additional five years, supplemented by a certain professional gravity, commanded a great deal of respect from the younger man. when tryon had known warwick for a week, he had been ready to swear by him. indeed, warwick was a man for whom most people formed a liking at first sight. to this power of attraction he owed most of his success--first with judge straight, of patesville, then with the lawyer whose office he had entered at clarence, with the woman who became his wife, and with the clients for whom he transacted business. tryon would have maintained against all comers that warwick was the finest fellow in the world. when he met warwick's sister, the foundation for admiration had already been laid. if rena had proved to be a maiden lady of uncertain age and doubtful personal attractiveness, tryon would probably have found in her a most excellent lady, worthy of all respect and esteem, and would have treated her with profound deference and sedulous courtesy. when she proved to be a young and handsome woman, of the type that he admired most, he was capable of any degree of infatuation. his mother had for a long time wanted him to marry the orphan daughter of an old friend, a vivacious blonde, who worshiped him. he had felt friendly towards her, but had shrunk from matrimony. he did not want her badly enough to give up his freedom. the war had interfered with his education, and though fairly well instructed, he had never attended college. in his own opinion, he ought to see something of the world, and have his youthful fling. later on, when he got ready to settle down, if blanche were still in the humor, they might marry, and sink to the humdrum level of other old married people. the fact that blanche leary was visiting his mother during his unexpectedly long absence had not operated at all to hasten his return to north carolina. he had been having a very good time at clarence, and, at the distance of several hundred miles, was safe for the time being from any immediate danger of marriage. with rena's advent, however, he had seen life through different glasses. his heart had thrilled at first sight of this tall girl, with the ivory complexion, the rippling brown hair, and the inscrutable eyes. when he became better acquainted with her, he liked to think that her thoughts centred mainly in himself; and in this he was not far wrong. he discovered that she had a short upper lip, and what seemed to him an eminently kissable mouth. after he had dined twice at warwick's, subsequently to the tournament,--his lucky choice of rena had put him at once upon a household footing with the family,--his views of marriage changed entirely. it now seemed to him the duty, as well as the high and holy privilege of a young man, to marry and manfully to pay his debt to society. when in rena's presence, he could not imagine how he had ever contemplated the possibility of marriage with blanche leary,--she was utterly, entirely, and hopelessly unsuited to him. for a fair man of vivacious temperament, this stately dark girl was the ideal mate. even his mother would admit this, if she could only see rena. to win this beautiful girl for his wife would be a worthy task. he had crowned her queen of love and beauty; since then she had ascended the throne of his heart. he would make her queen of his home and mistress of his life. to rena this brief month's courtship came as a new education. not only had this fair young man crowned her queen, and honored her above all the ladies in town; but since then he had waited assiduously upon her, had spoken softly to her, had looked at her with shining eyes, and had sought to be alone with her. the time soon came when to touch his hand in greeting sent a thrill through her frame,--a time when she listened for his footstep and was happy in his presence. he had been bold enough at the tournament; he had since become somewhat bashful and constrained. he must be in love, she thought, and wondered how soon he would speak. if it were so sweet to walk with him in the garden, or along the shaded streets, to sit with him, to feel the touch of his hand, what happiness would it not be to hear him say that he loved her--to bear his name, to live with him always. to be thus loved and honored by this handsome young man,--she could hardly believe it possible. he would never speak--he would discover her secret and withdraw. she turned pale at the thought,--ah, god! something would happen,--it was too good to be true. the prince would never try on the glass slipper. tryon first told his love for rena one summer evening on their way home from church. they were walking in the moonlight along the quiet street, which, but for their presence, seemed quite deserted. "miss warwick--rowena," he said, clasping with his right hand the hand that rested on his left arm, "i love you! do you--love me?" to rena this simple avowal came with much greater force than a more formal declaration could have had. it appealed to her own simple nature. indeed, few women at such a moment criticise the form in which the most fateful words of life--but one--are spoken. words, while pleasant, are really superfluous. her whispered "yes" spoke volumes. they walked on past the house, along the country road into which the street soon merged. when they returned, an hour later, they found warwick seated on the piazza, in a rocking-chair, smoking a fragrant cigar. "well, children," he observed with mock severity, "you are late in getting home from church. the sermon must have been extremely long." "we have been attending an after-meeting," replied tryon joyfully, "and have been discussing an old text, 'little children, love one another,' and its corollary, 'it is not good for man to live alone.' john, i am the happiest man alive. your sister has promised to marry me. i should like to shake my brother's hand." never does one feel so strongly the universal brotherhood of man as when one loves some other fellow's sister. warwick sprang from his chair and clasped tryon's extended hand with real emotion. he knew of no man whom he would have preferred to tryon as a husband for his sister. "my dear george--my dear sister," he exclaimed, "i am very, very glad. i wish you every happiness. my sister is the most fortunate of women." "and i am the luckiest of men," cried tryon. "i wish you every happiness," repeated warwick; adding, with a touch of solemnity, as a certain thought, never far distant, occurred to him, "i hope that neither of you may ever regret your choice." thus placed upon the footing of an accepted lover, tryon's visits to the house became more frequent. he wished to fix a time for the marriage, but at this point rena developed a strange reluctance. "can we not love each other for a while?" she asked. "to be engaged is a pleasure that comes but once; it would be a pity to cut it too short." "it is a pleasure that i would cheerfully dispense with," he replied, "for the certainty of possession. i want you all to myself, and all the time. things might happen. if i should die, for instance, before i married you"-- "oh, don't suppose such awful things," she cried, putting her hand over his mouth. he held it there and kissed it until she pulled it away. "i should consider," he resumed, completing the sentence, "that my life had been a failure." "if i should die," she murmured, "i should die happy in the knowledge that you had loved me." "in three weeks," he went on, "i shall have finished my business in clarence, and there will be but one thing to keep me here. when shall it be? i must take you home with me." "i will let you know," she replied, with a troubled sigh, "in a week from to-day." "i'll call your attention to the subject every day in the mean time," he asserted. "i shouldn't like you to forget it." rena's shrinking from the irrevocable step of marriage was due to a simple and yet complex cause. stated baldly, it was the consciousness of her secret; the complexity arose out of the various ways in which it seemed to bear upon her future. our lives are so bound up with those of our fellow men that the slightest departure from the beaten path involves a multiplicity of small adjustments. it had not been difficult for rena to conform her speech, her manners, and in a measure her modes of thought, to those of the people around her; but when this readjustment went beyond mere externals and concerned the vital issues of life, the secret that oppressed her took on a more serious aspect, with tragic possibilities. a discursive imagination was not one of her characteristics, or the danger of a marriage of which perfect frankness was not a condition might well have presented itself before her heart had become involved. under the influence of doubt and fear acting upon love, the invisible bar to happiness glowed with a lambent flame that threatened dire disaster. "would he have loved me at all," she asked herself, "if he had known the story of my past? or, having loved me, could he blame me now for what i cannot help?" there were two shoals in the channel of her life, upon either of which her happiness might go to shipwreck. since leaving the house behind the cedars, where she had been brought into the world without her own knowledge or consent, and had first drawn the breath of life by the involuntary contraction of certain muscles, rena had learned, in a short time, many things; but she was yet to learn that the innocent suffer with the guilty, and feel the punishment the more keenly because unmerited. she had yet to learn that the old mosaic formula, "the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children," was graven more indelibly upon the heart of the race than upon the tables of sinai. but would her lover still love her, if he knew all? she had read some of the novels in the bookcase in her mother's hall, and others at boarding-school. she had read that love was a conqueror, that neither life nor death, nor creed nor caste, could stay his triumphant course. her secret was no legal bar to their union. if rena could forget the secret, and tryon should never know it, it would be no obstacle to their happiness. but rena felt, with a sinking of the heart, that happiness was not a matter of law or of fact, but lay entirely within the domain of sentiment. we are happy when we think ourselves happy, and with a strange perversity we often differ from others with regard to what should constitute our happiness. rena's secret was the worm in the bud, the skeleton in the closet. "he says that he loves me. he does love me. would he love me, if he knew?" she stood before an oval mirror brought from france by one of warwick's wife's ancestors, and regarded her image with a coldly critical eye. she was as little vain as any of her sex who are endowed with beauty. she tried to place herself, in thus passing upon her own claims to consideration, in the hostile attitude of society toward her hidden disability. there was no mark upon her brow to brand her as less pure, less innocent, less desirable, less worthy to be loved, than these proud women of the past who had admired themselves in this old mirror. "i think a man might love me for myself," she murmured pathetically, "and if he loved me truly, that he would marry me. if he would not marry me, then it would be because he didn't love me. i'll tell george my secret. if he leaves me, then he does not love me." but this resolution vanished into thin air before it was fully formulated. the secret was not hers alone; it involved her brother's position, to whom she owed everything, and in less degree the future of her little nephew, whom she had learned to love so well. she had the choice of but two courses of action, to marry tryon or to dismiss him. the thought that she might lose him made him seem only more dear; to think that he might leave her made her sick at heart. in one week she was bound to give him an answer; he was more likely to ask for it at their next meeting. ix doubts and fears rena's heart was too heavy with these misgivings for her to keep them to herself. on the morning after the conversation with tryon in which she had promised him an answer within a week, she went into her brother's study, where he usually spent an hour after breakfast before going to his office. he looked up amiably from the book before him and read trouble in her face. "well, rena, dear," he asked with a smile, "what's the matter? is there anything you want--money, or what? i should like to have aladdin's lamp--though i'd hardly need it--that you might have no wish unsatisfied." he had found her very backward in asking for things that she needed. generous with his means, he thought nothing too good for her. her success had gratified his pride, and justified his course in taking her under his protection. "thank you, john. you give me already more than i need. it is something else, john. george wants me to say when i will marry him. i am afraid to marry him, without telling him. if he should find out afterwards, he might cast me off, or cease to love me. if he did not know it, i should be forever thinking of what he would do if he should find it out; or, if i should die without his having learned it, i should not rest easy in my grave for thinking of what he would have done if he had found it out." warwick's smile gave place to a grave expression at this somewhat comprehensive statement. he rose and closed the door carefully, lest some one of the servants might overhear the conversation. more liberally endowed than rena with imagination, and not without a vein of sentiment, he had nevertheless a practical side that outweighed them both. with him, the problem that oppressed his sister had been in the main a matter of argument, of self-conviction. once persuaded that he had certain rights, or ought to have them, by virtue of the laws of nature, in defiance of the customs of mankind, he had promptly sought to enjoy them. this he had been able to do by simply concealing his antecedents and making the most of his opportunities, with no troublesome qualms of conscience whatever. but he had already perceived, in their brief intercourse, that rena's emotions, while less easily stirred, touched a deeper note than his, and dwelt upon it with greater intensity than if they had been spread over the larger field to which a more ready sympathy would have supplied so many points of access;--hers was a deep and silent current flowing between the narrow walls of a self-contained life, his the spreading river that ran through a pleasant landscape. warwick's imagination, however, enabled him to put himself in touch with her mood and recognize its bearings upon her conduct. he would have preferred her taking the practical point of view, to bring her round to which he perceived would be a matter of diplomacy. "how long have these weighty thoughts been troubling your small head?" he asked with assumed lightness. "since he asked me last night to name our wedding day." "my dear child," continued warwick, "you take too tragic a view of life. marriage is a reciprocal arrangement, by which the contracting parties give love for love, care for keeping, faith for faith. it is a matter of the future, not of the past. what a poor soul it is that has not some secret chamber, sacred to itself; where one can file away the things others have no right to know, as well as things that one himself would fain forget! we are under no moral obligation to inflict upon others the history of our past mistakes, our wayward thoughts, our secret sins, our desperate hopes, or our heartbreaking disappointments. still less are we bound to bring out from this secret chamber the dusty record of our ancestry. 'let the dead past bury its dead.' george tryon loves you for yourself alone; it is not your ancestors that he seeks to marry." "but would he marry me if he knew?" she persisted. warwick paused for reflection. he would have preferred to argue the question in a general way, but felt the necessity of satisfying her scruples, as far as might be. he had liked tryon from the very beginning of their acquaintance. in all their intercourse, which had been very close for several months, he had been impressed by the young man's sunny temper, his straightforwardness, his intellectual honesty. tryon's deference to warwick as the elder man had very naturally proved an attraction. whether this friendship would have stood the test of utter frankness about his own past was a merely academic speculation with which warwick did not trouble himself. with his sister the question had evidently become a matter of conscience,--a difficult subject with which to deal in a person of rena's temperament. "my dear sister," he replied, "why should he know? we haven't asked him for his pedigree; we don't care to know it. if he cares for ours, he should ask for it, and it would then be time enough to raise the question. you love him, i imagine, and wish to make him happy?" it is the highest wish of the woman who loves. the enamored man seeks his own happiness; the loving woman finds no sacrifice too great for the loved one. the fiction of chivalry made man serve woman; the fact of human nature makes woman happiest when serving where she loves. "yes, oh, yes," rena exclaimed with fervor, clasping her hands unconsciously. "i'm afraid he'd be unhappy if he knew, and it would make me miserable to think him unhappy." "well, then," said warwick, "suppose we should tell him our secret and put ourselves in his power, and that he should then conclude that he couldn't marry you? do you imagine he would be any happier than he is now, or than if he should never know?" ah, no! she could not think so. one could not tear love out of one's heart without pain and suffering. there was a knock at the door. warwick opened it to the nurse, who stood with little albert in her arms. "please, suh," said the girl, with a curtsy, "de baby 's be'n oryin' an' frettin' fer miss rena, an' i 'lowed she mought want me ter fetch 'im, ef it wouldn't 'sturb her." "give me the darling," exclaimed rena, coming forward and taking the child from the nurse. "it wants its auntie. come to its auntie, bless its little heart!" little albert crowed with pleasure and put up his pretty mouth for a kiss. warwick found the sight a pleasant one. if he could but quiet his sister's troublesome scruples, he might erelong see her fondling beautiful children of her own. even if rena were willing to risk her happiness, and he to endanger his position, by a quixotic frankness, the future of his child must not be compromised. "you wouldn't want to make george unhappy," warwick resumed when the nurse retired. "very well; would you not be willing, for his sake, to keep a secret--your secret and mine, and that of the innocent child in your arms? would you involve all of us in difficulties merely to secure your own peace of mind? doesn't such a course seem just the least bit selfish? think the matter over from that point of view, and we'll speak of it later in the day. i shall be with george all the morning, and i may be able, by a little management, to find out his views on the subject of birth and family, and all that. some men are very liberal, and love is a great leveler. i'll sound him, at any rate." he kissed the baby and left rena to her own reflections, to which his presentation of the case had given a new turn. it had never before occurred to her to regard silence in the light of self-sacrifice. it had seemed a sort of sin; her brother's argument made of it a virtue. it was not the first time, nor the last, that right and wrong had been a matter of view-point. tryon himself furnished the opening for warwick's proposed examination. the younger man could not long remain silent upon the subject uppermost in his mind. "i am anxious, john," he said, "to have rowena name the happiest day of my life--our wedding day. when the trial in edgecombe county is finished, i shall have no further business here, and shall be ready to leave for home. i should like to take my bride with me, and surprise my mother." mothers, thought warwick, are likely to prove inquisitive about their sons' wives, especially when taken unawares in matters of such importance. this seemed a good time to test the liberality of tryon's views, and to put forward a shield for his sister's protection. "are you sure, george, that your mother will find the surprise agreeable when you bring home a bride of whom you know so little and your mother nothing at all?" tryon had felt that it would be best to surprise his mother. she would need only to see rena to approve of her, but she was so far prejudiced in favor of blanche leary that it would be wisest to present the argument after having announced the irrevocable conclusion. rena herself would be a complete justification for the accomplished deed. "i think you ought to know, george," continued warwick, without waiting for a reply to his question, "that my sister and i are not of an old family, or a rich family, or a distinguished family; that she can bring you nothing but herself; that we have no connections of which you could boast, and no relatives to whom we should be glad to introduce you. you must take us for ourselves alone--we are new people." "my dear john," replied the young man warmly, "there is a great deal of nonsense about families. if a man is noble and brave and strong, if a woman is beautiful and good and true, what matters it about his or her ancestry? if an old family can give them these things, then it is valuable; if they possess them without it, then of what use is it, except as a source of empty pride, which they would be better without? if all new families were like yours, there would be no advantage in belonging to an old one. all i care to know of rowena's family is that she is your sister; and you'll pardon me, old fellow, if i add that she hardly needs even you,--she carries the stamp of her descent upon her face and in her heart." "it makes me glad to hear you speak in that way," returned warwick, delighted by the young man's breadth and earnestness. "oh, i mean every word of it," replied tryon. "ancestors, indeed, for rowena! i will tell you a family secret, john, to prove how little i care for ancestors. my maternal great-great-grandfather, a hundred and fifty years ago, was hanged, drawn, and quartered for stealing cattle across the scottish border. how is that for a pedigree? behold in me the lineal descendant of a felon!" warwick felt much relieved at this avowal. his own statement had not touched the vital point involved; it had been at the best but a half-truth; but tryon's magnanimity would doubtless protect rena from any close inquiry concerning her past. it even occurred to warwick for a moment that he might safely disclose the secret to tryon; but an appreciation of certain facts of history and certain traits of human nature constrained him to put the momentary thought aside. it was a great relief, however, to imagine that tryon might think lightly of this thing that he need never know. "well, rena," he said to his sister when he went home at noon: "i've sounded george." "what did he say?" she asked eagerly. "i told him we were people of no family, and that we had no relatives that we were proud of. he said he loved you for yourself, and would never ask you about your ancestry." "oh, i am so glad!" exclaimed rena joyfully. this report left her very happy for about three hours, or until she began to analyze carefully her brother's account of what had been said. warwick's statement had not been specific,--he had not told tryon the thing. george's reply, in turn, had been a mere generality. the concrete fact that oppressed her remained unrevealed, and her doubt was still unsatisfied. rena was occupied with this thought when her lover next came to see her. tryon came up the sanded walk from the gate and spoke pleasantly to the nurse, a good-looking yellow girl who was seated on the front steps, playing with little albert. he took the boy from her arms, and she went to call miss warwick. rena came out, followed by the nurse, who offered to take the child. "never mind, mimy, leave him with me," said tryon. the nurse walked discreetly over into the garden, remaining within call, but beyond the hearing of conversation in an ordinary tone. "rena, darling," said her lover, "when shall it be? surely you won't ask me to wait a week. why, that's a lifetime!" rena was struck by a brilliant idea. she would test her lover. love was a very powerful force; she had found it the greatest, grandest, sweetest thing in the world. tryon had said that he loved her; he had said scarcely anything else for several weeks, surely nothing else worth remembering. she would test his love by a hypothetical question. "you say you love me," she said, glancing at him with a sad thoughtfulness in her large dark eyes. "how much do you love me?" "i love you all one can love. true love has no degrees; it is all or nothing!" "would you love me," she asked, with an air of coquetry that masked her concern, pointing toward the girl in the shrubbery, "if i were albert's nurse yonder?" "if you were albert's nurse," he replied, with a joyous laugh, "he would have to find another within a week, for within a week we should be married." the answer seemed to fit the question, but in fact, tryon's mind and rena's did not meet. that two intelligent persons should each attach a different meaning to so simple a form of words as rena's question was the best ground for her misgiving with regard to the marriage. but love blinded her. she was anxious to be convinced. she interpreted the meaning of his speech by her own thought and by the ardor of his glance, and was satisfied with the answer. "and now, darling," pleaded tryon, "will you not fix the day that shall make me happy? i shall be ready to go away in three weeks. will you go with me?" "yes," she answered, in a tumult of joy. she would never need to tell him her secret now. it would make no difference with him, so far as she was concerned; and she had no right to reveal her brother's secret. she was willing to bury the past in forgetfulness, now that she knew it would have no interest for her lover. x the dream the marriage was fixed for the thirtieth of the month, immediately after which tryon and his bride were to set out for north carolina. warwick would have liked it much if tryon had lived in south carolina; but the location of his north carolina home was at some distance from patesville, with which it had no connection by steam or rail, and indeed lay altogether out of the line of travel to patesville. rena had no acquaintance with people of social standing in north carolina; and with the added maturity and charm due to her improved opportunities, it was unlikely that any former resident of patesville who might casually meet her would see in the elegant young matron from south carolina more than a passing resemblance to a poor girl who had once lived in an obscure part of the old town. it would of course be necessary for rena to keep away from patesville; save for her mother's sake, she would hardly be tempted to go back. on the twentieth of the month, warwick set out with tryon for the county seat of the adjoining county, to try one of the lawsuits which had required tryon's presence in south carolina for so long a time. their destination was a day's drive from clarence, behind a good horse, and the trial was expected to last a week. "this week will seem like a year," said tryon ruefully, the evening before their departure, "but i'll write every day, and shall expect a letter as often." "the mail goes only twice a week, george," replied rena. "then i shall have three letters in each mail." warwick and tryon were to set out in the cool of the morning, after an early breakfast. rena was up at daybreak that she might preside at the breakfast-table and bid the travelers good-by. "john," said rena to her brother in the morning, "i dreamed last night that mother was ill." "dreams, you know, rena," answered warwick lightly, "go by contraries. yours undoubtedly signifies that our mother, god bless her simple soul! is at the present moment enjoying her usual perfect health. she was never sick in her life." for a few months after leaving patesville with her brother, rena had suffered tortures of homesickness; those who have felt it know the pang. the severance of old ties had been abrupt and complete. at the school where her brother had taken her, there had been nothing to relieve the strangeness of her surroundings--no schoolmate from her own town, no relative or friend of the family near by. even the compensation of human sympathy was in a measure denied her, for rena was too fresh from her prison-house to doubt that sympathy would fail before the revelation of the secret the consciousness of which oppressed her at that time like a nightmare. it was not strange that rena, thus isolated, should have been prostrated by homesickness for several weeks after leaving patesville. when the paroxysm had passed, there followed a dull pain, which gradually subsided into a resignation as profound, in its way, as had been her longing for home. she loved, she suffered, with a quiet intensity of which her outward demeanor gave no adequate expression. from some ancestral source she had derived a strain of the passive fatalism by which alone one can submit uncomplainingly to the inevitable. by the same token, when once a thing had been decided, it became with her a finality, which only some extraordinary stress of emotion could disturb. she had acquiesced in her brother's plan; for her there was no withdrawing; her homesickness was an incidental thing which must be endured, as patiently as might be, until time should have brought a measure of relief. warwick had made provision for an occasional letter from patesville, by leaving with his mother a number of envelopes directed to his address. she could have her letters written, inclose them in these envelopes, and deposit them in the post-office with her own hand. thus the place of warwick's residence would remain within her own knowledge, and his secret would not be placed at the mercy of any wandering patesvillian who might perchance go to that part of south carolina. by this simple means rena had kept as closely in touch with her mother as warwick had considered prudent; any closer intercourse was not consistent with their present station in life. the night after warwick and tryon had ridden away, rena dreamed again that her mother was ill. better taught people than she, in regions more enlightened than the south carolina of that epoch, are disturbed at times by dreams. mis' molly had a profound faith in them. if god, in ancient times, had spoken to men in visions of the night, what easier way could there be for him to convey his meaning to people of all ages? science, which has shattered many an idol and destroyed many a delusion, has made but slight inroads upon the shadowy realm of dreams. for mis' molly, to whom science would have meant nothing and psychology would have been a meaningless term, the land of dreams was carefully mapped and bounded. each dream had some special significance, or was at least susceptible of classification under some significant head. dreams, as a general rule, went by contraries; but a dream three times repeated was a certain portent of the thing defined. rena's few years of schooling at patesville and her months at charleston had scarcely disturbed these hoary superstitions which lurk in the dim corners of the brain. no lady in clarence, perhaps, would have remained undisturbed by a vivid dream, three times repeated, of some event bearing materially upon her own life. the first repetition of a dream was decisive of nothing, for two dreams meant no more than one. the power of the second lay in the suspense, the uncertainty, to which it gave rise. two doubled the chance of a third. the day following this second dream was an anxious one for rena. she could not for an instant dismiss her mother from her thoughts, which were filled too with a certain self-reproach. she had left her mother alone; if her mother were really ill, there was no one at home to tend her with loving care. this feeling grew in force, until by nightfall rena had become very unhappy, and went to bed with the most dismal forebodings. in this state of mind, it is not surprising that she now dreamed that her mother was lying at the point of death, and that she cried out with heart-rending pathos:-- "rena, my darlin', why did you forsake yo'r pore old mother? come back to me, honey; i'll die ef i don't see you soon." the stress of subconscious emotion engendered by the dream was powerful enough to wake rena, and her mother's utterance seemed to come to her with the force of a fateful warning and a great reproach. her mother was sick and needed her, and would die if she did not come. she felt that she must see her mother,--it would be almost like murder to remain away from her under such circumstances. after breakfast she went into the business part of the town and inquired at what time a train would leave that would take her toward patesville. since she had come away from the town, a railroad had been opened by which the long river voyage might be avoided, and, making allowance for slow trains and irregular connections, the town of patesville could be reached by an all-rail route in about twelve hours. calling at the post-office for the family mail, she found there a letter from her mother, which she tore open in great excitement. it was written in an unpracticed hand and badly spelled, and was in effect as follows:-- my dear daughter,--i take my pen in hand to let you know that i am not very well. i have had a kind of misery in my side for two weeks, with palpitations of the heart, and i have been in bed for three days. i'm feeling mighty poorly, but dr. green says that i'll get over it in a few days. old aunt zilphy is staying with me, and looking after things tolerably well. i hope this will find you and john enjoying good health. give my love to john, and i hope the lord will bless him and you too. cousin billy oxendine has had a rising on his neck, and has had to have it lanced. mary b. has another young one, a boy this time. old man tom johnson was killed last week while trying to whip black jim brown, who lived down on the wilmington road. jim has run away. there has been a big freshet in the river, and it looked at one time as if the new bridge would be washed away. frank comes over every day or two and asks about you. he says to tell you that he don't believe you are coming back any more, but you are to remember him, and that foolishness he said about bringing you back from the end of the world with his mule and cart. he's very good to me, and brings over shavings and kindling-wood, and made me a new well-bucket for nothing. it's a comfort to talk to him about you, though i haven't told him where you are living. i hope this will find you and john both well, and doing well. i should like to see you, but if it's the lord's will that i shouldn't, i shall be thankful anyway that you have done what was the best for yourselves and your children, and that i have given you up for your own good. your affectionate mother, mary walden. rena shed tears over this simple letter, which, to her excited imagination, merely confirmed the warning of her dream. at the date of its writing her mother had been sick in bed, with the symptoms of a serious illness. she had no nurse but a purblind old woman. three days of progressive illness had evidently been quite sufficient to reduce her parent to the condition indicated by the third dream. the thought that her mother might die without the presence of any one who loved her pierced rena's heart like a knife and lent wings to her feet. she wished for the enchanted horse of which her brother had read to her so many years before on the front piazza of the house behind the cedars, that she might fly through the air to her dying mother's side. she determined to go at once to patesville. returning home, she wrote a letter to warwick inclosing their mother's letter, and stating that she had dreamed an alarming dream for three nights in succession; that she had left the house in charge of the servants and gone to patesville; and that she would return as soon as her mother was out of danger. to her lover she wrote that she had been called away to visit a sick-bed, and would return very soon, perhaps by the time he got back to clarence. these letters rena posted on her way to the train, which she took at five o'clock in the afternoon. this would bring her to patesville early in the morning of the following day. xi a letter and a journey war has been called the court of last resort. a lawsuit may with equal aptness be compared to a battle--the parallel might be drawn very closely all along the line. first we have the casus belli, the cause of action; then the various protocols and proclamations and general orders, by way of pleas, demurrers, and motions; then the preliminary skirmishes at the trial table; and then the final struggle, in which might is quite as likely to prevail as right, victory most often resting with the strongest battalions, and truth and justice not seldom overborne by the weight of odds upon the other side. the lawsuit which warwick and tryon had gone to try did not, however, reach this ultimate stage, but, after a three days' engagement, resulted in a treaty of peace. the case was compromised and settled, and tryon and warwick set out on their homeward drive. they stopped at a farm-house at noon, and while at table saw the stage-coach from the town they had just left, bound for their own destination. in the mail-bag under the driver's seat were rena's two letters; they had been delivered at the town in the morning, and immediately remailed to clarence, in accordance with orders left at the post-office the evening before. tryon and warwick drove leisurely homeward through the pines, all unconscious of the fateful squares of white paper moving along the road a few miles before them, which a mother's yearning and a daughter's love had thrown, like the apple of discord, into the narrow circle of their happiness. they reached clarence at four o'clock. warwick got down from the buggy at his office. tryon drove on to his hotel, to make a hasty toilet before visiting his sweetheart. warwick glanced at his mail, tore open the envelope addressed in his sister's handwriting, and read the contents with something like dismay. she had gone away on the eve of her wedding, her lover knew not where, to be gone no one knew how long, on a mission which could not be frankly disclosed. a dim foreboding of disaster flashed across his mind. he thrust the letter into his pocket, with others yet unopened, and started toward his home. reaching the gate, he paused a moment and then walked on past the house. tryon would probably be there in a few minutes, and he did not care to meet him without first having had the opportunity for some moments of reflection. he must fix upon some line of action in this emergency. meanwhile tryon had reached his hotel and opened his mail. the letter from rena was read first, with profound disappointment. he had really made concessions in the settlement of that lawsuit--had yielded several hundred dollars of his just dues, in order that he might get back to rena three days earlier. now he must cool his heels in idleness for at least three days before she would return. it was annoying, to say the least. he wished to know where she had gone, that he might follow her and stay near her until she should be ready to come back. he might ask warwick--no, she might have had some good reason for not having mentioned her destination. she had probably gone to visit some of the poor relations of whom her brother had spoken so frankly, and she would doubtless prefer that he should not see her amid any surroundings but the best. indeed, he did not know that he would himself care to endanger, by suggestive comparisons, the fine aureole of superiority that surrounded her. she represented in her adorable person and her pure heart the finest flower of the finest race that god had ever made--the supreme effort of creative power, than which there could be no finer. the flower would soon be his; why should he care to dig up the soil in which it grew? tryon went on opening his letters. there were several bills and circulars, and then a letter from his mother, of which he broke the seal:-- my dearest george,--this leaves us well. blanche is still with me, and we are impatiently awaiting your return. in your absence she seems almost like a daughter to me. she joins me in the hope that your lawsuits are progressing favorably, and that you will be with us soon. . . . on your way home, if it does not keep you away from us too long, would it not be well for you to come by way of patesville, and find out whether there is any prospect of our being able to collect our claim against old mr. duncan mcswayne's estate? you must have taken the papers with you, along with the rest, for i do not find them here. things ought to be settled enough now for people to realize on some of their securities. your grandfather always believed the note was good, and meant to try to collect it, but the war interfered. he said to me, before he died, that if the note was ever collected, he would use the money to buy a wedding present for your wife. poor father! he is dead and gone to heaven; but i am sure that even there he would be happier if he knew the note was paid and the money used as he intended. if you go to patesville, call on my cousin, dr. ed. green, and tell him who you are. give him my love. i haven't seen him for twenty years. he used to be very fond of the ladies, a very gallant man. he can direct you to a good lawyer, no doubt. hoping to see you soon, your loving mother, elizabeth tryon. p. s. blanche joins me in love to you. this affectionate and motherly letter did not give tryon unalloyed satisfaction. he was glad to hear that his mother was well, but he had hoped that blanche leary might have finished her visit by this time. the reasonable inference from the letter was that blanche meant to await his return. her presence would spoil the fine romantic flavor of the surprise he had planned for his mother; it would never do to expose his bride to an unannounced meeting with the woman whom he had tacitly rejected. there would be one advantage in such a meeting: the comparison of the two women would be so much in rena's favor that his mother could not hesitate for a moment between them. the situation, however, would have elements of constraint, and he did not care to expose either rena or blanche to any disagreeable contingency. it would be better to take his wife on a wedding trip, and notify his mother, before he returned home, of his marriage. in the extremely improbable case that she should disapprove his choice after having seen his wife, the ice would at least have been broken before his arrival at home. "by jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, striking his knee with his hand, "why shouldn't i run up to patesville while rena's gone? i can leave here at five o'clock, and get there some time to-morrow morning. i can transact my business during the day, and get back the day after to-morrow; for rena might return ahead of time, just as we did, and i shall want to be here when she comes; i'd rather wait a year for a legal opinion on a doubtful old note than to lose one day with my love. the train goes in twenty minutes. my bag is already packed. i'll just drop a line to george and tell him where i've gone." he put rena's letter into his breast pocket, and turning to his trunk, took from it a handful of papers relating to the claim in reference to which he was going to patesville. these he thrust into the same pocket with rena's letter; he wished to read both letter and papers while on the train. it would be a pleasure merely to hold the letter before his eyes and look at the lines traced by her hand. the papers he wished to study, for the more practical purpose of examining into the merits of his claim against the estate of duncan mcswayne. when warwick reached home, he inquired if mr. tryon had called. "no, suh," answered the nurse, to whom he had put the question; "he ain't be'n here yet, suh." warwick was surprised and much disturbed. "de baby 's be'n cryin' for miss rena," suggested the nurse, "an' i s'pec' he'd like to see you, suh. shall i fetch 'im?" "yes, bring him to me." he took the child in his arms and went out upon the piazza. several porch pillows lay invitingly near. he pushed them toward the steps with his foot, sat down upon one, and placed little albert upon another. he was scarcely seated when a messenger from the hotel came up the walk from the gate and handed him a note. at the same moment he heard the long shriek of the afternoon train leaving the station on the opposite side of the town. he tore the envelope open anxiously, read the note, smiled a sickly smile, and clenched the paper in his hand unconsciously. there was nothing he could do. the train had gone; there was no telegraph to patesville, and no letter could leave clarence for twenty-four hours. the best laid schemes go wrong at times--the stanchest ships are sometimes wrecked, or skirt the breakers perilously. life is a sea, full of strange currents and uncharted reefs--whoever leaves the traveled path must run the danger of destruction. warwick was a lawyer, however, and accustomed to balance probabilities. "he may easily be in patesville a day or two without meeting her. she will spend most of her time at mother's bedside, and he will be occupied with his own affairs." if tryon should meet her--well, he was very much in love, and he had spoken very nobly of birth and blood. warwick would have preferred, nevertheless, that tryon's theories should not be put to this particular test. rena's scruples had so far been successfully combated; the question would be opened again, and the situation unnecessarily complicated, if tryon should meet rena in patesville. "will he or will he not?" he asked himself. he took a coin from his pocket and spun it upon the floor. "heads, he sees her; tails, he does not." the coin spun swiftly and steadily, leaving upon the eye the impression of a revolving sphere. little albert, left for a moment to his own devices, had crept behind his father and was watching the whirling disk with great pleasure. he felt that he would like to possess this interesting object. the coin began to move more slowly, and was wabbling to its fall, when the child stretched forth his chubby fist and caught it ere it touched the floor. xii tryon goes to patesville tryon arrived in the early morning and put up at the patesville hotel, a very comfortable inn. after a bath, breakfast, and a visit to the barbershop, he inquired of the hotel clerk the way to the office of dr. green, his mother's cousin. "on the corner, sir," answered the clerk, "by the market-house, just over the drugstore. the doctor drove past here only half an hour ago. you'll probably catch him in his office." tryon found the office without difficulty. he climbed the stair, but found no one in except a young colored man seated in the outer office, who rose promptly as tryon entered. "no, suh," replied the man to tryon's question, "he ain't hyuh now. he's gone out to see a patient, suh, but he'll be back soon. won't you set down in de private office an' wait fer 'im, suh?" tryon had not slept well during his journey, and felt somewhat fatigued. through the open door of the next room he saw an inviting armchair, with a window at one side, and upon the other a table strewn with papers and magazines. "yes," he answered, "i'll wait." he entered the private office, sank into the armchair, and looked out of the window upon the square below. the view was mildly interesting. the old brick market-house with the tower was quite picturesque. on a wagon-scale at one end the public weighmaster was weighing a load of hay. in the booths under the wide arches several old negro women were frying fish on little charcoal stoves--the odor would have been appetizing to one who had not breakfasted. on the shady side stood half a dozen two-wheeled carts, loaded with lightwood and drawn by diminutive steers, or superannuated army mules branded on the flank with the cabalistic letters "c. s. a.," which represented a vanished dream, or "u. s. a.," which, as any negro about the market-house would have borne witness, signified a very concrete fact. now and then a lady or gentleman passed with leisurely step--no one ever hurried in patesville--or some poor white sandhiller slouched listlessly along toward store or bar-room. tryon mechanically counted the slabs of gingerbread on the nearest market-stall, and calculated the cubical contents of several of the meagre loads of wood. having exhausted the view, he turned to the table at his elbow and picked up a medical journal, in which he read first an account of a marvelous surgical operation. turning the leaves idly, he came upon an article by a southern writer, upon the perennial race problem that has vexed the country for a century. the writer maintained that owing to a special tendency of the negro blood, however diluted, to revert to the african type, any future amalgamation of the white and black races, which foolish and wicked northern negrophiles predicted as the ultimate result of the new conditions confronting the south, would therefore be an ethnological impossibility; for the smallest trace of negro blood would inevitably drag down the superior race to the level of the inferior, and reduce the fair southland, already devastated by the hand of the invader, to the frightful level of hayti, the awful example of negro incapacity. to forefend their beloved land, now doubly sanctified by the blood of her devoted sons who had fallen in the struggle to maintain her liberties and preserve her property, it behooved every true southron to stand firm against the abhorrent tide of radicalism, to maintain the supremacy and purity of his all-pervading, all-conquering race, and to resist by every available means the threatened domination of an inferior and degraded people, who were set to rule hereditary freemen ere they had themselves scarce ceased to be slaves. when tryon had finished the article, which seemed to him a well-considered argument, albeit a trifle bombastic, he threw the book upon the table. finding the armchair wonderfully comfortable, and feeling the fatigue of his journey, he yielded to a drowsy impulse, leaned his head on the cushioned back of the chair, and fell asleep. according to the habit of youth, he dreamed, and pursuant to his own individual habit, he dreamed of rena. they were walking in the moonlight, along the quiet road in front of her brother's house. the air was redolent with the perfume of flowers. his arm was around her waist. he had asked her if she loved him, and was awaiting her answer in tremulous but confident expectation. she opened her lips to speak. the sound that came from them seemed to be:-- "is dr. green in? no? ask him, when he comes back, please, to call at our house as soon as he can." tryon was in that state of somnolence in which one may dream and yet be aware that one is dreaming,--the state where one, during a dream, dreams that one pinches one's self to be sure that one is not dreaming. he was therefore aware of a ringing quality about the words he had just heard that did not comport with the shadowy converse of a dream--an incongruity in the remark, too, which marred the harmony of the vision. the shock was sufficient to disturb tryon's slumber, and he struggled slowly back to consciousness. when fully awake, he thought he heard a light footfall descending the stairs. "was there some one here?" he inquired of the attendant in the outer office, who was visible through the open door. "yas, suh," replied the boy, "a young cullud 'oman wuz in jes' now, axin' fer de doctuh." tryon felt a momentary touch of annoyance that a negro woman should have intruded herself into his dream at its most interesting point. nevertheless, the voice had been so real, his imagination had reproduced with such exactness the dulcet tones so dear to him, that he turned his head involuntarily and looked out of the window. he could just see the flutter of a woman's skirt disappearing around the corner. a moment later the doctor came bustling in,--a plump, rosy man of fifty or more, with a frank, open countenance and an air of genial good nature. such a doctor, tryon fancied, ought to enjoy a wide popularity. his mere presence would suggest life and hope and healthfulness. "my dear boy," exclaimed the doctor cordially, after tryon had introduced himself, "i'm delighted to meet you--or any one of the old blood. your mother and i were sweethearts, long ago, when we both wore pinafores, and went to see our grandfather at christmas; and i met her more than once, and paid her more than one compliment, after she had grown to be a fine young woman. you're like her! too, but not quite so handsome--you've more of what i suppose to be the tryon favor, though i never met your father. so one of old duncan mcswayne's notes went so far as that? well, well, i don't know where you won't find them. one of them turned up here the other day from new york. "the man you want to see," he added later in the conversation, "is old judge straight. he's getting somewhat stiff in the joints, but he knows more law, and more about the mcswayne estate, than any other two lawyers in town. if anybody can collect your claim, judge straight can. i'll send my boy dave over to his office. dave," he called to his attendant, "run over to judge straight's office and see if he's there. "there was a freshet here a few weeks ago," he want on, when the colored man had departed, "and they had to open the flood-gates and let the water out of the mill pond, for if the dam had broken, as it did twenty years ago, it would have washed the pillars from under the judge's office and let it down in the creek, and"-- "jedge straight ain't in de office jes' now, suh," reported the doctor's man dave, from the head of the stairs. "did you ask when he'd be back?" "no, suh, you didn't tell me ter, suh." "well, now, go back and inquire. "the niggers," he explained to tryon, "are getting mighty trifling since they've been freed. before the war, that boy would have been around there and back before you could say jack robinson; now, the lazy rascal takes his time just like a white man." dave returned more promptly than from his first trip. "jedge straight's dere now, suh," he said. "he's done come in." "i'll take you right around and introduce you," said the doctor, running on pleasantly, like a babbling brook. "i don't know whether the judge ever met your mother or not, but he knows a gentleman when he sees one, and will be glad to meet you and look after your affair. see to the patients, dave, and say i'll be back shortly, and don't forget any messages left for me. look sharp, now! you know your failing!" they found judge straight in his office. he was seated by the rear window, and had fallen into a gentle doze--the air of patesville was conducive to slumber. a visitor from some bustling city might have rubbed his eyes, on any but a market-day, and imagined the whole town asleep--that the people were somnambulists and did not know it. the judge, an old hand, roused himself so skillfully, at the sound of approaching footsteps, that his visitors could not guess but that he had been wide awake. he shook hands with the doctor, and acknowledged the introduction to tryon with a rare old-fashioned courtesy, which the young man thought a very charming survival of the manners of a past and happier age. "no," replied the judge, in answer to a question by dr. green, "i never met his mother; i was a generation ahead of her. i was at school with her father, however, fifty years ago--fifty years ago! no doubt that seems to you a long time, young gentleman?" "it is a long time, sir," replied tryon. "i must live more than twice as long as i have in order to cover it." "a long time, and a troubled time," sighed the judge. "i could wish that i might see this unhappy land at peace with itself before i die. things are in a sad tangle; i can't see the way out. but the worst enemy has been slain, in spite of us. we are well rid of slavery." "but the negro we still have with us," remarked the doctor, "for here comes my man dave. what is it, dave?" he asked sharply, as the negro stuck his head in at the door. "doctuh green," he said, "i fuhgot ter tell you, suh, dat dat young 'oman wuz at de office agin jes' befo' you come in, an' said fer you to go right down an' see her mammy ez soon ez you could." "ah, yes, and you've just remembered it! i'm afraid you're entirely too forgetful for a doctor's office. you forgot about old mrs. latimer, the other day, and when i got there she had almost choked to death. now get back to the office, and remember, the next time you forget anything, i'll hire another boy; remember that! that boy's head," he remarked to his companions, after dave had gone, "reminds me of nothing so much as a dried gourd, with a handful of cowpeas rattling around it, in lieu of gray matter. an old woman out in redbank got a fishbone in her throat, the other day, and nearly choked to death before i got there. a white woman, sir, came very near losing her life because of a lazy, trifling negro!" "i should think you would discharge him, sir," suggested tryon. "what would be the use?" rejoined the doctor. "all negroes are alike, except that now and then there's a pretty woman along the border-line. take this patient of mine, for instance,--i'll call on her after dinner, her case is not serious,--thirty years ago she would have made any man turn his head to look at her. you know who i mean, don't you, judge?" "yes. i think so," said the judge promptly. "i've transacted a little business for her now and then." "i don't know whether you've seen the daughter or not--i'm sure you haven't for the past year or so, for she's been away. but she's in town now, and, by jove, the girl is really beautiful. and i'm a judge of beauty. do you remember my wife thirty years ago, judge?" "she was a very handsome woman, ed," replied the other judicially. "if i had been twenty years younger, i should have cut you out." "you mean you would have tried. but as i was saying, this girl is a beauty; i reckon we might guess where she got some of it, eh, judge? human nature is human nature, but it's a d--d shame that a man should beget a child like that and leave it to live the life open for a negro. if she had been born white, the young fellows would be tumbling over one another to get her. her mother would have to look after her pretty closely as things are, if she stayed here; but she disappeared mysteriously a year or two ago, and has been at the north, i'm told, passing for white. she'll probably marry a yankee; he won't know any better, and it will serve him right--she's only too white for them. she has a very striking figure, something on the greek order, stately and slow-moving. she has the manners of a lady, too--a beautiful woman, if she is a nigger!" "i quite agree with you, ed," remarked the judge dryly, "that the mother had better look closely after the daughter." "ah, no, judge," replied the other, with a flattered smile, "my admiration for beauty is purely abstract. twenty-five years ago, when i was younger"-- "when you were young," corrected the judge. "when you and i were younger," continued the doctor ingeniously,--"twenty-five years ago, i could not have answered for myself. but i would advise the girl to stay at the north, if she can. she's certainly out of place around here." tryon found the subject a little tiresome, and the doctor's enthusiasm not at all contagious. he could not possibly have been interested in a colored girl, under any circumstances, and he was engaged to be married to the most beautiful white woman on earth. to mention a negro woman in the same room where he was thinking of rena seemed little short of profanation. his friend the doctor was a jovial fellow, but it was surely doubtful taste to refer to his wife in such a conversation. he was very glad when the doctor dropped the subject and permitted him to go more into detail about the matter which formed his business in patesville. he took out of his pocket the papers concerning the mcswayne claim and laid them on the judge's desk. "you'll find everything there, sir,--the note, the contract, and some correspondence that will give you the hang of the thing. will you be able to look over them to-day? i should like," he added a little nervously, "to go back to-morrow." "what!" exclaimed dr. green vivaciously, "insult our town by staying only one day? it won't be long enough to get acquainted with our young ladies. patesville girls are famous for their beauty. but perhaps there's a loadstone in south carolina to draw you back? ah, you change color! to my mind there's nothing finer than the ingenuous blush of youth. but we'll spare you if you'll answer one question--is it serious?" "i'm to be married in two weeks, sir," answered tryon. the statement sounded very pleasant, in spite of the slight embarrassment caused by the inquiry. "good boy!" rejoined the doctor, taking his arm familiarly--they were both standing now. "you ought to have married a patesville girl, but you people down towards the eastern counties seldom come this way, and we are evidently too late to catch you." "i'll look your papers over this morning," said the judge, "and when i come from dinner will stop at the court house and examine the records and see whether there's anything we can get hold of. if you'll drop in around three or four o'clock, i may be able to give you an opinion." "now, george," exclaimed the doctor, "we'll go back to the office for a spell, and then i'll take you home with me to luncheon." tryon hesitated. "oh, you must come! mrs. green would never forgive me if i didn't bring you. strangers are rare birds in our society, and when they come we make them welcome. our enemies may overturn our institutions, and try to put the bottom rail on top, but they cannot destroy our southern hospitality. there are so many carpet-baggers and other social vermin creeping into the south, with the yankees trying to force the niggers on us, that it's a genuine pleasure to get acquainted with another real southern gentleman, whom one can invite into one's house without fear of contamination, and before whom one can express his feelings freely and be sure of perfect sympathy." xiii an injudicious payment when judge straight's visitors had departed, he took up the papers which had been laid loosely on the table as they were taken out of tryon's breast-pocket, and commenced their perusal. there was a note for five hundred dollars, many years overdue, but not yet outlawed by lapse of time; a contract covering the transaction out of which the note had grown; and several letters and copies of letters modifying the terms of the contract. the judge had glanced over most of the papers, and was getting well into the merits of the case, when he unfolded a letter which read as follows:-- my dearest george,--i am going away for about a week, to visit the bedside of an old friend, who is very ill, and may not live. do not be alarmed about me, for i shall very likely be back by the time you are. yours lovingly, rowena warwick. the judge was unable to connect this letter with the transaction which formed the subject of his examination. age had dimmed his perceptions somewhat, and it was not until he had finished the letter, and read it over again, and noted the signature at the bottom a second time, that he perceived that the writing was in a woman's hand, that the ink was comparatively fresh, and that the letter was dated only a couple of days before. while he still held the sheet in his hand, it dawned upon him slowly that he held also one of the links in a chain of possible tragedy which he himself, he became uncomfortably aware, had had a hand in forging. "it is the walden woman's daughter, as sure as fate! her name is rena. her brother goes by the name of warwick. she has come to visit her sick mother. my young client, green's relation, is her lover--is engaged to marry her--is in town, and is likely to meet her!" the judge was so absorbed in the situation thus suggested that he laid the papers down and pondered for a moment the curious problem involved. he was quite aware that two races had not dwelt together, side by side, for nearly three hundred years, without mingling their blood in greater or less degree; he was old enough, and had seen curious things enough, to know that in this mingling the current had not always flowed in one direction. certain old decisions with which he was familiar; old scandals that had crept along obscure channels; old facts that had come to the knowledge of an old practitioner, who held in the hollow of his hand the honor of more than one family, made him know that there was dark blood among the white people--not a great deal, and that very much diluted, and, so long as it was sedulously concealed or vigorously denied, or lost in the mists of tradition, or ascribed to a foreign or an aboriginal strain, having no perceptible effect upon the racial type. such people were, for the most part, merely on the ragged edge of the white world, seldom rising above the level of overseers, or slave-catchers, or sheriff's officers, who could usually be relied upon to resent the drop of black blood that tainted them, and with the zeal of the proselyte to visit their hatred of it upon the unfortunate blacks that fell into their hands. one curse of negro slavery was, and one part of its baleful heritage is, that it poisoned the fountains of human sympathy. under a system where men might sell their own children without social reprobation or loss of prestige, it was not surprising that some of them should hate their distant cousins. there were not in patesville half a dozen persons capable of thinking judge straight's thoughts upon the question before him, and perhaps not another who would have adopted the course he now pursued toward this anomalous family in the house behind the cedars. "well, here we are again, as the clown in the circus remarks," murmured the judge. "ten years ago, in a moment of sentimental weakness and of quixotic loyalty to the memory of an old friend,--who, by the way, had not cared enough for his own children to take them away from the south, as he might have done, or to provide for them handsomely, as he perhaps meant to do,--i violated the traditions of my class and stepped from the beaten path to help the misbegotten son of my old friend out of the slough of despond, in which he had learned, in some strange way, that he was floundering. ten years later, the ghost of my good deed returns to haunt me, and makes me doubt whether i have wrought more evil than good. i wonder," he mused, "if he will find her out?" the judge was a man of imagination; he had read many books and had personally outlived some prejudices. he let his mind run on the various phases of the situation. "if he found her out, would he by any possibility marry her?" "it is not likely," he answered himself. "if he made the discovery here, the facts would probably leak out in the town. it is something that a man might do in secret, but only a hero or a fool would do openly." the judge sighed as he contemplated another possibility. he had lived for seventy years under the old regime. the young man was a gentleman--so had been the girl's father. conditions were changed, but human nature was the same. would the young man's love turn to disgust and repulsion, or would it merely sink from the level of worship to that of desire? would the girl, denied marriage, accept anything less? her mother had,--but conditions were changed. yes, conditions were changed, so far as the girl was concerned; there was a possible future for her under the new order of things; but white people had not changed their opinion of the negroes, except for the worse. the general belief was that they were just as inferior as before, and had, moreover, been spoiled by a disgusting assumption of equality, driven into their thick skulls by yankee malignity bent upon humiliating a proud though vanquished foe. if the judge had had sons and daughters of his own, he might not have done what he now proceeded to do. but the old man's attitude toward society was chiefly that of an observer, and the narrow stream of sentiment left in his heart chose to flow toward the weaker party in this unequal conflict,--a young woman fighting for love and opportunity against the ranked forces of society, against immemorial tradition, against pride of family and of race. "it may be the unwisest thing i ever did," he said to himself, turning to his desk and taking up a quill pen, "and may result in more harm than good; but i was always from childhood in sympathy with the under dog. there is certainly as much reason in my helping the girl as the boy, for being a woman, she is less able to help herself." he dipped his pen into the ink and wrote the following lines:-- madam,--if you value your daughter's happiness, keep her at home for the next day or two. this note he dried by sprinkling it with sand from a box near at hand, signed with his own name, and, with a fine courtesy, addressed to "mrs. molly walden." having first carefully sealed it in an envelope, he stepped to the open door, and spied, playing marbles on the street near by, a group of negro boys, one of whom the judge called by name. "here, billy," he said, handing the boy the note, "take this to mis' molly walden. do you know where she lives--down on front street, in the house behind the cedars?" "yas, suh, i knows de place." "make haste, now. when you come back and tell me what she says, i'll give you ten cents. on second thoughts, i shall be gone to lunch, so here's your money," he added, handing the lad the bit of soiled paper by which the united states government acknowledged its indebtedness to the bearer in the sum of ten cents. just here, however, the judge made his mistake. very few mortals can spare the spring of hope, the motive force of expectation. the boy kept the note in his hand, winked at his companions, who had gathered as near as their awe of the judge would permit, and started down the street. as soon as the judge had disappeared, billy beckoned to his friends, who speedily overtook him. when the party turned the corner of front street and were safely out of sight of judge straight's office, the capitalist entered the grocery store and invested his unearned increment in gingerbread. when the ensuing saturnalia was over, billy finished the game of marbles which the judge had interrupted, and then set out to execute his commission. he had nearly reached his objective point when he met upon the street a young white lady, whom he did not know, and for whom, the path being narrow at that point, he stepped out into the gutter. he reached the house behind the cedars, went round to the back door, and handed the envelope to mis' molly, who was seated on the rear piazza, propped up by pillows in a comfortable rocking-chair. "laws-a-massy!" she exclaimed weakly, "what is it?" "it's a lettuh, ma'm," answered the boy, whose expanding nostrils had caught a pleasant odor from the kitchen, and who was therefore in no hurry to go away. "who's it fur?" she asked. "it's fuh you, ma'm," replied the lad. "an' who's it from?" she inquired, turning the envelope over and over, and examining it with the impotent curiosity of one who cannot read. "f'm ole jedge straight, ma'm. he tole me ter fetch it ter you. is you got a roasted 'tater you could gimme, ma'm?" "shorely, chile. i'll have aunt zilphy fetch you a piece of 'tater pone, if you'll hol' on a minute." she called to aunt zilphy, who soon came hobbling out of the kitchen with a large square of the delicacy,--a flat cake made of mashed sweet potatoes, mixed with beaten eggs, sweetened and flavored to suit the taste, and baked in a dutch oven upon the open hearth. the boy took the gratuity, thanked her, and turned to go. mis' molly was still scanning the superscription of the letter. "i wonder," she murmured, "what old judge straight can be writin' to me about. oh, boy!" "yas 'm," answered the messenger, looking back. "can you read writin'?" "no 'm." "all right. never mind." she laid the letter carefully on the chimney-piece of the kitchen. "i reckon it's somethin' mo' 'bout the taxes," she thought, "or maybe somebody wants to buy one er my lots. rena'll be back terreckly, an' she kin read it an' find out. i'm glad my child'en have be'n to school. they never could have got where they are now if they hadn't." xiv a loyal friend mention has been made of certain addressed envelopes which john warwick, on the occasion of his visit to patesville, had left with his illiterate mother, by the use of which she might communicate with her children from time to time. on one occasion, mis' molly, having had a letter written, took one of these envelopes from the chest where she kept her most valued possessions, and was about to inclose the letter when some one knocked at the back door. she laid the envelope and letter on a table in her bedroom, and went to answer the knock. the wind, blowing across the room through the open windows, picked up the envelope and bore it into the street. mis' molly, on her return, missed it, looked for it, and being unable to find it, took another envelope. an hour or two later another gust of wind lifted the bit of paper from the ground and carried it into the open door of the cooper shop. frank picked it up, and observing that it was clean and unused, read the superscription. in his conversations with mis' molly, which were often about rena,--the subject uppermost in both their minds,--he had noted the mystery maintained by mis' molly about her daughter's whereabouts, and had often wondered where she might be. frank was an intelligent fellow, and could put this and that together. the envelope was addressed to a place in south carolina. he was aware, from some casual remark of mis' molly's, that rena had gone to live in south carolina. her son's name was john--that he had changed his last name was more than likely. frank was not long in reaching the conclusion that rena was to be found near the town named on the envelope, which he carefully preserved for future reference. for a whole year frank had yearned for a smile or a kind word from the only woman in the world. peter, his father, had rallied him somewhat upon his moodiness after rena's departure. "now 's de time, boy, fer you ter be lookin' roun' fer some nice gal er yo' own color, w'at'll 'preciate you, an' won't be 'shamed er you. you're wastin' time, boy, wastin' time, shootin' at a mark outer yo' range." but frank said nothing in reply, and afterwards the old man, who was not without discernment, respected his son's mood and was silent in turn; while frank fed his memory with his imagination, and by their joint aid kept hope alive. later an opportunity to see her presented itself. business in the cooper shop was dull. a barrel factory had been opened in the town, and had well-nigh paralyzed the cooper's trade. the best mechanic could hardly compete with a machine. one man could now easily do the work of peter's shop. an agent appeared in town seeking laborers for one of the railroads which the newly organized carpet-bag governments were promoting. upon inquiry frank learned that their destination was near the town of clarence, south carolina. he promptly engaged himself for the service, and was soon at work in the neighborhood of warwick's home. there he was employed steadily until a certain holiday, upon which a grand tournament was advertised to take place in a neighboring town. work was suspended, and foremen and laborers attended the festivities. frank had surmised that rena would be present on such an occasion. he had more than guessed, too, that she must be looked for among the white people rather than among the black. hence the interest with which he had scanned the grand stand. the result has already been recounted. he had recognized her sweet face; he had seen her enthroned among the proudest and best. he had witnessed and gloried in her triumph. he had seen her cheek flushed with pleasure, her eyes lit up with smiles. he had followed her carriage, had made the acquaintance of mimy the nurse, and had learned all about the family. when finally he left the neighborhood to return to patesville, he had learned of tryon's attentions, and had heard the servants' gossip with reference to the marriage, of which they knew the details long before the principals had approached the main fact. frank went away without having received one smile or heard one word from rena; but he had seen her: she was happy; he was content in the knowledge of her happiness. she was doubtless secure in the belief that her secret was unknown. why should he, by revealing his presence, sow the seeds of doubt or distrust in the garden of her happiness? he sacrificed the deepest longing of a faithful heart, and went back to the cooper shop lest perchance she might accidentally come upon him some day and suffer the shock which he had sedulously spared her. "i would n' want ter skeer her," he mused, "er make her feel bad, an' dat's w'at i'd mos' lackly do ef she seed me. she'll be better off wid me out'n de road. she'll marry dat rich w'ite gent'eman,--he won't never know de diffe'nce,--an' be a w'ite lady, ez she would 'a' be'n, ef some ole witch had n' changed her in her cradle. but maybe some time she'll 'member de little nigger w'at use' ter nuss her w'en she woz a chile, an' fished her out'n de ole canal, an' would 'a' died fer her ef it would 'a' done any good." very generously too, and with a fine delicacy, he said nothing to mis' molly of his having seen her daughter, lest she might be disquieted by the knowledge that he shared the family secret,--no great mystery now, this pitiful secret, but more far-reaching in its consequences than any blood-curdling crime. the taint of black blood was the unpardonable sin, from the unmerited penalty of which there was no escape except by concealment. if there be a dainty reader of this tale who scorns a lie, and who writes the story of his life upon his sleeve for all the world to read, let him uncurl his scornful lip and come down from the pedestal of superior morality, to which assured position and wide opportunity have lifted him, and put himself in the place of rena and her brother, upon whom god had lavished his best gifts, and from whom society would have withheld all that made these gifts valuable. to undertake what they tried to do required great courage. had they possessed the sneaking, cringing, treacherous character traditionally ascribed to people of mixed blood--the character which the blessed institutions of a free slave-holding republic had been well adapted to foster among them; had they been selfish enough to sacrifice to their ambition the mother who gave them birth, society would have been placated or humbugged, and the voyage of their life might have been one of unbroken smoothness. when rena came back unexpectedly at the behest of her dream, frank heard again the music of her voice, felt the joy of her presence and the benison of her smile. there was, however, a subtle difference in her bearing. her words were not less kind, but they seemed to come from a remoter source. she was kind, as the sun is warm or the rain refreshing; she was especially kind to frank, because he had been good to her mother. if frank felt the difference in her attitude, he ascribed it to the fact that she had been white, and had taken on something of the white attitude toward the negro; and frank, with an equal unconsciousness, clothed her with the attributes of the superior race. only her drop of black blood, he conceived, gave him the right to feel toward her as he would never have felt without it; and if rena guessed her faithful devotee's secret, the same reason saved his worship from presumption. a smile and a kind word were little enough to pay for a life's devotion. on the third day of rena's presence in patesville, frank was driving up front street in the early afternoon, when he nearly fell off his cart in astonishment as he saw seated in dr. green's buggy, which was standing in front of the patesville hotel, the young gentleman who had won the prize at the tournament, and who, as he had learned, was to marry rena. frank was quite certain that she did not know of tryon's presence in the town. frank had been over to mis' molly's in the morning, and had offered his services to the sick woman, who had rapidly become convalescent upon her daughter's return. mis' molly had spoken of some camphor that she needed. frank had volunteered to get it. rena had thanked him, and had spoken of going to the drugstore during the afternoon. it was her intention to leave patesville on the following day. "ef dat man sees her in dis town," said frank to himself, "dere'll be trouble. she don't know he's here, an' i'll bet he don't know she's here." then frank was assailed by a very strong temptation. if, as he surmised, the joint presence of the two lovers in patesville was a mere coincidence, a meeting between them would probably result in the discovery of rena's secret. "if she's found out," argued the tempter, "she'll come back to her mother, and you can see her every day." but frank's love was not of the selfish kind. he put temptation aside, and applied the whip to the back of his mule with a vigor that astonished the animal and moved him to unwonted activity. in an unusually short space of time he drew up before mis' molly's back gate, sprang from the cart, and ran up to mis' molly on the porch. "is miss rena here?" he demanded breathlessly. "no, frank; she went up town 'bout an hour ago to see the doctor an' git me some camphor gum." frank uttered a groan, rushed from the house, sprang into the cart, and goaded the terrified mule into a gallop that carried him back to the market house in half the time it had taken him to reach mis' molly's. "i wonder what in the worl 's the matter with frank," mused mis' molly, in vague alarm. "ef he hadn't be'n in such a hurry, i'd 'a' axed him to read judge straight's letter. but rena'll be home soon." when frank reached the doctor's office, he saw tryon seated in the doctor's buggy, which was standing by the window of the drugstore. frank ran upstairs and asked the doctor's man if miss walden had been there. "yas," replied dave, "she wuz here a little w'ile ago, an' said she wuz gwine downstairs ter de drugsto'. i would n' be s'prise' ef you'd fin' her dere now." xv mine own people the drive by which dr. green took tryon to his own house led up front street about a mile, to the most aristocratic portion of the town, situated on the hill known as haymount, or, more briefly, "the hill." the hill had lost some of its former glory, however, for the blight of a four years' war was everywhere. after reaching the top of this wooded eminence, the road skirted for some little distance the brow of the hill. below them lay the picturesque old town, a mass of vivid green, dotted here and there with gray roofs that rose above the tree-tops. two long ribbons of streets stretched away from the hill to the faint red line that marked the high bluff beyond the river at the farther side of the town. the market-house tower and the slender spires of half a dozen churches were sharply outlined against the green background. the face of the clock was visible, but the hours could have been read only by eyes of phenomenal sharpness. around them stretched ruined walls, dismantled towers, and crumbling earthworks--footprints of the god of war, one of whose temples had crowned this height. for many years before the rebellion a federal arsenal had been located at patesville. seized by the state troops upon the secession of north carolina, it had been held by the confederates until the approach of sherman's victorious army, whereupon it was evacuated and partially destroyed. the work of destruction begun by the retreating garrison was completed by the conquerors, and now only ruined walls and broken cannon remained of what had once been the chief ornament and pride of patesville. the front of dr. green's spacious brick house, which occupied an ideally picturesque site, was overgrown by a network of clinging vines, contrasting most agreeably with the mellow red background. a low brick wall, also overrun with creepers, separated the premises from the street and shut in a well-kept flower garden, in which tryon, who knew something of plants, noticed many rare and beautiful specimens. mrs. green greeted tryon cordially. he did not have the doctor's memory with which to fill out the lady's cheeks or restore the lustre of her hair or the sparkle of her eyes, and thereby justify her husband's claim to be a judge of beauty; but her kind-hearted hospitality was obvious, and might have made even a plain woman seem handsome. she and her two fair daughters, to whom tryon was duly presented, looked with much favor upon their handsome young kinsman; for among the people of patesville, perhaps by virtue of the prevalence of scottish blood, the ties of blood were cherished as things of value, and never forgotten except in case of the unworthy--an exception, by the way, which one need hardly go so far to seek. the patesville people were not exceptional in the weaknesses and meannesses which are common to all mankind, but for some of the finer social qualities they were conspicuously above the average. kindness, hospitality, loyalty, a chivalrous deference to women,--all these things might be found in large measure by those who saw patesville with the eyes of its best citizens, and accepted their standards of politics, religion, manners, and morals. the doctor, after the introductions, excused himself for a moment. mrs. green soon left tryon with the young ladies and went to look after luncheon. her first errand, however, was to find the doctor. "is he well off, ed?" she asked her husband. "lots of land, and plenty of money, if he is ever able to collect it. he has inherited two estates." "he's a good-looking fellow," she mused. "is he married?" "there you go again," replied her husband, shaking his forefinger at her in mock reproach. "to a woman with marriageable daughters all roads lead to matrimony, the centre of a woman's universe. all men must be sized up by their matrimonial availability. no, he isn't married." "that's nice," she rejoined reflectively. "i think we ought to ask him to stay with us while he is in town, don't you?" "he's not married," rejoined the doctor slyly, "but the next best thing--he's engaged." "come to think of it," said the lady, "i'm afraid we wouldn't have the room to spare, and the girls would hardly have time to entertain him. but we'll have him up several times. i like his looks. i wish you had sent me word he was coming; i'd have had a better luncheon." "make him a salad," rejoined the doctor, "and get out a bottle of the best claret. thank god, the yankees didn't get into my wine cellar! the young man must be treated with genuine southern hospitality,--even if he were a mormon and married ten times over." "indeed, he would not, ed,--the idea! i'm ashamed of you. hurry back to the parlor and talk to him. the girls may want to primp a little before luncheon; we don't have a young man every day." "beauty unadorned," replied the doctor, "is adorned the most. my profession qualifies me to speak upon the subject. they are the two handsomest young women in patesville, and the daughters of the most beautiful"-- "don't you dare to say the word," interrupted mrs. green, with placid good nature. "i shall never grow old while i am living with a big boy like you. but i must go and make the salad." at dinner the conversation ran on the family connections and their varying fortunes in the late war. some had died upon the battlefield, and slept in unknown graves; some had been financially ruined by their faith in the "lost cause," having invested their all in the securities of the confederate government. few had anything left but land, and land without slaves to work it was a drug in the market. "i was offered a thousand acres, the other day, at twenty-five cents an acre," remarked the doctor. "the owner is so land-poor that he can't pay the taxes. they have taken our negroes and our liberties. it may be better for our grandchildren that the negroes are free, but it's confoundedly hard on us to take them without paying for them. they may exalt our slaves over us temporarily, but they have not broken our spirit, and cannot take away our superiority of blood and breeding. in time we shall regain control. the negro is an inferior creature; god has marked him with the badge of servitude, and has adjusted his intellect to a servile condition. we will not long submit to his domination. i give you a toast, sir: the anglo-saxon race: may it remain forever, as now, the head and front of creation, never yielding its rights, and ready always to die, if need be, in defense of its liberties!" "with all my heart, sir," replied tryon, who felt in this company a thrill of that pleasure which accompanies conscious superiority,--"with all my heart, sir, if the ladies will permit me." "we will join you," they replied. the toast was drunk with great enthusiasm. "and now, my dear george," exclaimed the doctor, "to change one good subject for another, tell us who is the favored lady?" "a miss rowena warwick, sir," replied tryon, vividly conscious of four pairs of eyes fixed upon him, but, apart from the momentary embarrassment, welcoming the subject as the one he would most like to speak upon. "a good, strong old english name," observed the doctor. "the heroine of 'ivanhoe'!" exclaimed miss harriet. "warwick the kingmaker!" said miss mary. "is she tall and fair, and dignified and stately?" "she is tall, dark rather than fair, and full of tender grace and sweet humility." "she should have been named rebecca instead of rowena," rejoined miss mary, who was well up in her scott. "tell us something about her people," asked mrs. green,--to which inquiry the young ladies looked assent. in this meeting of the elect of his own class and kin warwick felt a certain strong illumination upon the value of birth and blood. finding rena among people of the best social standing, the subsequent intimation that she was a girl of no family had seemed a small matter to one so much in love. nevertheless, in his present company he felt a decided satisfaction in being able to present for his future wife a clean bill of social health. "her brother is the most prominent lawyer of clarence. they live in a fine old family mansion, and are among the best people of the town." "quite right, my boy," assented the doctor. "none but the best are good enough for the best. you must bring her to patesville some day. but bless my life!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch, "i must be going. will you stay with the ladies awhile, or go back down town with me?" "i think i had better go with you, sir. i shall have to see judge straight." "very well. but you must come back to supper, and we'll have a few friends in to meet you. you must see some of the best people." the doctor's buggy was waiting at the gate. as they were passing the hotel on their drive down town, the clerk came out to the curbstone and called to the doctor. "there's a man here, doctor, who's been taken suddenly ill. can you come in a minute?" "i suppose i'll have to. will you wait for me here, george, or will you drive down to the office? i can walk the rest of the way." "i think i'll wait here, doctor," answered tryon. "i'll step up to my room a moment. i'll be back by the time you're ready." it was while they were standing before the hotel, before alighting from the buggy, that frank fowler, passing on his cart, saw tryon and set out as fast as he could to warn mis' molly and her daughter of his presence in the town. tryon went up to his room, returned after a while, and resumed his seat in the buggy, where he waited fifteen minutes longer before the doctor was ready. when they drew up in front of the office, the doctor's man dave was standing in the doorway, looking up the street with an anxious expression, as though struggling hard to keep something upon his mind. "anything wanted, dave?" asked the doctor. "dat young 'oman's be'n heah ag'in, suh, an' wants ter see you bad. she's in de drugstore dere now, suh. bless gawd!" he added to himself fervently, "i 'membered dat. dis yer recommemb'ance er mine is gwine ter git me inter trouble ef i don' look out, an' dat's a fac', sho'." the doctor sprang from the buggy with an agility remarkable in a man of sixty. "just keep your seat, george," he said to tryon, "until i have spoken to the young woman, and then we'll go across to straight's. or, if you'll drive along a little farther, you can see the girl through the window. she's worth the trouble, if you like a pretty face." tryon liked one pretty face; moreover, tinted beauty had never appealed to him. more to show a proper regard for what interested the doctor than from any curiosity of his own, he drove forward a few feet, until the side of the buggy was opposite the drugstore window, and then looked in. between the colored glass bottles in the window he could see a young woman, a tall and slender girl, like a lily on its stem. she stood talking with the doctor, who held his hat in his hand with as much deference as though she were the proudest dame in town. her face was partly turned away from the window, but as tryon's eye fell upon her, he gave a great start. surely, no two women could be so much alike. the height, the graceful droop of the shoulders, the swan-like poise of the head, the well-turned little ear,--surely, no two women could have them all identical! but, pshaw! the notion was absurd, it was merely the reflex influence of his morning's dream. she moved slightly; it was rena's movement. surely he knew the gown, and the style of hair-dressing! she rested her hand lightly on the back of a chair. the ring that glittered on her finger could be none other than his own. the doctor bowed. the girl nodded in response, and, turning, left the store. tryon leaned forward from the buggy-seat and kept his eye fixed on the figure that moved across the floor of the drugstore. as she came out, she turned her face casually toward the buggy, and there could no longer be any doubt as to her identity. when rena's eyes fell upon the young man in the buggy, she saw a face as pale as death, with starting eyes, in which love, which once had reigned there, had now given place to astonishment and horror. she stood a moment as if turned to stone. one appealing glance she gave,--a look that might have softened adamant. when she saw that it brought no answering sign of love or sorrow or regret, the color faded from her cheek, the light from her eye, and she fell fainting to the ground. xvi the bottom falls out the first effect of tryon's discovery was, figuratively speaking, to knock the bottom out of things for him. it was much as if a boat on which he had been floating smoothly down the stream of pleasure had sunk suddenly and left him struggling in deep waters. the full realization of the truth, which followed speedily, had for the moment reversed his mental attitude toward her, and love and yearning had given place to anger and disgust. his agitation could hardly have escaped notice had not the doctor's attention, and that of the crowd that quickly gathered, been absorbed by the young woman who had fallen. during the time occupied in carrying her into the drugstore, restoring her to consciousness, and sending her home in a carriage, tryon had time to recover in some degree his self-possession. when rena had been taken home, he slipped away for a long walk, after which he called at judge straight's office and received the judge's report upon the matter presented. judge straight had found the claim, in his opinion, a good one; he had discovered property from which, in case the claim were allowed, the amount might be realized. the judge, who had already been informed of the incident at the drugstore, observed tryon's preoccupation and guessed shrewdly at its cause, but gave no sign. tryon left the matter of the note unreservedly in the lawyer's hands, with instructions to communicate to him any further developments. returning to the doctor's office, tryon listened to that genial gentleman's comments on the accident, his own concern in which he, by a great effort, was able to conceal. the doctor insisted upon his returning to the hill for supper. tryon pleaded illness. the doctor was solicitous, felt his pulse, examined his tongue, pronounced him feverish, and prescribed a sedative. tryon sought refuge in his room at the hotel, from which he did not emerge again until morning. his emotions were varied and stormy. at first he could see nothing but the fraud of which he had been made the victim. a negro girl had been foisted upon him for a white woman, and he had almost committed the unpardonable sin against his race of marrying her. such a step, he felt, would have been criminal at any time; it would have been the most odious treachery at this epoch, when his people had been subjugated and humiliated by the northern invaders, who had preached negro equality and abolished the wholesome laws decreeing the separation of the races. but no southerner who loved his poor, downtrodden country, or his race, the proud anglo-saxon race which traced the clear stream of its blood to the cavaliers of england, could tolerate the idea that even in distant generations that unsullied current could be polluted by the blood of slaves. the very thought was an insult to the white people of the south. for tryon's liberality, of which he had spoken so nobly and so sincerely, had been confined unconsciously, and as a matter of course, within the boundaries of his own race. the southern mind, in discussing abstract questions relative to humanity, makes always, consciously or unconsciously, the mental reservation that the conclusions reached do not apply to the negro, unless they can be made to harmonize with the customs of the country. but reasoning thus was not without effect upon a mind by nature reasonable above the average. tryon's race impulse and social prejudice had carried him too far, and the swing of the mental pendulum brought his thoughts rapidly back in the opposite direction. tossing uneasily on the bed, where he had thrown himself down without undressing, the air of the room oppressed him, and he threw open the window. the cool night air calmed his throbbing pulses. the moonlight, streaming through the window, flooded the room with a soft light, in which he seemed to see rena standing before him, as she had appeared that afternoon, gazing at him with eyes that implored charity and forgiveness. he burst into tears,--bitter tears, that strained his heartstrings. he was only a youth. she was his first love, and he had lost her forever. she was worse than dead to him; for if he had seen her lying in her shroud before him, he could at least have cherished her memory; now, even this consolation was denied him. the town clock--which so long as it was wound up regularly recked nothing of love or hate, joy or sorrow--solemnly tolled out the hour of midnight and sounded the knell of his lost love. lost she was, as though she had never been, as she had indeed had no right to be. he resolutely determined to banish her image from his mind. see her again he could not; it would be painful to them both; it could be productive of no good to either. he had felt the power and charm of love, and no ordinary shook could have loosened its hold; but this catastrophe, which had so rudely swept away the groundwork of his passion, had stirred into new life all the slumbering pride of race and ancestry which characterized his caste. how much of this sensitive superiority was essential and how much accidental; how much of it was due to the ever-suggested comparison with a servile race; how much of it was ignorance and self-conceit; to what extent the boasted purity of his race would have been contaminated by the fair woman whose image filled his memory,--of these things he never thought. he was not influenced by sordid considerations; he would have denied that his course was controlled by any narrow prudence. if rena had been white, pure white (for in his creed there was no compromise), he would have braved any danger for her sake. had she been merely of illegitimate birth, he would have overlooked the bar sinister. had her people been simply poor and of low estate, he would have brushed aside mere worldly considerations, and would have bravely sacrificed convention for love; for his liberality was not a mere form of words. but the one objection which he could not overlook was, unhappily, the one that applied to the only woman who had as yet moved his heart. he tried to be angry with her, but after the first hour he found it impossible. he was a man of too much imagination not to be able to put himself, in some measure at least, in her place,--to perceive that for her the step which had placed her in tryon's world was the working out of nature's great law of self-preservation, for which he could not blame her. but for the sheerest accident,--no, rather, but for a providential interference,--he would have married her, and might have gone to the grave unconscious that she was other than she seemed. the clock struck the hour of two. with a shiver he closed the window, undressed by the moonlight, drew down the shade, and went to bed. he fell into an unquiet slumber, and dreamed again of rena. he must learn to control his waking thoughts; his dreams could not be curbed. in that realm rena's image was for many a day to remain supreme. he dreamed of her sweet smile, her soft touch, her gentle voice. in all her fair young beauty she stood before him, and then by some hellish magic she was slowly transformed into a hideous black hag. with agonized eyes he watched her beautiful tresses become mere wisps of coarse wool, wrapped round with dingy cotton strings; he saw her clear eyes grow bloodshot, her ivory teeth turn to unwholesome fangs. with a shudder he awoke, to find the cold gray dawn of a rainy day stealing through the window. he rose, dressed himself, went down to breakfast, then entered the writing-room and penned a letter which, after reading it over, he tore into small pieces and threw into the waste basket. a second shared the same fate. giving up the task, he left the hotel and walked down to dr. green's office. "is the doctor in?" he asked of the colored attendant. "no, suh," replied the man; "he's gone ter see de young cullud gal w'at fainted w'en de doctah was wid you yistiddy." tryon sat down at the doctor's desk and hastily scrawled a note, stating that business compelled his immediate departure. he thanked the doctor for courtesies extended, and left his regards for the ladies. returning to the hotel, he paid his bill and took a hack for the wharf, from which a boat was due to leave at nine o'clock. as the hack drove down front street, tryon noted idly the houses that lined the street. when he reached the sordid district in the lower part of the town, there was nothing to attract his attention until the carriage came abreast of a row of cedar-trees, beyond which could be seen the upper part of a large house with dormer windows. before the gate stood a horse and buggy, which tryon thought he recognized as dr. green's. he leaned forward and addressed the driver. "can you tell me who lives there?" tryon asked, pointing to the house. "a callud 'oman, suh," the man replied, touching his hat. "mis' molly walden an' her daughter rena." the vivid impression he received of this house, and the spectre that rose before him of a pale, broken-hearted girl within its gray walls, weeping for a lost lover and a vanished dream of happiness, did not argue well for tryon's future peace of mind. rena's image was not to be easily expelled from his heart; for the laws of nature are higher and more potent than merely human institutions, and upon anything like a fair field are likely to win in the long ran. xvii two letters warwick awaited events with some calmness and some philosophy,--he could hardly have had the one without the other; and it required much philosophy to make him wait a week in patience for information upon a subject in which he was so vitally interested. the delay pointed to disaster. bad news being expected, delay at least put off the evil day. at the end of the week he received two letters,--one addressed in his own hand writing and postmarked patesville, n. c.; the other in the handwriting of george tryon. he opened the patesville letter, which ran as follows:-- my dear son,--frank is writing this letter for me. i am not well, but, thank the lord, i am better than i was. rena has had a heap of trouble on account of me and my sickness. if i could of dreamt that i was going to do so much harm, i would of died and gone to meet my god without writing one word to spoil my girl's chances in life; but i didn't know what was going to happen, and i hope the lord will forgive me. frank knows all about it, and so i am having him write this letter for me, as rena is not well enough yet. frank has been very good to me and to rena. he was down to your place and saw rena there, and never said a word about it to nobody, not even to me, because he didn't want to do rena no harm. frank is the best friend i have got in town, because he does so much for me and don't want nothing in return. (he tells me not to put this in about him, but i want you to know it.) and now about rena. she come to see me, and i got better right away, for it was longing for her as much as anything else that made me sick, and i was mighty mizzable. when she had been here three days and was going back next day, she went up town to see the doctor for me, and while she was up there she fainted and fell down in the street, and dr. green sent her home in his buggy and come down to see her. he couldn't tell what was the matter with her, but she has been sick ever since and out of her head some of the time, and keeps on calling on somebody by the name of george, which was the young white man she told me she was going to marry. it seems he was in town the day rena was took sick, for frank saw him up street and run all the way down here to tell me, so that she could keep out of his way, while she was still up town waiting for the doctor and getting me some camphor gum for my camphor bottle. old judge straight must have knowed something about it, for he sent me a note to keep rena in the house, but the little boy he sent it by didn't bring it till rena was already gone up town, and, as i couldn't read, of course i didn't know what it said. dr. green heard rena running on while she was out of her head, and i reckon he must have suspicioned something, for he looked kind of queer and went away without saying nothing. frank says she met this man on the street, and when he found out she wasn't white, he said or done something that broke her heart and she fainted and fell down. i am writing you this letter because i know you will be worrying about rena not coming back. if it wasn't for frank, i hardly know how i could write to you. frank is not going to say nothing about rena's passing for white and meeting this man, and neither am i; and i don't suppose judge straight will say nothing, because he is our good friend; and dr. green won't say nothing about it, because frank says dr. green's cook nancy says this young man named george stopped with him and was some cousin or relation to the family, and they wouldn't want people to know that any of their kin was thinking about marrying a colored girl, and the white folks have all been mad since j. b. thompson married his black housekeeper when she got religion and wouldn't live with him no more. all the rest of the connection are well. i have just been in to see how rena is. she is feeling some better, i think, and says give you her love and she will write you a letter in a few days, as soon as she is well enough. she bust out crying while she was talking, but i reckon that is better than being out of her head. i hope this may find you well, and that this man of rena's won't say nor do nothing down there to hurt you. he has not wrote to rena nor sent her no word. i reckon he is very mad. your affectionate mother, mary walden. this letter, while confirming warwick's fears, relieved his suspense. he at least knew the worst, unless there should be something still more disturbing in tryon's letter, which he now proceeded to open, and which ran as follows:-- john warwick, esq. dear sir,--when i inform you, as you are doubtless informed ere the receipt of this, that i saw your sister in patesville last week and learned the nature of those antecedents of yours and hers at which you hinted so obscurely in a recent conversation, you will not be surprised to learn that i take this opportunity of renouncing any pretensions to miss warwick's hand, and request you to convey this message to her, since it was through you that i formed her acquaintance. i think perhaps that few white men would deem it necessary to make an explanation under the circumstances, and i do not know that i need say more than that no one, considering where and how i met your sister, would have dreamed of even the possibility of what i have learned. i might with justice reproach you for trifling with the most sacred feelings of a man's heart; but i realize the hardship of your position and hers, and can make allowances. i would never have sought to know this thing; i would doubtless have been happier had i gone through life without finding it out; but having the knowledge, i cannot ignore it, as you must understand perfectly well. i regret that she should be distressed or disappointed,--she has not suffered alone. i need scarcely assure you that i shall say nothing about this affair, and that i shall keep your secret as though it were my own. personally, i shall never be able to think of you as other than a white man, as you may gather from the tone of this letter; and while i cannot marry your sister, i wish her every happiness, and remain, yours very truly, george tryon. warwick could not know that this formal epistle was the last of a dozen that tryon had written and destroyed during the week since the meeting in patesville,--hot, blistering letters, cold, cutting letters, scornful, crushing letters. though none of them was sent, except this last, they had furnished a safety-valve for his emotions, and had left him in a state of mind that permitted him to write the foregoing. and now, while rena is recovering from her illness, and tryon from his love, and while fate is shuffling the cards for another deal, a few words may be said about the past life of the people who lived in the rear of the flower garden, in the quaint old house beyond the cedars, and how their lives were mingled with those of the men and women around them and others that were gone. for connected with our kind we must be; if not by our virtues, then by our vices,--if not by our services, at least by our needs. xviii under the old regime for many years before the civil war there had lived, in the old house behind the cedars, a free colored woman who went by the name of molly walden--her rightful name, for her parents were free-born and legally married. she was a tall woman, straight as an arrow. her complexion in youth was of an old ivory tint, which at the period of this story, time had darkened measurably. her black eyes, now faded, had once sparkled with the fire of youth. high cheek-bones, straight black hair, and a certain dignified reposefulness of manner pointed to an aboriginal descent. tradition gave her to the negro race. doubtless she had a strain of each, with white blood very visibly predominating over both. in louisiana or the west indies she would have been called a quadroon, or more loosely, a creole; in north carolina, where fine distinctions were not the rule in matters of color, she was sufficiently differentiated when described as a bright mulatto. molly's free birth carried with it certain advantages, even in the south before the war. though degraded from its high estate, and shorn of its choicest attributes, the word "freedom" had nevertheless a cheerful sound, and described a condition that left even to colored people who could claim it some liberty of movement and some control of their own persons. they were not citizens, yet they were not slaves. no negro, save in books, ever refused freedom; many of them ran frightful risks to achieve it. molly's parents were of the class, more numerous in north carolina than elsewhere, known as "old issue free negroes," which took its rise in the misty colonial period, when race lines were not so closely drawn, and the population of north carolina comprised many indians, runaway negroes, and indentured white servants from the seaboard plantations, who mingled their blood with great freedom and small formality. free colored people in north carolina exercised the right of suffrage as late as , and some of them, in spite of galling restrictions, attained to a considerable degree of prosperity, and dreamed of a still brighter future, when the growing tyranny of the slave power crushed their hopes and crowded the free people back upon the black mass just beneath them. mis' molly's father had been at one time a man of some means. in an evil hour, with an overweening confidence in his fellow men, he indorsed a note for a white man who, in a moment of financial hardship, clapped his colored neighbor on the back and called him brother. not poverty, but wealth, is the most potent leveler. in due time the indorser was called upon to meet the maturing obligation. this was the beginning of a series of financial difficulties which speedily involved him in ruin. he died prematurely, a disappointed and disheartened man, leaving his family in dire poverty. his widow and surviving children lived on for a little while at the house he had owned, just outside of the town, on one of the main traveled roads. by the wayside, near the house, there was a famous deep well. the slim, barefoot girl, with sparkling eyes and voluminous hair, who played about the yard and sometimes handed water in a gourd to travelers, did not long escape critical observation. a gentleman drove by one day, stopped at the well, smiled upon the girl, and said kind words. he came again, more than once, and soon, while scarcely more than a child in years, molly was living in her own house, hers by deed of gift, for her protector was rich and liberal. her mother nevermore knew want. her poor relations could always find a meal in molly's kitchen. she did not flaunt her prosperity in the world's face; she hid it discreetly behind the cedar screen. those who wished could know of it, for there were few secrets in patesville; those who chose could as easily ignore it. there were few to trouble themselves about the secluded life of an obscure woman of a class which had no recognized place in the social economy. she worshiped the ground upon which her lord walked, was humbly grateful for his protection, and quite as faithful as the forbidden marriage vow could possibly have made her. she led her life in material peace and comfort, and with a certain amount of dignity. of her false relation to society she was not without some vague conception; but the moral point involved was so confused with other questions growing out--of slavery and caste as to cause her, as a rule, but little uneasiness; and only now and then, in the moments of deeper feeling that come sometimes to all who live and love, did there break through the mists of ignorance and prejudice surrounding her a flash of light by which she saw, so far as she was capable of seeing, her true position, which in the clear light of truth no special pleading could entirely justify. for she was free, she had not the slave's excuse. with every inducement to do evil and few incentives to do well, and hence entitled to charitable judgment, she yet had freedom of choice, and therefore could not wholly escape blame. let it be said, in further extenuation, that no other woman lived in neglect or sorrow because of her. she robbed no one else. for what life gave her she returned an equivalent; and what she did not pay, her children settled to the last farthing. several years before the war, when mis' molly's daughter rena was a few years old, death had suddenly removed the source of their prosperity. the household was not left entirely destitute. mis' molly owned her home, and had a store of gold pieces in the chest beneath her bed. a small piece of real estate stood in the name of each of the children, the income from which contributed to their maintenance. larger expectations were dependent upon the discovery of a promised will, which never came to light. mis' molly wore black for several years after this bereavement, until the teacher and the preacher, following close upon the heels of military occupation, suggested to the colored people new standards of life and character, in the light of which mis' molly laid her mourning sadly and shamefacedly aside. she had eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. after the war she formed the habit of church-going, and might have been seen now and then, with her daughter, in a retired corner of the gallery of the white episcopal church. upon the ground floor was a certain pew which could be seen from her seat, where once had sat a gentleman whose pleasures had not interfered with the practice of his religion. she might have had a better seat in a church where a northern missionary would have preached a sermon better suited to her comprehension and her moral needs, but she preferred the other. she was not white, alas! she was shut out from this seeming paradise; but she liked to see the distant glow of the celestial city, and to recall the days when she had basked in its radiance. she did not sympathize greatly with the new era opened up for the emancipated slaves; she had no ideal love of liberty; she was no broader and no more altruistic than the white people around her, to whom she had always looked up; and she sighed for the old days, because to her they had been the good days. now, not only was her king dead, but the shield of his memory protected her no longer. molly had lost one child, and his grave was visible from the kitchen window, under a small clump of cedars in the rear of the two-acre lot. for even in the towns many a household had its private cemetery in those old days when the living were close to the dead, and ghosts were not the mere chimeras of a sick imagination, but real though unsubstantial entities, of which it was almost disgraceful not to have seen one or two. had not the witch of endor called up the shade of samuel the prophet? had not the spirit of mis' molly's dead son appeared to her, as well as the ghostly presence of another she had loved? in , mis' molly's remaining son had grown into a tall, slender lad of fifteen, with his father's patrician features and his mother's indian hair, and no external sign to mark him off from the white boys on the street. he soon came to know, however, that there was a difference. he was informed one day that he was black. he denied the proposition and thrashed the child who made it. the scene was repeated the next day, with a variation,--he was himself thrashed by a larger boy. when he had been beaten five or six times, he ceased to argue the point, though to himself he never admitted the charge. his playmates might call him black; the mirror proved that god, the father of all, had made him white; and god, he had been taught, made no mistakes,--having made him white, he must have meant him to be white. in the "hall" or parlor of his mother's house stood a quaintly carved black walnut bookcase, containing a small but remarkable collection of books, which had at one time been used, in his hours of retreat and relaxation from business and politics, by the distinguished gentleman who did not give his name to mis' molly's children,--to whom it would have been a valuable heritage, could they have had the right to bear it. among the books were a volume of fielding's complete works, in fine print, set in double columns; a set of bulwer's novels; a collection of everything that walter scott--the literary idol of the south--had ever written; beaumont and fletcher's plays, cheek by jowl with the history of the virtuous clarissa harlowe; the spectator and tristram shandy, robinson crusoe and the arabian nights. on these secluded shelves roderick random, don quixote, and gil blas for a long time ceased their wanderings, the pilgrim's progress was suspended, milton's mighty harmonies were dumb, and shakespeare reigned over a silent kingdom. an illustrated bible, with a wonderful apocrypha, was flanked on one side by volney's ruins of empire and on the other by paine's age of reason, for the collector of the books had been a man of catholic taste as well as of inquiring mind, and no one who could have criticised his reading ever penetrated behind the cedar hedge. a history of the french revolution consorted amiably with a homespun chronicle of north carolina, rich in biographical notices of distinguished citizens and inscriptions from their tombstones, upon reading which one might well wonder why north carolina had not long ago eclipsed the rest of the world in wealth, wisdom, glory, and renown. on almost every page of this monumental work could be found the most ardent panegyrics of liberty, side by side with the slavery statistics of the state,--an incongruity of which the learned author was deliciously unconscious. when john walden was yet a small boy, he had learned all that could be taught by the faded mulatto teacher in the long, shiny black frock coat, whom local public opinion permitted to teach a handful of free colored children for a pittance barely enough to keep soul and body together. when the boy had learned to read, he discovered the library, which for several years had been without a reader, and found in it the portal of a new world, peopled with strange and marvelous beings. lying prone upon the floor of the shaded front piazza, behind the fragrant garden, he followed the fortunes of tom jones and sophia; he wept over the fate of eugene aram; he penetrated with richard the lion-heart into saladin's tent, with gil blas into the robbers' cave; he flew through the air on the magic carpet or the enchanted horse, or tied with sindbad to the roc's leg. sometimes he read or repeated the simpler stories to his little sister, sitting wide-eyed by his side. when he had read all the books,--indeed, long before he had read them all,--he too had tasted of the fruit of the tree of knowledge: contentment took its flight, and happiness lay far beyond the sphere where he was born. the blood of his white fathers, the heirs of the ages, cried out for its own, and after the manner of that blood set about getting the object of its desire. near the corner of mackenzie street, just one block north of the patesville market-house, there had stood for many years before the war, on the verge of the steep bank of beaver creek, a small frame office building, the front of which was level with the street, while the rear rested on long brick pillars founded on the solid rock at the edge of the brawling stream below. here, for nearly half a century, archibald straight had transacted legal business for the best people of northumberland county. full many a lawsuit had he won, lost, or settled; many a spendthrift had he saved from ruin, and not a few families from disgrace. several times honored by election to the bench, he had so dispensed justice tempered with mercy as to win the hearts of all good citizens, and especially those of the poor, the oppressed, and the socially disinherited. the rights of the humblest negro, few as they might be, were as sacred to him as those of the proudest aristocrat, and he had sentenced a man to be hanged for the murder of his own slave. an old-fashioned man, tall and spare of figure and bowed somewhat with age, he was always correctly clad in a long frock coat of broadcloth, with a high collar and a black stock. courtly in address to his social equals (superiors he had none), he was kind and considerate to those beneath him. he owned a few domestic servants, no one of whom had ever felt the weight of his hand, and for whose ultimate freedom he had provided in his will. in the long-drawn-out slavery agitation he had taken a keen interest, rather as observer than as participant. as the heat of controversy increased, his lack of zeal for the peculiar institution led to his defeat for the bench by a more active partisan. his was too just a mind not to perceive the arguments on both sides; but, on the whole, he had stood by the ancient landmarks, content to let events drift to a conclusion he did not expect to see; the institutions of his fathers would probably last his lifetime. one day judge straight was sitting in his office reading a recently published pamphlet,--presenting an elaborate pro-slavery argument, based upon the hopeless intellectual inferiority of the negro, and the physical and moral degeneration of mulattoes, who combined the worst qualities of their two ancestral races,--when a barefooted boy walked into the office, straw hat in hand, came boldly up to the desk at which the old judge was sitting, and said as the judge looked up through his gold-rimmed glasses,-- "sir, i want to be a lawyer!" "god bless me!" exclaimed the judge. "it is a singular desire, from a singular source, and expressed in a singular way. who the devil are you, sir, that wish so strange a thing as to become a lawyer--everybody's servant?" "and everybody's master, sir," replied the lad stoutly. "that is a matter of opinion, and open to argument," rejoined the judge, amused and secretly flattered by this tribute to his profession, "though there may be a grain of truth in what you say. but what is your name, mr. would-be-lawyer?" "john walden, sir," answered the lad. "john walden?--walden?" mused the judge. "what walden can that be? do you belong in town?" "yes, sir." "humph! i can't imagine who you are. it's plain that you are a lad of good blood, and yet i don't know whose son you can be. what is your father's name?" the lad hesitated, and flushed crimson. the old gentleman noted his hesitation. "it is a wise son," he thought, "that knows his own father. he is a bright lad, and will have this question put to him more than once. i'll see how he will answer it." the boy maintained an awkward silence, while the old judge eyed him keenly. "my father's dead," he said at length, in a low voice. "i'm mis' molly walden's son." he had expected, of course, to tell who he was, if asked, but had not foreseen just the form of the inquiry; and while he had thought more of his race than of his illegitimate birth, he realized at this moment as never before that this question too would be always with him. as put now by judge straight, it made him wince. he had not read his father's books for nothing. "god bless my soul!" exclaimed the judge in genuine surprise at this answer; "and you want to be a lawyer!" the situation was so much worse than he had suspected that even an old practitioner, case-hardened by years of life at the trial table and on the bench, was startled for a moment into a comical sort of consternation, so apparent that a lad less stout-hearted would have weakened and fled at the sight of it. "yes, sir. why not?" responded the boy, trembling a little at the knees, but stoutly holding his ground. "he wants to be a lawyer, and he asks me why not!" muttered the judge, speaking apparently to himself. he rose from his chair, walked across the room, and threw open a window. the cool morning air brought with it the babbling of the stream below and the murmur of the mill near by. he glanced across the creek to the ruined foundation of an old house on the low ground beyond the creek. turning from the window, he looked back at the boy, who had remained standing between him and the door. at that moment another lad came along the street and stopped opposite the open doorway. the presence of the two boys in connection with the book he had been reading suggested a comparison. the judge knew the lad outside as the son of a leading merchant of the town. the merchant and his wife were both of old families which had lived in the community for several generations, and whose blood was presumably of the purest strain; yet the boy was sallow, with amorphous features, thin shanks, and stooping shoulders. the youth standing in the judge's office, on the contrary, was straight, shapely, and well-grown. his eye was clear, and he kept it fixed on the old gentleman with a look in which there was nothing of cringing. he was no darker than many a white boy bronzed by the southern sun; his hair and eyes were black, and his features of the high-bred, clean-cut order that marks the patrician type the world over. what struck the judge most forcibly, however, was the lad's resemblance to an old friend and companion and client. he recalled a certain conversation with this old friend, who had said to him one day: "archie, i'm coming in to have you draw my will. there are some children for whom i would like to make ample provision. i can't give them anything else, but money will make them free of the world." the judge's friend had died suddenly before carrying out this good intention. the judge had taken occasion to suggest the existence of these children, and their father's intentions concerning them, to the distant relatives who had inherited his friend's large estate. they had chosen to take offense at the suggestion. one had thought it in shocking bad taste; another considered any mention of such a subject an insult to his cousin's memory. a third had said, with flashing eyes, that the woman and her children had already robbed the estate of enough; that it was a pity the little niggers were not slaves--that they would have added measurably to the value of the property. judge straight's manner indicated some disapproval of their attitude, and the settlement of the estate was placed in other hands than his. now, this son, with his father's face and his father's voice, stood before his father's friend, demanding entrance to the golden gate of opportunity, which society barred to all who bore the blood of the despised race. as he kept on looking at the boy, who began at length to grow somewhat embarrassed under this keen scrutiny, the judge's mind reverted to certain laws and judicial decisions that he had looked up once or twice in his lifetime. even the law, the instrument by which tyranny riveted the chains upon its victims, had revolted now and then against the senseless and unnatural prejudice by which a race ascribing its superiority to right of blood permitted a mere suspicion of servile blood to outweigh a vast preponderance of its own. "why, indeed, should he not be a lawyer, or anything else that a man might be, if it be in him?" asked the judge, speaking rather to himself than to the boy. "sit down," he ordered, pointing to a chair on the other side of the room. that he should ask a colored lad to be seated in his presence was of itself enough to stamp the judge as eccentric. "you want to be a lawyer," he went on, adjusting his spectacles. "you are aware, of course, that you are a negro?" "i am white," replied the lad, turning back his sleeve and holding out his arm, "and i am free, as all my people were before me." the old lawyer shook his head, and fixed his eyes upon the lad with a slightly quizzical smile. "you are black." he said, "and you are not free. you cannot travel without your papers; you cannot secure accommodations at an inn; you could not vote, if you were of age; you cannot be out after nine o'clock without a permit. if a white man struck you, you could not return the blow, and you could not testify against him in a court of justice. you are black, my lad, and you are not free. did you ever hear of the dred scott decision, delivered by the great, wise, and learned judge taney?" "no, sir," answered the boy. "it is too long to read," rejoined the judge, taking up the pamphlet he had laid down upon the lad's entrance, "but it says in substance, as quoted by this author, that negroes are beings 'of an inferior order, and altogether unfit to associate with the white race, either in social or political relations; in fact, so inferior that they have no rights which the white man is bound to respect, and that the negro may justly and lawfully be reduced to slavery for his benefit.' that is the law of this nation, and that is the reason why you cannot be a lawyer." "it may all be true," replied the boy, "but it don't apply to me. it says 'the negro.' a negro is black; i am white, and not black." "black as ink, my lad," returned the lawyer, shaking his head. "'one touch of nature makes the whole world kin,' says the poet. somewhere, sometime, you had a black ancestor. one drop of black blood makes the whole man black." "why shouldn't it be the other way, if the white blood is so much superior?" inquired the lad. "because it is more convenient as it is--and more profitable." "it is not right," maintained the lad. "god bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, "he is invading the field of ethics! he will be questioning the righteousness of slavery next! i'm afraid you wouldn't make a good lawyer, in any event. lawyers go by the laws--they abide by the accomplished fact; to them, whatever is, is right. the laws do not permit men of color to practice law, and public sentiment would not allow one of them to study it." "i had thought," said the lad, "that i might pass for white. there are white people darker than i am." "ah, well, that is another matter; but"-- the judge stopped for a moment, struck by the absurdity of his arguing such a question with a mulatto boy. he really must be falling into premature dotage. the proper thing would be to rebuke the lad for his presumption and advise him to learn to take care of horses, or make boots, or lay bricks. but again he saw his old friend in the lad's face, and again he looked in vain for any sign of negro blood. the least earmark would have turned the scale, but he could not find it. "that is another matter," he repeated. "here you have started as black, and must remain so. but if you wish to move away, and sink your past into oblivion, the case might be different. let us see what the law is; you might not need it if you went far enough, but it is well enough to be within it--liberty is sweeter when founded securely on the law." he took down a volume bound in legal calf and glanced through it. "the color line is drawn in north carolina at four generations removed from the negro; there have been judicial decisions to that effect. i imagine that would cover your case. but let us see what south carolina may say about it," he continued, taking another book. "i think the law is even more liberal there. ah, this is the place:-- "'the term mulatto,'" he read, "'is not invariably applicable to every admixture of african blood with the european, nor is one having all the features of a white to be ranked with the degraded class designated by the laws of this state as persons of color, because of some remote taint of the negro race. juries would probably be justified in holding a person to be white in whom the admixture of african blood did not exceed one eighth. and even where color or feature are doubtful, it is a question for the jury to decide by reputation, by reception into society, and by their exercise of the privileges of the white man, as well as by admixture of blood.'" "then i need not be black?" the boy cried, with sparkling eyes. "no," replied the lawyer, "you need not be black, away from patesville. you have the somewhat unusual privilege, it seems, of choosing between two races, and if you are a lad of spirit, as i think you are, it will not take you long to make your choice. as you have all the features of a white man, you would, at least in south carolina, have simply to assume the place and exercise the privileges of a white man. you might, of course, do the same thing anywhere, as long as no one knew your origin. but the matter has been adjudicated there in several cases, and on the whole i think south carolina is the place for you. they're more liberal there, perhaps because they have many more blacks than whites, and would like to lessen the disproportion." "from this time on," said the boy, "i am white." "softly, softly, my caucasian fellow citizen," returned the judge, chuckling with quiet amusement. "you are white in the abstract, before the law. you may cherish the fact in secret, but i would not advise you to proclaim it openly just yet. you must wait until you go away--to south carolina." "and can i learn to be a lawyer, sir?" asked the lad. "it seems to me that you ought to be reasonably content for one day with what you have learned already. you cannot be a lawyer until you are white, in position as well as in theory, nor until you are twenty-one years old. i need an office boy. if you are willing to come into my office, sweep it, keep my books dusted, and stay here when i am out, i do not care. to the rest of the town you will be my servant, and still a negro. if you choose to read my books when no one is about and be white in your own private opinion, i have no objection. when you have made up your mind to go away, perhaps what you have read may help you. but mum 's the word! if i hear a whisper of this from any other source, out you go, neck and crop! i am willing to help you make a man of yourself, but it can only be done under the rose." for two years john walden openly swept the office and surreptitiously read the law books of old judge straight. when he was eighteen, he asked his mother for a sum of money, kissed her good-by, and went out into the world. when his sister, then a pretty child of seven, cried because her big brother was going away, he took her up in his arms, gave her a silver dime with a hole in it for a keepsake, hugged her close, and kissed her. "nev' min', sis," he said soothingly. "be a good little gal, an' some o' these days i'll come back to see you and bring you somethin' fine." in after years, when mis' molly was asked what had become of her son, she would reply with sad complacency,-- "he's gone over on the other side." as we have seen, he came back ten years later. many years before, when mis' molly, then a very young woman, had taken up her residence in the house behind the cedars, the gentleman heretofore referred to had built a cabin on the opposite corner, in which he had installed a trusted slave by the name of peter fowler and his wife nancy. peter was a good mechanic, and hired his time from his master with the provision that peter and his wife should do certain work for mis' molly and serve as a sort of protection for her. in course of time peter, who was industrious and thrifty, saved enough money to purchase his freedom and that of his wife and their one child, and to buy the little house across the street, with the cooper shop behind it. after they had acquired their freedom, peter and nancy did no work for mis' molly save as they were paid for it, and as a rule preferred not to work at all for the woman who had been practically their mistress; it made them seem less free. nevertheless, the two households had remained upon good terms, even after the death of the man whose will had brought them together, and who had remained peter's patron after he had ceased to be his master. there was no intimate association between the two families. mis' molly felt herself infinitely superior to peter and his wife,--scarcely less superior than her poor white neighbors felt themselves to mis' molly. mis' molly always meant to be kind, and treated peter and nancy with a certain good-natured condescension. they resented this, never openly or offensively, but always in a subconscious sort of way, even when they did not speak of it among themselves--much as they had resented her mistress-ship in the old days. for after all, they argued, in spite of her airs and graces, her white face and her fine clothes, was she not a negro, even as themselves? and since the slaves had been freed, was not one negro as good as another? peter's son frank had grown up with little rena. he was several years older than she, and when rena was a small child mis' molly had often confided her to his care, and he had watched over her and kept her from harm. when frank became old enough to go to work in the cooper shop, rena, then six or seven, had often gone across to play among the clean white shavings. once frank, while learning the trade, had let slip a sharp steel tool, which flying toward rena had grazed her arm and sent the red blood coursing along the white flesh and soaking the muslin sleeve. he had rolled up the sleeve and stanched the blood and dried her tears. for a long time thereafter her mother kept her away from the shop and was very cold to frank. one day the little girl wandered down to the bank of the old canal. it had been raining for several days, and the water was quite deep in the channel. the child slipped and fell into the stream. from the open window of the cooper shop frank heard a scream. he ran down to the canal and pulled her out, and carried her all wet and dripping to the house. from that time he had been restored to favor. he had watched the girl grow up to womanhood in the years following the war, and had been sorry when she became too old to play about the shop. he never spoke to her of love,--indeed, he never thought of his passion in such a light. there would have been no legal barrier to their union; there would have been no frightful menace to white supremacy in the marriage of the negro and the octoroon: the drop of dark blood bridged the chasm. but frank knew that she did not love him, and had not hoped that she might. his was one of those rare souls that can give with small hope of return. when he had made the scar upon her arm, by the same token she had branded him her slave forever; when he had saved her from a watery grave, he had given his life to her. there are depths of fidelity and devotion in the negro heart that have never been fathomed or fully appreciated. now and then in the kindlier phases of slavery these qualities were brightly conspicuous, and in them, if wisely appealed to, lies the strongest hope of amity between the two races whose destiny seems bound up together in the western world. even a dumb brute can be won by kindness. surely it were worth while to try some other weapon than scorn and contumely and hard words upon people of our common race,--the human race, which is bigger and broader than celt or saxon, barbarian or greek, jew or gentile, black or white; for we are all children of a common father, forget it as we may, and each one of us is in some measure his brother's keeper. xix god made us all rena was convalescent from a two-weeks' illness when her brother came to see her. he arrived at patesville by an early morning train before the town was awake, and walked unnoticed from the station to his mother's house. his meeting with his sister was not without emotion: he embraced her tenderly, and rena became for a few minutes a very niobe of grief. "oh, it was cruel, cruel!" she sobbed. "i shall never get over it." "i know it, my dear," replied warwick soothingly,--"i know it, and i'm to blame for it. if i had never taken you away from here, you would have escaped this painful experience. but do not despair; all is not lost. tryon will not marry you, as i hoped he might, while i feared the contrary; but he is a gentleman, and will be silent. come back and try again." "no, john. i couldn't go through it a second time. i managed very well before, when i thought our secret was unknown; but now i could never be sure. it would be borne on every wind, for aught i knew, and every rustling leaf might whisper it. the law, you said, made us white; but not the law, nor even love, can conquer prejudice. he spoke of my beauty, my grace, my sweetness! i looked into his eyes and believed him. and yet he left me without a word! what would i do in clarence now? i came away engaged to be married, with even the day set; i should go back forsaken and discredited; even the servants would pity me." "little albert is pining for you," suggested warwick. "we could make some explanation that would spare your feelings." "ah, do not tempt me, john! i love the child, and am grieved to leave him. i'm grateful, too, john, for what you have done for me. i am not sorry that i tried it. it opened my eyes, and i would rather die of knowledge than live in ignorance. but i could not go through it again, john; i am not strong enough. i could do you no good; i have made you trouble enough already. get a mother for albert--mrs. newberry would marry you, secret and all, and would be good to the child. forget me, john, and take care of yourself. your friend has found you out through me--he may have told a dozen people. you think he will be silent;--i thought he loved me, and he left me without a word, and with a look that told me how he hated and despised me. i would not have believed it--even of a white man." "you do him an injustice," said her brother, producing tryon's letter. "he did not get off unscathed. he sent you a message." she turned her face away, but listened while he read the letter. "he did not love me," she cried angrily, when he had finished, "or he would not have cast me off--he would not have looked at me so. the law would have let him marry me. i seemed as white as he did. he might have gone anywhere with me, and no one would have stared at us curiously; no one need have known. the world is wide--there must be some place where a man could live happily with the woman he loved." "yes, rena, there is; and the world is wide enough for you to get along without tryon." "for a day or two," she went on, "i hoped he might come back. but his expression in that awful moment grew upon me, haunted me day and night, until i shuddered at the thought that i might ever see him again. he looked at me as though i were not even a human being. i do not love him any longer, john; i would not marry him if i were white, or he were as i am. he did not love me--or he would have acted differently. he might have loved me and have left me--he could not have loved me and have looked at me so!" she was weeping hysterically. there was little he could say to comfort her. presently she dried her tears. warwick was reluctant to leave her in patesville. her childish happiness had been that of ignorance; she could never be happy there again. she had flowered in the sunlight; she must not pine away in the shade. "if you won't come back with me, rena, i'll send you to some school at the north, where you can acquire a liberal education, and prepare yourself for some career of usefulness. you may marry a better man than even tryon." "no," she replied firmly, "i shall never marry any man, and i'll not leave mother again. god is against it; i'll stay with my own people." "god has nothing to do with it," retorted warwick. "god is too often a convenient stalking-horse for human selfishness. if there is anything to be done, so unjust, so despicable, so wicked that human reason revolts at it, there is always some smug hypocrite to exclaim, 'it is the will of god.'" "god made us all," continued rena dreamily, "and for some good purpose, though we may not always see it. he made some people white, and strong, and masterful, and--heartless. he made others black and homely, and poor and weak"-- "and a lot of others 'poor white' and shiftless," smiled warwick. "he made us, too," continued rena, intent upon her own thought, "and he must have had a reason for it. perhaps he meant us to bring the others together in his own good time. a man may make a new place for himself--a woman is born and bound to hers. god must have meant me to stay here, or he would not have sent me back. i shall accept things as they are. why should i seek the society of people whose friendship--and love--one little word can turn to scorn? i was right, john; i ought to have told him. suppose he had married me and then had found it out?" to rena's argument of divine foreordination warwick attached no weight whatever. he had seen god's heel planted for four long years upon the land which had nourished slavery. had god ordained the crime that the punishment might follow? it would have been easier for omnipotence to prevent the crime. the experience of his sister had stirred up a certain bitterness against white people--a feeling which he had put aside years ago, with his dark blood, but which sprang anew into life when the fact of his own origin was brought home to him so forcibly through his sister's misfortune. his sworn friend and promised brother-in-law had thrown him over promptly, upon the discovery of the hidden drop of dark blood. how many others of his friends would do the same, if they but knew of it? he had begun to feel a little of the spiritual estrangement from his associates that he had noticed in rena during her life at clarence. the fact that several persons knew his secret had spoiled the fine flavor of perfect security hitherto marking his position. george tryon was a man of honor among white men, and had deigned to extend the protection of his honor to warwick as a man, though no longer as a friend; to rena as a woman, but not as a wife. tryon, however, was only human, and who could tell when their paths in life might cross again, or what future temptation tryon might feel to use a damaging secret to their disadvantage? warwick had cherished certain ambitions, but these he must now put behind him. in the obscurity of private life, his past would be of little moment; in the glare of a political career, one's antecedents are public property, and too great a reserve in regard to one's past is regarded as a confession of something discreditable. frank, too, knew the secret--a good, faithful fellow, even where there was no obligation of fidelity; he ought to do something for frank to show their appreciation of his conduct. but what assurance was there that frank would always be discreet about the affairs of others? judge straight knew the whole story, and old men are sometimes garrulous. dr. green suspected the secret; he had a wife and daughters. if old judge straight could have known warwick's thoughts, he would have realized the fulfillment of his prophecy. warwick, who had builded so well for himself, had weakened the structure of his own life by trying to share his good fortune with his sister. "listen, rena," he said, with a sudden impulse, "we'll go to the north or west--i'll go with you--far away from the south and the southern people, and start life over again. it will be easier for you, it will not be hard for me--i am young, and have means. there are no strong ties to bind me to the south. i would have a larger outlook elsewhere." "and what about our mother?" asked rena. it would be necessary to leave her behind, they both perceived clearly enough, unless they were prepared to surrender the advantage of their whiteness and drop back to the lower rank. the mother bore the mark of the ethiopian--not pronouncedly, but distinctly; neither would mis' molly, in all probability, care to leave home and friends and the graves of her loved ones. she had no mental resources to supply the place of these; she was, moreover, too old to be transplanted; she would not fit into warwick's scheme for a new life. "i left her once," said rena, "and it brought pain and sorrow to all three of us. she is not strong, and i will not leave her here to die alone. this shall be my home while she lives, and if i leave it again, it shall be for only a short time, to go where i can write to her freely, and hear from her often. don't worry about me, john,--i shall do very well." warwick sighed. he was sincerely sorry to leave his sister, and yet he saw that for the time being her resolution was not to be shaken. he must bide his time. perhaps, in a few months, she would tire of the old life. his door would be always open to her, and he would charge himself with her future. "well, then," he said, concluding the argument, "we'll say no more about it for the present. i'll write to you later. i was afraid that you might not care to go back just now, and so i brought your trunk along with me." he gave his mother the baggage-check. she took it across to frank, who, during the day, brought the trunk from the depot. mis' molly offered to pay him for the service, but he would accept nothing. "lawd, no, mis' molly; i did n' hafter go out'n my way ter git dat trunk. i had a load er sperrit-bairls ter haul ter de still, an' de depot wuz right on my way back. it'd be robbin' you ter take pay fer a little thing lack dat." "my son john's here," said mis' molly "an' he wants to see you. come into the settin'-room. we don't want folks to know he's in town; but you know all our secrets, an' we can trust you like one er the family." "i'm glad to see you again, frank," said warwick, extending his hand and clasping frank's warmly. "you've grown up since i saw you last, but it seems you are still our good friend." "our very good friend," interjected rena. frank threw her a grateful glance. "yas, suh," he said, looking warwick over with a friendly eye, "an' you is growed some, too. i seed you, you know, down dere where you live; but i did n' let on, fer you an' mis' rena wuz w'ite as anybody; an' eve'ybody said you wuz good ter cullud folks, an' he'ped 'em in deir lawsuits an' one way er 'nuther, an' i wuz jes' plum' glad ter see you gettin' 'long so fine, dat i wuz, certain sho', an' no mistake about it." "thank you, frank, and i want you to understand how much i appreciate"-- "how much we all appreciate," corrected rena. "yes, how much we all appreciate, and how grateful we all are for your kindness to mother for so many years. i know from her and from my sister how good you've been to them." "lawd, suh!" returned frank deprecatingly, "you're makin' a mountain out'n a molehill. i ain't done nuthin' ter speak of--not half ez much ez i would 'a' done. i wuz glad ter do w'at little i could, fer frien'ship's sake." "we value your friendship, frank, and we'll not forget it." "no, frank," added rena, "we will never forget it, and you shall always be our good friend." frank left the room and crossed the street with swelling heart. he would have given his life for rena. a kind word was doubly sweet from her lips; no service would be too great to pay for her friendship. when frank went out to the stable next morning to feed his mule, his eyes opened wide with astonishment. in place of the decrepit, one-eyed army mule he had put up the night before, a fat, sleek specimen of vigorous mulehood greeted his arrival with the sonorous hehaw of lusty youth. hanging on a peg near by was a set of fine new harness, and standing under the adjoining shed, as he perceived, a handsome new cart. "well, well!" exclaimed frank; "ef i did n' mos' know whar dis mule, an' dis kyart, an' dis harness come from, i'd 'low dere 'd be'n witcheraf' er cunjin' wukkin' here. but, oh my, dat is a fine mule!--i mos' wush i could keep 'im." he crossed the road to the house behind the cedars, and found mis' molly in the kitchen. "mis' molly," he protested, "i ain't done nuthin' ter deserve dat mule. w'at little i done fer you wa'n't done fer pay. i'd ruther not keep dem things." "fer goodness' sake, frank!" exclaimed his neighbor, with a well-simulated air of mystification, "what are you talkin' about?" "you knows w'at i'm talkin' about, mis' molly; you knows well ernuff i'm talkin' about dat fine mule an' kyart an' harness over dere in my stable." "how should i know anything about 'em?" she asked. "now, mis' molly! you folks is jes' tryin' ter fool me, an' make me take somethin' fer nuthin'. i lef' my ole mule an' kyart an' harness in de stable las' night, an' dis mawnin' dey 're gone, an' new ones in deir place. co'se you knows whar dey come from!" "well, now, frank, sence you mention it, i did see a witch flyin' roun' here las' night on a broom-stick, an' it 'peared ter me she lit on yo'r barn, an' i s'pose she turned yo'r old things into new ones. i wouldn't bother my mind about it if i was you, for she may turn 'em back any night, you know; an' you might as well have the use of 'em in the mean while." "dat's all foolishness, mis' molly, an' i'm gwine ter fetch dat mule right over here an' tell yo' son ter gimme my ole one back." "my son's gone," she replied, "an' i don't know nothin' about yo'r old mule. and what would i do with a mule, anyhow? i ain't got no barn to put him in." "i suspect you don't care much for us after all, frank," said rena reproachfully--she had come in while they were talking. "you meet with a piece of good luck, and you're afraid of it, lest it might have come from us." "now, miss rena, you oughtn't ter say dat," expostulated frank, his reluctance yielding immediately. "i'll keep de mule an' de kyart an' de harness--fac', i'll have ter keep 'em, 'cause i ain't got no others. but dey 're gwine ter be yo'n ez much ez mine. w'enever you wants anything hauled, er wants yo' lot ploughed, er anything--dat's yo' mule, an' i'm yo' man an' yo' mammy's." so frank went back to the stable, where he feasted his eyes on his new possessions, fed and watered the mule, and curried and brushed his coat until it shone like a looking-glass. "now dat," remarked peter, at the breakfast-table, when informed of the transaction, "is somethin' lack rale w'ite folks." no real white person had ever given peter a mule or a cart. he had rendered one of them unpaid service for half a lifetime, and had paid for the other half; and some of them owed him substantial sums for work performed. but "to him that hath shall be given"--warwick paid for the mule, and the real white folks got most of the credit. xx digging up roots when the first great shock of his discovery wore off, the fact of rena's origin lost to tryon some of its initial repugnance--indeed, the repugnance was not to the woman at all, as their past relations were evidence, but merely to the thought of her as a wife. it could hardly have failed to occur to so reasonable a man as tryon that rena's case could scarcely be unique. surely in the past centuries of free manners and easy morals that had prevailed in remote parts of the south, there must have been many white persons whose origin would not have borne too microscopic an investigation. family trees not seldom have a crooked branch; or, to use a more apposite figure, many a flock has its black sheep. being a man of lively imagination, tryon soon found himself putting all sorts of hypothetical questions about a matter which he had already definitely determined. if he had married rena in ignorance of her secret, and had learned it afterwards, would he have put her aside? if, knowing her history, he had nevertheless married her, and she had subsequently displayed some trait of character that would suggest the negro, could he have forgotten or forgiven the taint? could he still have held her in love and honor? if not, could he have given her the outward seeming of affection, or could he have been more than coldly tolerant? he was glad that he had been spared this ordeal. with an effort he put the whole matter definitely and conclusively aside, as he had done a hundred times already. returning to his home, after an absence of several months in south carolina, it was quite apparent to his mother's watchful eye that he was in serious trouble. he was absent-minded, monosyllabic, sighed deeply and often, and could not always conceal the traces of secret tears. for tryon was young, and possessed of a sensitive soul--a source of happiness or misery, as the fates decree. to those thus dowered, the heights of rapture are accessible, the abysses of despair yawn threateningly; only the dull monotony of contentment is denied. mrs. tryon vainly sought by every gentle art a woman knows to win her son's confidence. "what is the matter, george, dear?" she would ask, stroking his hot brow with her small, cool hand as he sat moodily nursing his grief. "tell your mother, george. who else could comfort you so well as she?" "oh, it's nothing, mother,--nothing at all," he would reply, with a forced attempt at lightness. "it's only your fond imagination, you best of mothers." it was mrs. tryon's turn to sigh and shed a clandestine tear. until her son had gone away on this trip to south carolina, he had kept no secrets from her: his heart had been an open book, of which she knew every page; now, some painful story was inscribed therein which he meant she should not read. if she could have abdicated her empire to blanche leary or have shared it with her, she would have yielded gracefully; but very palpably some other influence than blanche's had driven joy from her son's countenance and lightness from his heart. miss blanche leary, whom tryon found in the house upon his return, was a demure, pretty little blonde, with an amiable disposition, a talent for society, and a pronounced fondness for george tryon. a poor girl, of an excellent family impoverished by the war, she was distantly related to mrs. tryon, had for a long time enjoyed that lady's favor, and was her choice for george's wife when he should be old enough to marry. a woman less interested than miss leary would have perceived that there was something wrong with tryon. miss leary had no doubt that there was a woman at the bottom of it,--for about what else should youth worry but love? or if one's love affairs run smoothly, why should one worry about anything at all? miss leary, in the nineteen years of her mundane existence, had not been without mild experiences of the heart, and had hovered for some time on the verge of disappointment with respect to tryon himself. a sensitive pride would have driven more than one woman away at the sight of the man of her preference sighing like a furnace for some absent fair one. but mrs. tryon was so cordial, and insisted so strenuously upon her remaining, that blanche's love, which was strong, conquered her pride, which was no more than a reasonable young woman ought to have who sets success above mere sentiment. she remained in the house and bided her opportunity. if george practically ignored her for a time, she did not throw herself at all in his way. she went on a visit to some girls in the neighborhood and remained away a week, hoping that she might be missed. tryon expressed no regret at her departure and no particular satisfaction upon her return. if the house was duller in her absence, he was but dimly conscious of the difference. he was still fighting a battle in which a susceptible heart and a reasonable mind had locked horns in a well-nigh hopeless conflict. reason, common-sense, the instinctive ready-made judgments of his training and environment,--the deep-seated prejudices of race and caste,--commanded him to dismiss rena from his thoughts. his stubborn heart simply would not let go. xxi a gilded opportunity although the whole fabric of rena's new life toppled and fell with her lover's defection, her sympathies, broadened by culture and still more by her recent emotional experience, did not shrink, as would have been the case with a more selfish soul, to the mere limits of her personal sorrow, great as this seemed at the moment. she had learned to love, and when the love of one man failed her, she turned to humanity, as a stream obstructed in its course overflows the adjacent country. her early training had not directed her thoughts to the darker people with whose fate her own was bound up so closely, but rather away from them. she had been taught to despise them because they were not so white as she was, and had been slaves while she was free. her life in her brother's home, by removing her from immediate contact with them, had given her a different point of view,--one which emphasized their shortcomings, and thereby made vastly clearer to her the gulf that separated them from the new world in which she lived; so that when misfortune threw her back upon them, the reaction brought her nearer than before. where once she had seemed able to escape from them, they were now, it appeared, her inalienable race. thus doubly equipped, she was able to view them at once with the mental eye of an outsider and the sympathy of a sister: she could see their faults, and judge them charitably; she knew and appreciated their good qualities. with her quickened intelligence she could perceive how great was their need and how small their opportunity; and with this illumination came the desire to contribute to their help. she had not the breadth or culture to see in all its ramifications the great problem which still puzzles statesmen and philosophers; but she was conscious of the wish, and of the power, in a small way, to do something for the advancement of those who had just set their feet upon the ladder of progress. this new-born desire to be of service to her rediscovered people was not long without an opportunity for expression. yet the fates willed that her future should be but another link in a connected chain: she was to be as powerless to put aside her recent past as she had been to escape from the influence of her earlier life. there are sordid souls that eat and drink and breed and die, and imagine they have lived. but rena's life since her great awakening had been that of the emotions, and her temperament made of it a continuous life. her successive states of consciousness were not detachable, but united to form a single if not an entirely harmonious whole. to her sensitive spirit to-day was born of yesterday, to-morrow would be but the offspring of to day. one day, along toward noon, her mother received a visit from mary b. pettifoot, a second cousin, who lived on back street, only a short distance from the house behind the cedars. rena had gone out, so that the visitor found mis' molly alone. "i heared you say, cousin molly," said mary b. (no one ever knew what the b. in mary's name stood for,--it was a mere ornamental flourish), "that rena was talkin' 'bout teachin' school. i've got a good chance fer her, ef she keers ter take it. my cousin jeff wain 'rived in town this mo'nin', f'm 'way down in sampson county, ter git a teacher fer the nigger school in his deestric'. i s'pose he mought 'a' got one f'm 'roun' newbern, er goldsboro, er some er them places eas', but he 'lowed he'd like to visit some er his kin an' ole frien's, an' so kill two birds with one stone." "i seed a strange mulatter man, with a bay hoss an' a new buggy, drivin' by here this mo'nin' early, from down to'ds the river," rejoined mis' molly. "i wonder if that wuz him?" "did he have on a linen duster?" asked mary b. "yas, an' 'peared to be a very well sot up man," replied mis' molly, "'bout thirty-five years old, i should reckon." "that wuz him," assented mary b. "he's got a fine hoss an' buggy, an' a gol' watch an' chain, an' a big plantation, an' lots er hosses an' mules an' cows an' hawgs. he raise' fifty bales er cotton las' year, an' he's be'n ter the legislatur'." "my gracious!" exclaimed mis' molly, struck with awe at this catalogue of the stranger's possessions--he was evidently worth more than a great many "rich" white people,--all white people in north carolina in those days were either "rich" or "poor," the distinction being one of caste rather than of wealth. "is he married?" she inquired with interest? "no,--single. you mought 'low it was quare that he should n' be married at his age; but he was crossed in love oncet,"--mary b. heaved a self-conscious sigh,--"an' has stayed single ever sence. that wuz ten years ago, but as some husban's is long-lived, an' there ain' no mo' chance fer 'im now than there wuz then, i reckon some nice gal mought stan' a good show er ketchin' 'im, ef she'd play her kyards right." to mis' molly this was news of considerable importance. she had not thought a great deal of rena's plan to teach; she considered it lowering for rena, after having been white, to go among the negroes any more than was unavoidable. this opportunity, however, meant more than mere employment for her daughter. she had felt rena's disappointment keenly, from the practical point of view, and, blaming herself for it, held herself all the more bound to retrieve the misfortune in any possible way. if she had not been sick, rena would not have dreamed the fateful dream that had brought her to patesville; for the connection between the vision and the reality was even closer in mis' molly's eyes than in rena's. if the mother had not sent the letter announcing her illness and confirming the dream, rena would not have ruined her promising future by coming to patesville. but the harm had been done, and she was responsible, ignorantly of course, but none the less truly, and it only remained for her to make amends, as far as possible. her highest ambition, since rena had grown up, had been to see her married and comfortably settled in life. she had no hope that tryon would come back. rena had declared that she would make no further effort to get away from her people; and, furthermore, that she would never marry. to this latter statement mis' molly secretly attached but little importance. that a woman should go single from the cradle to the grave did not accord with her experience in life of the customs of north carolina. she respected a grief she could not entirely fathom, yet did not for a moment believe that rena would remain unmarried. "you'd better fetch him roun' to see me, ma'y b.," she said, "an' let's see what he looks like. i'm pertic'lar 'bout my gal. she says she ain't goin' to marry nobody; but of co'se we know that's all foolishness." "i'll fetch him roun' this evenin' 'bout three o'clock," said the visitor, rising. "i mus' hurry back now an' keep him comp'ny. tell rena ter put on her bes' bib an' tucker; for mr. wain is pertic'lar too, an' i've already be'n braggin' 'bout her looks." when mary b., at the appointed hour, knocked at mis' molly's front door,--the visit being one of ceremony, she had taken her cousin round to the front street entrance and through the flower garden,--mis' molly was prepared to receive them. after a decent interval, long enough to suggest that she had not been watching their approach and was not over-eager about the visit, she answered the knock and admitted them into the parlor. mr. wain was formally introduced, and seated himself on the ancient haircloth sofa, under the framed fashion-plate, while mary b. sat by the open door and fanned herself with a palm-leaf fan. mis' molly's impression of wain was favorable. his complexion was of a light brown--not quite so fair as mis' molly would have preferred; but any deficiency in this regard, or in the matter of the stranger's features, which, while not unpleasing, leaned toward the broad mulatto type, was more than compensated in her eyes by very straight black hair, and, as soon appeared, a great facility of complimentary speech. on his introduction mr. wain bowed low, assumed an air of great admiration, and expressed his extreme delight in making the acquaintance of so distinguished-looking a lady. "you're flatt'rin' me, mr. wain," returned mis' molly, with a gratified smile. "but you want to meet my daughter befo' you commence th'owin' bokays. excuse my leavin' you--i'll go an' fetch her." she returned in a moment, followed by rena. "mr. wain, 'low me to int'oduce you to my daughter rena. rena, this is ma'y b.'s cousin on her pappy's side, who's come up from sampson to git a school-teacher." rena bowed gracefully. wain stared a moment in genuine astonishment, and then bent himself nearly double, keeping his eyes fixed meanwhile upon rena's face. he had expected to see a pretty yellow girl, but had been prepared for no such radiant vision of beauty as this which now confronted him. "does--does you mean ter say, mis' walden, dat--dat dis young lady is yo' own daughter?" he stammered, rallying his forces for action. "why not, mr. wain?" asked mis' molly, bridling with mock resentment. "do you mean ter 'low that she wuz changed in her cradle, er is she too good-lookin' to be my daughter?" "my deah mis' walden! it 'ud be wastin' wo'ds fer me ter say dat dey ain' no young lady too good-lookin' ter be yo' daughter; but you're lookin' so young yo'sef dat i'd ruther take her fer yo' sister." "yas," rejoined mis' molly, with animation, "they ain't many years between us. i wuz ruther young myself when she wuz bo'n." "an', mo'over," wain went on, "it takes me a minute er so ter git my min' use' ter thinkin' er mis' rena as a cullud young lady. i mought 'a' seed her a hund'ed times, an' i'd 'a' never dreamt but w'at she wuz a w'ite young lady, f'm one er de bes' families." "yas, mr. wain," replied mis' molly complacently, "all three er my child'en wuz white, an' one of 'em has be'n on the other side fer many long years. rena has be'n to school, an' has traveled, an' has had chances--better chances than anybody roun' here knows." "she's jes' de lady i'm lookin' fer, ter teach ou' school," rejoined wain, with emphasis. "wid her schoolin' an' my riccommen', she kin git a fus'-class ce'tifikit an' draw fo'ty dollars a month; an' a lady er her color kin keep a lot er little niggers straighter 'n a darker lady could. we jus' got ter have her ter teach ou' school--ef we kin git her." rena's interest in the prospect of employment at her chosen work was so great that she paid little attention to wain's compliments. mis' molly led mary b. away to the kitchen on some pretext, and left rena to entertain the gentleman. she questioned him eagerly about the school, and he gave the most glowing accounts of the elegant school-house, the bright pupils, and the congenial society of the neighborhood. he spoke almost entirely in superlatives, and, after making due allowance for what rena perceived to be a temperamental tendency to exaggeration, she concluded that she would find in the school a worthy field of usefulness, and in this polite and good-natured though somewhat wordy man a coadjutor upon whom she could rely in her first efforts; for she was not over-confident of her powers, which seemed to grow less as the way opened for their exercise. "do you think i'm competent to teach the school?" she asked of the visitor, after stating some of her qualifications. "oh, dere 's no doubt about it, miss rena," replied wain, who had listened with an air of great wisdom, though secretly aware that he was too ignorant of letters to form a judgment; "you kin teach de school all right, an' could ef you didn't know half ez much. you won't have no trouble managin' de child'en, nuther. ef any of 'em gits onruly, jes' call on me fer he'p, an' i'll make 'em walk spanish. i'm chuhman er de school committee, an' i'll lam de hide off'n any scholar dat don' behave. you kin trus' me fer dat, sho' ez i'm a-settin' here." "then," said rena, "i'll undertake it, and do my best. i'm sure you'll not be too exacting." "yo' bes', miss rena,'ll be de bes' dey is. don' you worry ner fret. dem niggers won't have no other teacher after dey've once laid eyes on you: i'll guarantee dat. dere won't be no trouble, not a bit." "well, cousin molly," said mary b. to mis' molly in the kitchen, "how does the plan strike you?" "ef rena's satisfied, i am," replied mis' molly. "but you'd better say nothin' about ketchin' a beau, or any such foolishness, er else she'd be just as likely not to go nigh sampson county." "befo' cousin jeff goes back," confided mary b., "i'd like ter give 'im a party, but my house is too small. i wuz wonderin'," she added tentatively, "ef i could n' borry yo' house." "shorely, ma'y b. i'm int'rested in mr. wain on rena's account, an' it's as little as i kin do to let you use my house an' help you git things ready." the date of the party was set for thursday night, as wain was to leave patesville on friday morning, taking with him the new teacher. the party would serve the double purpose of a compliment to the guest and a farewell to rena, and it might prove the precursor, the mother secretly hoped, of other festivities to follow at some later date. xxii imperative business one wednesday morning, about six weeks after his return home, tryon received a letter from judge straight with reference to the note left with him at patesville for collection. this communication properly required an answer, which might have been made in writing within the compass of ten lines. no sooner, however, had tryon read the letter than he began to perceive reasons why it should be answered in person. he had left patesville under extremely painful circumstances, vowing that he would never return; and yet now the barest pretext, by which no one could have been deceived except willingly, was sufficient to turn his footsteps thither again. he explained to his mother--with a vagueness which she found somewhat puzzling, but ascribed to her own feminine obtuseness in matters of business--the reasons that imperatively demanded his presence in patesville. with an early start he could drive there in one day,--he had an excellent roadster, a light buggy, and a recent rain had left the road in good condition,--a day would suffice for the transaction of his business, and the third day would bring him home again. he set out on his journey on thursday morning, with this programme very clearly outlined. tryon would not at first have admitted even to himself that rena's presence in patesville had any bearing whatever upon his projected visit. the matter about which judge straight had written might, it was clear, be viewed in several aspects. the judge had written him concerning the one of immediate importance. it would be much easier to discuss the subject in all its bearings, and clean up the whole matter, in one comprehensive personal interview. the importance of this business, then, seemed very urgent for the first few hours of tryon's journey. ordinarily a careful driver and merciful to his beast, his eagerness to reach patesville increased gradually until it became necessary to exercise some self-restraint in order not to urge his faithful mare beyond her powers; and soon he could no longer pretend obliviousness of the fact that some attraction stronger than the whole amount of duncan mcswayne's note was urging him irresistibly toward his destination. the old town beyond the distant river, his heart told him clamorously, held the object in all the world to him most dear. memory brought up in vivid detail every moment of his brief and joyous courtship, each tender word, each enchanting smile, every fond caress. he lived his past happiness over again down to the moment of that fatal discovery. what horrible fate was it that had involved him--nay, that had caught this sweet delicate girl in such a blind alley? a wild hope flashed across his mind: perhaps the ghastly story might not be true; perhaps, after all, the girl was no more a negro than she seemed. he had heard sad stories of white children, born out of wedlock, abandoned by sinful parents to the care or adoption of colored women, who had reared them as their own, the children's future basely sacrificed to hide the parents' shame. he would confront this reputed mother of his darling and wring the truth from her. he was in a state of mind where any sort of a fairy tale would have seemed reasonable. he would almost have bribed some one to tell him that the woman he had loved, the woman he still loved (he felt a thrill of lawless pleasure in the confession), was not the descendant of slaves,--that he might marry her, and not have before his eyes the gruesome fear that some one of their children might show even the faintest mark of the despised race. at noon he halted at a convenient hamlet, fed and watered his mare, and resumed his journey after an hour's rest. by this time he had well-nigh forgotten about the legal business that formed the ostensible occasion for his journey, and was conscious only of a wild desire to see the woman whose image was beckoning him on to patesville as fast as his horse could take him. at sundown he stopped again, about ten miles from the town, and cared for his now tired beast. he knew her capacity, however, and calculated that she could stand the additional ten miles without injury. the mare set out with reluctance, but soon settled resignedly down into a steady jog. memory had hitherto assailed tryon with the vision of past joys. as he neared the town, imagination attacked him with still more moving images. he had left her, this sweet flower of womankind--white or not, god had never made a fairer!--he had seen her fall to the hard pavement, with he knew not what resulting injury. he had left her tender frame--the touch of her finger-tips had made him thrill with happiness--to be lifted by strange hands, while he with heartless pride had driven deliberately away, without a word of sorrow or regret. he had ignored her as completely as though she had never existed. that he had been deceived was true. but had he not aided in his own deception? had not warwick told him distinctly that they were of no family, and was it not his own fault that he had not followed up the clue thus given him? had not rena compared herself to the child's nurse, and had he not assured her that if she were the nurse, he would marry her next day? the deception had been due more to his own blindness than to any lack of honesty on the part of rena and her brother. in the light of his present feelings they seemed to have been absurdly outspoken. he was glad that he had kept his discovery to himself. he had considered himself very magnanimous not to have exposed the fraud that was being perpetrated upon society: it was with a very comfortable feeling that he now realized that the matter was as profound a secret as before. "she ought to have been born white," he muttered, adding weakly, "i would to god that i had never found her out!" drawing near the bridge that crossed the river to the town, he pictured to himself a pale girl, with sorrowful, tear-stained eyes, pining away in the old gray house behind the cedars for love of him, dying, perhaps, of a broken heart. he would hasten to her; he would dry her tears with kisses; he would express sorrow for his cruelty. the tired mare had crossed the bridge and was slowly toiling up front street; she was near the limit of her endurance, and tryon did not urge her. they might talk the matter over, and if they must part, part at least they would in peace and friendship. if he could not marry her, he would never marry any one else; it would be cruel for him to seek happiness while she was denied it, for, having once given her heart to him, she could never, he was sure,--so instinctively fine was her nature,--she could never love any one less worthy than himself, and would therefore probably never marry. he knew from a clarence acquaintance, who had written him a letter, that rena had not reappeared in that town. if he should discover--the chance was one in a thousand--that she was white; or if he should find it too hard to leave her--ah, well! he was a white man, one of a race born to command. he would make her white; no one beyond the old town would ever know the difference. if, perchance, their secret should be disclosed, the world was wide; a man of courage and ambition, inspired by love, might make a career anywhere. circumstances made weak men; strong men mould circumstances to do their bidding. he would not let his darling die of grief, whatever the price must be paid for her salvation. she was only a few rods away from him now. in a moment he would see her; he would take her tenderly in his arms, and heart to heart they would mutually forgive and forget, and, strengthened by their love, would face the future boldly and bid the world do its worst. xxiii the guest of honor the evening of the party arrived. the house had been thoroughly cleaned in preparation for the event, and decorated with the choicest treasures of the garden. by eight o'clock the guests had gathered. they were all mulattoes,--all people of mixed blood were called "mulattoes" in north carolina. there were dark mulattoes and bright mulattoes. mis' molly's guests were mostly of the bright class, most of them more than half white, and few of them less. in mis' molly's small circle, straight hair was the only palliative of a dark complexion. many of the guests would not have been casually distinguishable from white people of the poorer class. others bore unmistakable traces of indian ancestry,--for cherokee and tuscarora blood was quite widely diffused among the free negroes of north carolina, though well-nigh lost sight of by the curious custom of the white people to ignore anything but the negro blood in those who were touched by its potent current. very few of those present had been slaves. the free colored people of patesville were numerous enough before the war to have their own "society," and human enough to despise those who did not possess advantages equal to their own; and at this time they still looked down upon those who had once been held in bondage. the only black man present occupied a chair which stood on a broad chest in one corner, and extracted melody from a fiddle to which a whole generation of the best people of patesville had danced and made merry. uncle needham seldom played for colored gatherings, but made an exception in mis' molly's case; she was not white, but he knew her past; if she was not the rose, she had at least been near the rose. when the company had gathered, mary b., as mistress of ceremonies, whispered to uncle needham, who tapped his violin sharply with the bow. "ladies an' gent'emens, take yo' pa'dners fer a fuhginny reel!" mr. wain, as the guest of honor, opened the ball with his hostess. he wore a broadcloth coat and trousers, a heavy glittering chain across the spacious front of his white waistcoat, and a large red rose in his buttonhole. if his boots were slightly run down at the heel, so trivial a detail passed unnoticed in the general splendor of his attire. upon a close or hostile inspection there would have been some features of his ostensibly good-natured face--the shifty eye, the full and slightly drooping lower lip--which might have given a student of physiognomy food for reflection. but whatever the latent defects of wain's character, he proved himself this evening a model of geniality, presuming not at all upon his reputed wealth, but winning golden opinions from those who came to criticise, of whom, of course, there were a few, the company being composed of human beings. when the dance began, wain extended his large, soft hand to mary b., yellow, buxom, thirty, with white and even teeth glistening behind her full red lips. a younger sister of mary b.'s was paired with billy oxendine, a funny little tailor, a great gossip, and therefore a favorite among the women. mis' molly graciously consented, after many protestations of lack of skill and want of practice, to stand up opposite homer pettifoot, mary b.'s husband, a tall man, with a slight stoop, a bald crown, and full, dreamy eyes,--a man of much imagination and a large fund of anecdote. two other couples completed the set; others were restrained by bashfulness or religious scruples, which did not yield until later in the evening. the perfumed air from the garden without and the cut roses within mingled incongruously with the alien odors of musk and hair oil, of which several young barbers in the company were especially redolent. there was a play of sparkling eyes and glancing feet. mary b. danced with the languorous grace of an eastern odalisque, mis' molly with the mincing, hesitating step of one long out of practice. wain performed saltatory prodigies. this was a golden opportunity for the display in which his soul found delight. he introduced variations hitherto unknown to the dance. his skill and suppleness brought a glow of admiration into the eyes of the women, and spread a cloud of jealousy over the faces of several of the younger men, who saw themselves eclipsed. rena had announced in advance her intention to take no active part in the festivities. "i don't feel like dancing, mamma--i shall never dance again." "well, now, rena," answered her mother, "of co'se you're too dignified, sence you've be'n 'sociatin' with white folks, to be hoppin' roun' an' kickin' up like ma'y b. an' these other yaller gals; but of co'se, too, you can't slight the comp'ny entirely, even ef it ain't jest exac'ly our party,--you'll have to pay 'em some little attention, 'specially mr. wain, sence you're goin' down yonder with 'im." rena conscientiously did what she thought politeness required. she went the round of the guests in the early part of the evening and exchanged greetings with them. to several requests for dances she replied that she was not dancing. she did not hold herself aloof because of pride; any instinctive shrinking she might have felt by reason of her recent association with persons of greater refinement was offset by her still more newly awakened zeal for humanity; they were her people, she must not despise them. but the occasion suggested painful memories of other and different scenes in which she had lately participated. once or twice these memories were so vivid as almost to overpower her. she slipped away from the company, and kept in the background as much as possible without seeming to slight any one. the guests as well were dimly conscious of a slight barrier between mis' molly's daughter and themselves. the time she had spent apart from these friends of her youth had rendered it impossible for her ever to meet them again upon the plane of common interests and common thoughts. it was much as though one, having acquired the vernacular of his native country, had lived in a foreign land long enough to lose the language of his childhood without acquiring fully that of his adopted country. miss rowena warwick could never again become quite the rena walden who had left the house behind the cedars no more than a year and a half before. upon this very difference were based her noble aspirations for usefulness,--one must stoop in order that one may lift others. any other young woman present would have been importuned beyond her powers of resistance. rena's reserve was respected. when supper was announced, somewhat early in the evening, the dancers found seats in the hall or on the front piazza. aunt zilphy, assisted by mis' molly and mary b., passed around the refreshments, which consisted of fried chicken, buttered biscuits, pound-cake, and eggnog. when the first edge of appetite was taken off, the conversation waxed animated. homer pettifoot related, with minute detail, an old, threadbare hunting lie, dating, in slightly differing forms, from the age of nimrod, about finding twenty-five partridges sitting in a row on a rail, and killing them all with a single buckshot, which passed through twenty-four and lodged in the body of the twenty-fifth, from which it was extracted and returned to the shot pouch for future service. this story was followed by a murmur of incredulity--of course, the thing was possible, but homer's faculty for exaggeration was so well known that any statement of his was viewed with suspicion. homer seemed hurt at this lack of faith, and was disposed to argue the point, but the sonorous voice of mr. wain on the other side of the room cut short his protestations, in much the same way that the rising sun extinguishes the light of lesser luminaries. "i wuz a member er de fus' legislatur' after de wah," wain was saying. "when i went up f'm sampson in de fall, i had to pass th'ough smithfiel', i got in town in de afternoon, an' put up at de bes' hotel. de lan'lo'd did n' have no s'picion but what i wuz a white man, an' he gimme a room, an' i had supper an' breakfas', an' went on ter rolly nex' mornin'. w'en de session wuz over, i come along back, an' w'en i got ter smithfiel', i driv' up ter de same hotel. i noticed, as soon as i got dere, dat de place had run down consid'able--dere wuz weeds growin' in de yard, de winders wuz dirty, an' ev'ything roun' dere looked kinder lonesome an' shif'less. de lan'lo'd met me at de do'; he looked mighty down in de mouth, an' sezee:-- "'look a-here, w'at made you come an' stop at my place widout tellin' me you wuz a black man? befo' you come th'ough dis town i had a fus'-class business. but w'en folks found out dat a nigger had put up here, business drapped right off, an' i've had ter shet up my hotel. you oughter be 'shamed er yo'se'f fer ruinin' a po' man w'at had n' never done no harm ter you. you've done a mean, low-lived thing, an' a jes' god'll punish you fer it.' "de po' man acshully bust inter tears," continued mr. wain magnanimously, "an' i felt so sorry fer 'im--he wuz a po' white man tryin' ter git up in de worl'--dat i hauled out my purse an' gin 'im ten dollars, an' he 'peared monst'ous glad ter git it." "how good-hearted! how kin'!" murmured the ladies. "it done credit to yo' feelin's." "don't b'lieve a word er dem lies," muttered one young man to another sarcastically. "he could n' pass fer white, 'less'n it wuz a mighty dark night." upon this glorious evening of his life, mr. jefferson wain had one distinctly hostile critic, of whose presence he was blissfully unconscious. frank fowler had not been invited to the party,--his family did not go with mary b.'s set. rena had suggested to her mother that he be invited, but mis' molly had demurred on the ground that it was not her party, and that she had no right to issue invitations. it is quite likely that she would have sought an invitation for frank from mary b.; but frank was black, and would not harmonize with the rest of the company, who would not have mis' molly's reasons for treating him well. she had compromised the matter by stepping across the way in the afternoon and suggesting that frank might come over and sit on the back porch and look at the dancing and share in the supper. frank was not without a certain honest pride. he was sensitive enough, too, not to care to go where he was not wanted. he would have curtly refused any such maimed invitation to any other place. but would he not see rena in her best attire, and might she not perhaps, in passing, speak a word to him? "thank y', mis' molly," he replied, "i'll prob'ly come over." "you're a big fool, boy," observed his father after mis' molly had gone back across the street, "ter be stickin' roun' dem yaller niggers 'cross de street, an' slobb'rin' an' slav'rin' over 'em, an' hangin' roun' deir back do' wuss 'n ef dey wuz w'ite folks. i'd see 'em dead fus'!" frank himself resisted the temptation for half an hour after the music began, but at length he made his way across the street and stationed himself at the window opening upon the back piazza. when rena was in the room, he had eyes for her only, but when she was absent, he fixed his attention mainly upon wain. with jealous clairvoyance he observed that wain's eyes followed rena when she left the room, and lit up when she returned. frank had heard that rena was going away with this man, and he watched wain closely, liking him less the longer he looked at him. to his fancy, wain's style and skill were affectation, his good-nature mere hypocrisy, and his glance at rena the eye of the hawk upon his quarry. he had heard that wain was unmarried, and he could not see how, this being so, he could help wishing rena for a wife. frank would have been content to see her marry a white man, who would have raised her to a plane worthy of her merits. in this man's shifty eye he read the liar--his wealth and standing were probably as false as his seeming good-humor. "is that you, frank?" said a soft voice near at hand. he looked up with a joyful thrill. rena was peering intently at him, as if trying to distinguish his features in the darkness. it was a bright moonlight night, but frank stood in the shadow of the piazza. "yas 'm, it's me, miss rena. yo' mammy said i could come over an' see you-all dance. you ain' be'n out on de flo' at all, ter-night." "no, frank, i don't care for dancing. i shall not dance to-night." this answer was pleasing to frank. if he could not hope to dance with her, at least the men inside--at least this snake in the grass from down the country--should not have that privilege. "but you must have some supper, frank," said rena. "i'll bring it myself." "no, miss rena, i don' keer fer nothin'--i did n' come over ter eat--r'al'y i didn't." "nonsense, frank, there's plenty of it. i have no appetite, and you shall have my portion." she brought him a slice of cake and a glass of eggnog. when mis' molly, a minute later, came out upon the piazza, frank left the yard and walked down the street toward the old canal. rena had spoken softly to him; she had fed him with her own dainty hands. he might never hope that she would see in him anything but a friend; but he loved her, and he would watch over her and protect her, wherever she might be. he did not believe that she would ever marry the grinning hypocrite masquerading back there in mis' molly's parlor; but the man would bear watching. mis' molly had come to call her daughter into the house. "rena," she said, "mr. wain wants ter know if you won't dance just one dance with him." "yas, rena," pleaded mary b., who followed miss molly out to the piazza, "jes' one dance. i don't think you're treatin' my comp'ny jes' right, cousin rena." "you're goin' down there with 'im," added her mother, "an' it 'd be just as well to be on friendly terms with 'im." wain himself had followed the women. "sho'ly, miss rena, you're gwine ter honah me wid one dance? i'd go 'way f'm dis pa'ty sad at hea't ef i had n' stood up oncet wid de young lady er de house." as rena, weakly persuaded, placed her hand on wain's arm and entered the house, a buggy, coming up front street, paused a moment at the corner, and then turning slowly, drove quietly up the nameless by-street, concealed by the intervening cedars, until it reached a point from which the occupant could view, through the open front window, the interior of the parlor. xxiv swing your partners moved by tenderness and thoughts of self-sacrifice, which had occupied his mind to the momentary exclusion of all else, tryon had scarcely noticed, as he approached the house behind the cedars, a strain of lively music, to which was added, as he drew still nearer, the accompaniment of other festive sounds. he suddenly awoke, however, to the fact that these signs of merriment came from the house at which he had intended to stop;--he had not meant that rena should pass another sleepless night of sorrow, or that he should himself endure another needless hour of suspense. he drew rein at the corner. shocked surprise, a nascent anger, a vague alarm, an insistent curiosity, urged him nearer. turning the mare into the side street and keeping close to the fence, he drove ahead in the shadow of the cedars until he reached a gap through which he could see into the open door and windows of the brightly lighted hall. there was evidently a ball in progress. the fiddle was squeaking merrily so a tune that he remembered well,--it was associated with one of the most delightful evenings of his life, that of the tournament ball. a mellow negro voice was calling with a rhyming accompaniment the figures of a quadrille. tryon, with parted lips and slowly hardening heart, leaned forward from the buggy-seat, gripping the rein so tightly that his nails cut into the opposing palm. above the clatter of noisy conversation rose the fiddler's voice:-- "swing yo' pa'dners; doan be shy, look yo' lady in de eye! th'ow yo' ahm aroun' huh wais'; take yo' time--dey ain' no has'e!" to the middle of the floor, in full view through an open window, advanced the woman who all day long had been the burden of his thoughts--not pale with grief and hollow-eyed with weeping, but flushed with pleasure, around her waist the arm of a burly, grinning mulatto, whose face was offensively familiar to tryon. with a muttered curse of concentrated bitterness, tryon struck the mare a sharp blow with the whip. the sensitive creature, spirited even in her great weariness, resented the lash and started off with the bit in her teeth. perceiving that it would be difficult to turn in the narrow roadway without running into the ditch at the left, tryon gave the mare rein and dashed down the street, scarcely missing, as the buggy crossed the bridge, a man standing abstractedly by the old canal, who sprang aside barely in time to avoid being run over. meantime rena was passing through a trying ordeal. after the first few bars, the fiddler plunged into a well-known air, in which rena, keenly susceptible to musical impressions, recognized the tune to which, as queen of love and beauty, she had opened the dance at her entrance into the world of life and love, for it was there she had met george tryon. the combination of music and movement brought up the scene with great distinctness. tryon, peering angrily through the cedars, had not been more conscious than she of the external contrast between her partners on this and the former occasion. she perceived, too, as tryon from the outside had not, the difference between wain's wordy flattery (only saved by his cousin's warning from pointed and fulsome adulation), and the tenderly graceful compliment, couched in the romantic terms of chivalry, with which the knight of the handkerchief had charmed her ear. it was only by an immense effort that she was able to keep her emotions under control until the end of the dance, when she fled to her chamber and burst into tears. it was not the cruel tryon who had blasted her love with his deadly look that she mourned, but the gallant young knight who had worn her favor on his lance and crowned her queen of love and beauty. tryon's stay in patesville was very brief. he drove to the hotel and put up for the night. during many sleepless hours his mind was in a turmoil with a very different set of thoughts from those which had occupied it on the way to town. not the least of them was a profound self-contempt for his own lack of discernment. how had he been so blind as not to have read long ago the character of this wretched girl who had bewitched him? to-night his eyes had been opened--he had seen her with the mask thrown off, a true daughter of a race in which the sensuous enjoyment of the moment took precedence of taste or sentiment or any of the higher emotions. her few months of boarding-school, her brief association with white people, had evidently been a mere veneer over the underlying negro, and their effects had slipped away as soon as the intercourse had ceased. with the monkey-like imitativeness of the negro she had copied the manners of white people while she lived among them, and had dropped them with equal facility when they ceased to serve a purpose. who but a negro could have recovered so soon from what had seemed a terrible bereavement?--she herself must have felt it at the time, for otherwise she would not have swooned. a woman of sensibility, as this one had seemed to be, should naturally feel more keenly, and for a longer time than a man, an injury to the affections; but he, a son of the ruling race, had been miserable for six weeks about a girl who had so far forgotten him as already to plunge headlong into the childish amusements of her own ignorant and degraded people. what more, indeed, he asked himself savagely,--what more could be expected of the base-born child of the plaything of a gentleman's idle hour, who to this ignoble origin added the blood of a servile race? and he, george tryon, had honored her with his love; he had very nearly linked his fate and joined his blood to hers by the solemn sanctions of church and state. tryon was not a devout man, but he thanked god with religious fervor that he had been saved a second time from a mistake which would have wrecked his whole future. if he had yielded to the momentary weakness of the past night,--the outcome of a sickly sentimentality to which he recognized now, in the light of reflection, that he was entirely too prone,--he would have regretted it soon enough. the black streak would have been sure to come out in some form, sooner or later, if not in the wife, then in her children. he saw clearly enough, in this hour of revulsion, that with his temperament and training such a union could never have been happy. if all the world had been ignorant of the dark secret, it would always have been in his own thoughts, or at least never far away. each fault of hers that the close daily association of husband and wife might reveal,--the most flawless of sweethearts do not pass scathless through the long test of matrimony,--every wayward impulse of his children, every defect of mind, morals, temper, or health, would have been ascribed to the dark ancestral strain. happiness under such conditions would have been impossible. when tryon lay awake in the early morning, after a few brief hours of sleep, the business which had brought him to patesville seemed, in the cold light of reason, so ridiculously inadequate that he felt almost ashamed to have set up such a pretext for his journey. the prospect, too, of meeting dr. green and his family, of having to explain his former sudden departure, and of running a gauntlet of inquiry concerning his marriage to the aristocratic miss warwick of south carolina; the fear that some one at patesville might have suspected a connection between rena's swoon and his own flight,--these considerations so moved this impressionable and impulsive young man that he called a bell-boy, demanded an early breakfast, ordered his horse, paid his reckoning, and started upon his homeward journey forthwith. a certain distrust of his own sensibility, which he felt to be curiously inconsistent with his most positive convictions, led him to seek the river bridge by a roundabout route which did not take him past the house where, a few hours before, he had seen the last fragment of his idol shattered beyond the hope of repair. the party broke up at an early hour, since most of the guests were working-people, and the travelers were to make an early start next day. about nine in the morning, wain drove round to mis' molly's. rena's trunk was strapped behind the buggy, and she set out, in the company of wain, for her new field of labor. the school term was only two months in length, and she did not expect to return until its expiration. just before taking her seat in the buggy, rena felt a sudden sinking of the heart. "oh, mother," she whispered, as they stood wrapped in a close embrace, "i'm afraid to leave you. i left you once, and it turned out so miserably." "it'll turn out better this time, honey," replied her mother soothingly. "good-by, child. take care of yo'self an' yo'r money, and write to yo'r mammy." one kiss all round, and rena was lifted into the buggy. wain seized the reins, and under his skillful touch the pretty mare began to prance and curvet with restrained impatience. wain could not resist the opportunity to show off before the party, which included mary b.'s entire family and several other neighbors, who had gathered to see the travelers off. "good-by ter patesville! good-by, folkses all!" he cried, with a wave of his disengaged hand. "good-by, mother! good-by, all!" cried rena, as with tears in her heart and a brave smile on her face she left her home behind her for the second time. when they had crossed the river bridge, the travelers came to a long stretch of rising ground, from the summit of which they could look back over the white sandy road for nearly a mile. neither rena nor her companion saw frank fowler behind the chinquapin bush at the foot of the hill, nor the gaze of mute love and longing with which he watched the buggy mount the long incline. he had not been able to trust himself to bid her farewell. he had seen her go away once before with every prospect of happiness, and come back, a dove with a wounded wing, to the old nest behind the cedars. she was going away again, with a man whom he disliked and distrusted. if she had met misfortune before, what were her prospects for happiness now? the buggy paused at the top of the hill, and frank, shading his eyes with his hand, thought he could see her turn and look behind. look back, dear child, towards your home and those who love you! for who knows more than this faithful worshiper what threads of the past fate is weaving into your future, or whether happiness or misery lies before you? xxv balance all the road to sampson county lay for the most part over the pine-clad sandhills,--an alternation of gentle rises and gradual descents, with now and then a swamp of greater or less extent. long stretches of the highway led through the virgin forest, for miles unbroken by a clearing or sign of human habitation. they traveled slowly, with frequent pauses in shady places, for the weather was hot. the journey, made leisurely, required more than a day, and might with slight effort be prolonged into two. they stopped for the night at a small village, where wain found lodging for rena with an acquaintance of his, and for himself with another, while a third took charge of the horse, the accommodation for travelers being limited. rena's appearance and manners were the subject of much comment. it was necessary to explain to several curious white people that rena was a woman of color. a white woman might have driven with wain without attracting remark,--most white ladies had negro coachmen. that a woman of rena's complexion should eat at a negro's table, or sleep beneath a negro's roof, was a seeming breach of caste which only black blood could excuse. the explanation was never questioned. no white person of sound mind would ever claim to be a negro. they resumed their journey somewhat late in the morning. rena would willingly have hastened, for she was anxious to plunge into her new work; but wain seemed disposed to prolong the pleasant drive, and beguiled the way for a time with stories of wonderful things he had done and strange experiences of a somewhat checkered career. he was shrewd enough to avoid any subject which would offend a modest young woman, but too obtuse to perceive that much of what he said would not commend him to a person of refinement. he made little reference to his possessions, concerning which so much had been said at patesville; and this reticence was a point in his favor. if he had not been so much upon his guard and rena so much absorbed by thoughts of her future work, such a drive would have furnished a person of her discernment a very fair measure of the man's character. to these distractions must be added the entire absence of any idea that wain might have amorous designs upon her; and any shortcomings of manners or speech were excused by the broad mantle of charity which rena in her new-found zeal for the welfare of her people was willing to throw over all their faults. they were the victims of oppression; they were not responsible for its results. toward the end of the second day, while nearing their destination, the travelers passed a large white house standing back from the road at the foot of a lane. around it grew widespreading trees and well-kept shrubbery. the fences were in good repair. behind the house and across the road stretched extensive fields of cotton and waving corn. they had passed no other place that showed such signs of thrift and prosperity. "oh, what a lovely place!" exclaimed rena. "that is yours, isn't it?" "no; we ain't got to my house yet," he answered. "dat house b'longs ter de riches' people roun' here. dat house is over in de nex' county. we're right close to de line now." shortly afterwards they turned off from the main highway they had been pursuing, and struck into a narrower road to the left. "de main road," explained wain, "goes on to clinton, 'bout five miles er mo' away. dis one we're turnin' inter now will take us to my place, which is 'bout three miles fu'ther on. we'll git dere now in an hour er so." wain lived in an old plantation house, somewhat dilapidated, and surrounded by an air of neglect and shiftlessness, but still preserving a remnant of dignity in its outlines and comfort in its interior arrangements. rena was assigned a large room on the second floor. she was somewhat surprised at the make-up of the household. wain's mother--an old woman, much darker than her son--kept house for him. a sister with two children lived in the house. the element of surprise lay in the presence of two small children left by wain's wife, of whom rena now heard for the first time. he had lost his wife, he informed rena sadly, a couple of years before. "yas, miss rena," she sighed, "de lawd give her, an' de lawd tuck her away. blessed be de name er de lawd." he accompanied this sententious quotation with a wicked look from under his half-closed eyelids that rena did not see. the following morning wain drove her in his buggy over to the county town, where she took the teacher's examination. she was given a seat in a room with a number of other candidates for certificates, but the fact leaking out from some remark of wain's that she was a colored girl, objection was quietly made by several of the would-be teachers to her presence in the room, and she was requested to retire until the white teachers should have been examined. an hour or two later she was given a separate examination, which she passed without difficulty. the examiner, a gentleman of local standing, was dimly conscious that she might not have found her exclusion pleasant, and was especially polite. it would have been strange, indeed, if he had not been impressed by her sweet face and air of modest dignity, which were all the more striking because of her social disability. he fell into conversation with her, became interested in her hopes and aims, and very cordially offered to be of service, if at any time he might, in connection with her school. "you have the satisfaction," he said, "of receiving the only first-grade certificate issued to-day. you might teach a higher grade of pupils than you will find at sandy run, but let us hope that you may in time raise them to your own level." "which i doubt very much," he muttered to himself, as she went away with wain. "what a pity that such a woman should be a nigger! if she were anything to me, though, i should hate to trust her anywhere near that saddle-colored scoundrel. he's a thoroughly bad lot, and will bear watching." rena, however, was serenely ignorant of any danger from the accommodating wain. absorbed in her own thoughts and plans, she had not sought to look beneath the surface of his somewhat overdone politeness. in a few days she began her work as teacher, and sought to forget in the service of others the dull sorrow that still gnawed at her heart. xxvi the schoolhouse in the woods blanche leary, closely observant of tryon's moods, marked a decided change in his manner after his return from his trip to patesville. his former moroseness had given way to a certain defiant lightness, broken now and then by an involuntary sigh, but maintained so well, on the whole, that his mother detected no lapses whatever. the change was characterized by another feature agreeable to both the women: tryon showed decidedly more interest than ever before in miss leary's society. within a week he asked her several times to play a selection on the piano, displaying, as she noticed, a decided preference for gay and cheerful music, and several times suggesting a change when she chose pieces of a sentimental cast. more than once, during the second week after his return, he went out riding with her; she was a graceful horsewoman, perfectly at home in the saddle, and appearing to advantage in a riding-habit. she was aware that tryon watched her now and then, with an eye rather critical than indulgent. "he is comparing me with some other girl," she surmised. "i seem to stand the test very well. i wonder who the other is, and what was the trouble?" miss leary exerted all her powers to interest and amuse the man she had set out to win, and who seemed nearer than ever before. tryon, to his pleased surprise, discovered in her mind depths that he had never suspected. she displayed a singular affinity for the tastes that were his--he could not, of course, know how carefully she had studied them. the old wound, recently reopened, seemed to be healing rapidly, under conditions more conducive than before to perfect recovery. no longer, indeed, was he pursued by the picture of rena discovered and unmasked--this he had definitely banished from the realm of sentiment to that of reason. the haunting image of rena loving and beloved, amid the harmonious surroundings of her brother's home, was not so readily displaced. nevertheless, he reached in several weeks a point from which he could consider her as one thinks of a dear one removed by the hand of death, or smitten by some incurable ailment of mind or body. erelong, he fondly believed, the recovery would be so far complete that he could consign to the tomb of pleasant memories even the most thrilling episodes of his ill-starred courtship. "george," said mrs. tryon one morning while her son was in this cheerful mood, "i'm sending blanche over to major mcleod's to do an errand for me. would you mind driving her over? the road may be rough after the storm last night, and blanche has an idea that no one drives so well as you." "why, yes, mother, i'll be glad to drive blanche over. i want to see the major myself." they were soon bowling along between the pines, behind the handsome mare that had carried tryon so well at the clarence tournament. presently he drew up sharply. "a tree has fallen squarely across the road," he exclaimed. "we shall have to turn back a little way and go around." they drove back a quarter of a mile and turned into a by-road leading to the right through the woods. the solemn silence of the pine forest is soothing or oppressive, according to one's mood. beneath the cool arcade of the tall, overarching trees a deep peace stole over tryon's heart. he had put aside indefinitely and forever an unhappy and impossible love. the pretty and affectionate girl beside him would make an ideal wife. of her family and blood he was sure. she was his mother's choice, and his mother had set her heart upon their marriage. why not speak to her now, and thus give himself the best possible protection against stray flames of love? "blanche," he said, looking at her kindly. "yes, george?" her voice was very gentle, and slightly tremulous. could she have divined his thought? love is a great clairvoyant. "blanche, dear, i"-- a clatter of voices broke upon the stillness of the forest and interrupted tryon's speech. a sudden turn to the left brought the buggy to a little clearing, in the midst of which stood a small log schoolhouse. out of the schoolhouse a swarm of colored children were emerging, the suppressed energy of the school hour finding vent in vocal exercise of various sorts. a group had already formed a ring, and were singing with great volume and vigor:-- "miss jane, she loves sugar an' tea, miss jane, she loves candy. miss jane, she can whirl all around an' kiss her love quite handy. "de oak grows tall, de pine grows slim, so rise you up, my true love, an' let me come in." "what a funny little darkey!" exclaimed miss leary, pointing to a diminutive lad who was walking on his hands, with his feet balanced in the air. at sight of the buggy and its occupants this sable acrobat, still retaining his inverted position, moved toward the newcomers, and, reversing himself with a sudden spring, brought up standing beside the buggy. "hoddy, mars geo'ge!" he exclaimed, bobbing his head and kicking his heel out behind in approved plantation style. "hello, plato," replied the young man, "what are you doing here?" "gwine ter school, mars geo'ge," replied the lad; "larnin' ter read an' write, suh, lack de w'ite folks." "wat you callin' dat w'ite man marster fur?" whispered a tall yellow boy to the acrobat addressed as plato. "you don' b'long ter him no mo'; you're free, an' ain' got sense ernuff ter know it." tryon threw a small coin to plato, and holding another in his hand suggestively, smiled toward the tall yellow boy, who looked regretfully at the coin, but stood his ground; he would call no man master, not even for a piece of money. during this little colloquy, miss leary had kept her face turned toward the schoolhouse. "what a pretty girl!" she exclaimed. "there," she added, as tryon turned his head toward her, "you are too late. she has retired into her castle. oh, plato!" "yas, missis," replied plato, who was prancing round the buggy in great glee, on the strength of his acquaintance with the white folks. "is your teacher white?" "no, ma'm, she ain't w'ite; she's black. she looks lack she's w'ite, but she's black." tryon had not seen the teacher's face, but the incident had jarred the old wound; miss leary's description of the teacher, together with plato's characterization, had stirred lightly sleeping memories. he was more or less abstracted during the remainder of the drive, and did not recur to the conversation that had been interrupted by coming upon the schoolhouse. the teacher, glancing for a moment through the open door of the schoolhouse, had seen a handsome young lady staring at her,--miss leary had a curiously intent look when she was interested in anything, with no intention whatever to be rude,--and beyond the lady the back and shoulder of a man, whose face was turned the other way. there was a vague suggestion of something familiar about the equipage, but rena shrank from this close scrutiny and withdrew out of sight before she had had an opportunity to identify the vague resemblance to something she had known. miss leary had missed by a hair's-breadth the psychological moment, and felt some resentment toward the little negroes who had interrupted her lover's train of thought. negroes have caused a great deal of trouble among white people. how deeply the shadow of the ethiopian had fallen upon her own happiness, miss leary of course could not guess. xxvii an interesting acquaintance a few days later, rena looked out of the window near her desk and saw a low basket phaeton, drawn by a sorrel pony, driven sharply into the clearing and drawn up beside an oak sapling. the occupant of the phaeton, a tall, handsome, well-preserved lady in middle life, with slightly gray hair, alighted briskly from the phaeton, tied the pony to the sapling with a hitching-strap, and advanced to the schoolhouse door. rena wondered who the lady might be. she had a benevolent aspect, however, and came forward to the desk with a smile, not at all embarrassed by the wide-eyed inspection of the entire school. "how do you do?" she said, extending her hand to the teacher. "i live in the neighborhood and am interested in the colored people--a good many of them once belonged to me. i heard something of your school, and thought i should like to make your acquaintance." "it is very kind of you, indeed," murmured rena respectfully. "yes," continued the lady, "i am not one of those who sit back and blame their former slaves because they were freed. they are free now,--it is all decided and settled,--and they ought to be taught enough to enable them to make good use of their freedom. but really, my dear,--you mustn't feel offended if i make a mistake,--i am going to ask you something very personal." she looked suggestively at the gaping pupils. "the school may take the morning recess now," announced the teacher. the pupils filed out in an orderly manner, most of them stationing themselves about the grounds in such places as would keep the teacher and the white lady in view. very few white persons approved of the colored schools; no other white person had ever visited this one. "are you really colored?" asked the lady, when the children had withdrawn. a year and a half earlier, rena would have met the question by some display of self-consciousness. now, she replied simply and directly. "yes, ma'am, i am colored." the lady, who had been studying her as closely as good manners would permit, sighed regretfully. "well, it's a shame. no one would ever think it. if you chose to conceal it, no one would ever be the wiser. what is your name, child, and where were you brought up? you must have a romantic history." rena gave her name and a few facts in regard to her past. the lady was so much interested, and put so many and such searching questions, that rena really found it more difficult to suppress the fact that she had been white, than she had formerly had in hiding her african origin. there was about the girl an air of real refinement that pleased the lady,--the refinement not merely of a fine nature, but of contact with cultured people; a certain reserve of speech and manner quite inconsistent with mrs. tryon's experience of colored women. the lady was interested and slightly mystified. a generous, impulsive spirit,--her son's own mother,--she made minute inquiries about the school and the pupils, several of whom she knew by name. rena stated that the two months' term was nearing its end, and that she was training the children in various declamations and dialogues for the exhibition at the close. "i shall attend it," declared the lady positively. "i'm sure you are doing a good work, and it's very noble of you to undertake it when you might have a very different future. if i can serve you at any time, don't hesitate to call upon me. i live in the big white house just before you turn out of the clinton road to come this way. i'm only a widow, but my son george lives with me and has some influence in the neighborhood. he drove by here yesterday with the lady he is going to marry. it was she who told me about you." was it the name, or some subtle resemblance in speech or feature, that recalled tryon's image to rena's mind? it was not so far away--the image of the loving tryon--that any powerful witchcraft was required to call it up. his mother was a widow; rena had thought, in happier days, that she might be such a kind lady as this. but the cruel tryon who had left her--his mother would be some hard, cold, proud woman, who would regard a negro as but little better than a dog, and who would not soil her lips by addressing a colored person upon any other terms than as a servant. she knew, too, that tryon did not live in sampson county, though the exact location of his home was not clear to her. "and where are you staying, my dear?" asked the good lady. "i'm boarding at mrs. wain's," answered rena. "mrs. wain's?" "yes, they live in the old campbell place." "oh, yes--aunt nancy. she's a good enough woman, but we don't think much of her son jeff. he married my amanda after the war--she used to belong to me, and ought to have known better. he abused her most shamefully, and had to be threatened with the law. she left him a year or so ago and went away; i haven't seen her lately. well, good-by, child; i'm coming to your exhibition. if you ever pass my house, come in and see me." the good lady had talked for half an hour, and had brought a ray of sunshine into the teacher's monotonous life, heretofore lighted only by the uncertain lamp of high resolve. she had satisfied a pardonable curiosity, and had gone away without mentioning her name. rena saw plato untying the pony as the lady climbed into the phaeton. "who was the lady, plato?" asked the teacher when the visitor had driven away. "dat 'uz my ole mist'iss, ma'm," returned plato proudly,--"ole mis' 'liza." "mis' 'liza who?" asked rena. "mis' 'liza tryon. i use' ter b'long ter her. dat 'uz her son, my young mars geo'ge, w'at driv pas' hyuh yistiddy wid 'is sweetheart." xxviii the lost knife rena had found her task not a difficult one so far as discipline was concerned. her pupils were of a docile race, and school to them had all the charm of novelty. the teacher commanded some awe because she was a stranger, and some, perhaps, because she was white; for the theory of blackness as propounded by plato could not quite counter-balance in the young african mind the evidence of their own senses. she combined gentleness with firmness; and if these had not been sufficient, she had reserves of character which would have given her the mastery over much less plastic material than these ignorant but eager young people. the work of instruction was simple enough, for most of the pupils began with the alphabet, which they acquired from webster's blue-backed spelling-book, the palladium of southern education at that epoch. the much abused carpet-baggers had put the spelling-book within reach of every child of school age in north carolina,--a fact which is often overlooked when the carpet-baggers are held up to public odium. even the devil should have his due, and is not so black as he is painted. at the time when she learned that tryon lived in the neighborhood, rena had already been subjected for several weeks to a trying ordeal. wain had begun to persecute her with marked attentions. she had at first gone to board at his house,--or, by courtesy, with his mother. for a week or two she had considered his attentions in no other light than those of a member of the school committee sharing her own zeal and interested in seeing the school successfully carried on. in this character wain had driven her to the town for her examination; he had busied himself about putting the schoolhouse in order, and in various matters affecting the conduct of the school. he had jocularly offered to come and whip the children for her, and had found it convenient to drop in occasionally, ostensibly to see what progress the work was making. "dese child'en," he would observe sonorously, in the presence of the school, "oughter be monst'ous glad ter have de chance er settin' under yo' instruction, miss rena. i'm sho' eve'body in dis neighbo'hood 'preciates de priv'lege er havin' you in ou' mids'." though slightly embarrassing to the teacher, these public demonstrations were endurable so long as they could be regarded as mere official appreciation of her work. sincerely in earnest about her undertaking, she had plunged into it with all the intensity of a serious nature which love had stirred to activity. a pessimist might have sighed sadly or smiled cynically at the notion that a poor, weak girl, with a dangerous beauty and a sensitive soul, and troubles enough of her own, should hope to accomplish anything appreciable toward lifting the black mass still floundering in the mud where slavery had left it, and where emancipation had found it,--the mud in which, for aught that could be seen to the contrary, her little feet, too, were hopelessly entangled. it might have seemed like expecting a man to lift himself by his boot-straps. but rena was no philosopher, either sad or cheerful. she could not even have replied to this argument, that races must lift themselves, and the most that can be done by others is to give them opportunity and fair play. hers was a simpler reasoning,--the logic by which the world is kept going onward and upward when philosophers are at odds and reformers are not forthcoming. she knew that for every child she taught to read and write she opened, if ever so little, the door of opportunity, and she was happy in the consciousness of performing a duty which seemed all the more imperative because newly discovered. her zeal, indeed, for the time being was like that of an early christian, who was more willing than not to die for his faith. rena had fully and firmly made up her mind to sacrifice her life upon this altar. her absorption in the work had not been without its reward, for thereby she had been able to keep at a distance the spectre of her lost love. her dreams she could not control, but she banished tryon as far as possible from her waking thoughts. when wain's attentions became obviously personal, rena's new vestal instinct took alarm, and she began to apprehend his character more clearly. she had long ago learned that his pretensions to wealth were a sham. he was nominal owner of a large plantation, it is true; but the land was worn out, and mortgaged to the limit of its security value. his reputed droves of cattle and hogs had dwindled to a mere handful of lean and listless brutes. her clear eye, when once set to take wain's measure, soon fathomed his shallow, selfish soul, and detected, or at least divined, behind his mask of good-nature a lurking brutality which filled her with vague distrust, needing only occasion to develop it into active apprehension,--occasion which was not long wanting. she avoided being alone with him at home by keeping carefully with the women of the house. if she were left alone,--and they soon showed a tendency to leave her on any pretext whenever wain came near,--she would seek her own room and lock the door. she preferred not to offend wain; she was far away from home and in a measure in his power, but she dreaded his compliments and sickened at his smile. she was also compelled to hear his relations sing his praises. "my son jeff," old mrs. wain would say, "is de bes' man you ever seed. his fus' wife had de easies' time an' de happies' time er ary woman in dis settlement. he's grieve' fer her a long time, but i reckon he's gittin' over it, an' de nex' 'oman w'at marries him'll git a box er pyo' gol', ef i does say it as is his own mammy." rena had thought wain rather harsh with his household, except in her immediate presence. his mother and sister seemed more or less afraid of him, and the children often anxious to avoid him. one day, he timed his visit to the schoolhouse so as to walk home with rena through the woods. when she became aware of his purpose, she called to one of the children who was loitering behind the others, "wait a minute, jenny. i'm going your way, and you can walk along with me." wain with difficulty hid a scowl behind a smiling front. when they had gone a little distance along the road through the woods, he clapped his hand upon his pocket. "i declare ter goodness," he exclaimed, "ef i ain't dropped my pocket-knife! i thought i felt somethin' slip th'ough dat hole in my pocket jes' by the big pine stump in the schoolhouse ya'd. jinny, chile, run back an' hunt fer my knife, an' i'll give yer five cents ef yer find it. me an' miss rena'll walk on slow 'tel you ketches us." rena did not dare to object, though she was afraid to be alone with this man. if she could have had a moment to think, she would have volunteered to go back with jenny and look for the knife, which, although a palpable subterfuge on her part, would have been one to which wain could not object; but the child, dazzled by the prospect of reward, had darted back so quickly that this way of escape was cut off. she was evidently in for a declaration of love, which she had taken infinite pains to avoid. just the form it would assume, she could not foresee. she was not long left in suspense. no sooner was the child well out of sight than wain threw his arms suddenly about her waist and smilingly attempted to kiss her. speechless with fear and indignation, she tore herself from his grasp with totally unexpected force, and fled incontinently along the forest path. wain--who, to do him justice, had merely meant to declare his passion in what he had hoped might prove a not unacceptable fashion--followed in some alarm, expostulating and apologizing as he went. but he was heavy and rena was light, and fear lent wings to her feet. he followed her until he saw her enter the house of elder johnson, the father of several of her pupils, after which he sneaked uneasily homeward, somewhat apprehensive of the consequences of his abrupt wooing, which was evidently open to an unfavorable construction. when, an hour later, rena sent one of the johnson children for some of her things, with a message explaining that the teacher had been invited to spend a few days at elder johnson's, wain felt a pronounced measure of relief. for an hour he had even thought it might be better to relinquish his pursuit. with a fatuousness born of vanity, however, no sooner had she sent her excuse than he began to look upon her visit to johnson's as a mere exhibition of coyness, which, together with her conduct in the woods, was merely intended to lure him on. right upon the heels of the perturbation caused by wain's conduct, rena discovered that tryon lived in the neighborhood; that not only might she meet him any day upon the highway, but that he had actually driven by the schoolhouse. that he knew or would know of her proximity there could be no possible doubt, since she had freely told his mother her name and her home. a hot wave of shame swept over her at the thought that george tryon might imagine she were following him, throwing herself in his way, and at the thought of the construction which he might place upon her actions. caught thus between two emotional fires, at the very time when her school duties, owing to the approaching exhibition, demanded all her energies, rena was subjected to a physical and mental strain that only youth and health could have resisted, and then only for a short time. xxix plato earns half a dollar tryon's first feeling, when his mother at the dinner-table gave an account of her visit to the schoolhouse in the woods, was one of extreme annoyance. why, of all created beings, should this particular woman be chosen to teach the colored school at sandy run? had she learned that he lived in the neighborhood, and had she sought the place hoping that he might consent to renew, on different terms, relations which could never be resumed upon their former footing? six weeks before, he would not have believed her capable of following him; but his last visit to patesville had revealed her character in such a light that it was difficult to predict what she might do. it was, however, no affair of his. he was done with her; he had dismissed her from his own life, where she had never properly belonged, and he had filled her place, or would soon fill it, with another and worthier woman. even his mother, a woman of keen discernment and delicate intuitions, had been deceived by this girl's specious exterior. she had brought away from her interview of the morning the impression that rena was a fine, pure spirit, born out of place, through some freak of fate, devoting herself with heroic self-sacrifice to a noble cause. well, he had imagined her just as pure and fine, and she had deliberately, with a negro's low cunning, deceived him into believing that she was a white girl. the pretended confession of the brother, in which he had spoken of the humble origin of the family, had been, consciously or unconsciously, the most disingenuous feature of the whole miserable performance. they had tried by a show of frankness to satisfy their own consciences,--they doubtless had enough of white blood to give them a rudimentary trace of such a moral organ,--and by the same act to disarm him against future recriminations, in the event of possible discovery. how was he to imagine that persons of their appearance and pretensions were tainted with negro blood? the more he dwelt upon the subject, the more angry he became with those who had surprised his virgin heart and deflowered it by such low trickery. the man who brought the first negro into the british colonies had committed a crime against humanity and a worse crime against his own race. the father of this girl had been guilty of a sin against society for which others--for which he, george tryon--must pay the penalty. as slaves, negroes were tolerable. as freemen, they were an excrescence, an alien element incapable of absorption into the body politic of white men. he would like to send them all back to the africa from which their forefathers had come,--unwillingly enough, he would admit,--and he would like especially to banish this girl from his own neighborhood; not indeed that her presence would make any difference to him, except as a humiliating reminder of his own folly and weakness with which he could very well dispense. of this state of mind tryon gave no visible manifestation beyond a certain taciturnity, so much at variance with his recent liveliness that the ladies could not fail to notice it. no effort upon the part of either was able to affect his mood, and they both resigned themselves to await his lordship's pleasure to be companionable. for a day or two, tryon sedulously kept away from the neighborhood of the schoolhouse at sandy rim. he really had business which would have taken him in that direction, but made a detour of five miles rather than go near his abandoned and discredited sweetheart. but george tryon was wisely distrustful of his own impulses. driving one day along the road to clinton, he overhauled a diminutive black figure trudging along the road, occasionally turning a handspring by way of diversion. "hello, plato," called tryon, "do you want a lift?" "hoddy, mars geo'ge. kin i ride wid you?" "jump up." plato mounted into the buggy with the agility to be expected from a lad of his acrobatic accomplishments. the two almost immediately fell into conversation upon perhaps the only subject of common interest between them. before the town was reached, tryon knew, so far as plato could make it plain, the estimation in which the teacher was held by pupils and parents. he had learned the hours of opening and dismissal of the school, where the teacher lived, her habits of coming to and going from the schoolhouse, and the road she always followed. "does she go to church or anywhere else with jeff wain, plato?" asked tryon. "no, suh, she don' go nowhar wid nobody excep'n' ole elder johnson er mis' johnson, an' de child'en. she use' ter stop at mis' wain's, but she's stayin' wid elder johnson now. she alluz makes some er de child'en go home wid er f'm school," said plato, proud to find in mars geo'ge an appreciative listener,--"sometimes one an' sometimes anudder. i's be'n home wid 'er twice, ann it'll be my tu'n ag'in befo' long." "plato," remarked tryon impressively, as they drove into the town, "do you think you could keep a secret?" "yas, mars geo'ge, ef you says i shill." "do you see this fifty-cent piece?" tryon displayed a small piece of paper money, crisp and green in its newness. "yas, mars geo'ge," replied plato, fixing his eyes respectfully on the government's promise to pay. fifty cents was a large sum of money. his acquaintance with mars geo'ge gave him the privilege of looking at money. when he grew up, he would be able, in good times, to earn fifty cents a day. "i am going to give this to you, plato." plato's eyes opened wide as saucers. "me, mars geo'ge?" he asked in amazement. "yes, plato. i'm going to write a letter while i'm in town, and want you to take it. meet me here in half an hour, and i'll give you the letter. meantime, keep your mouth shut." "yas, mars geo'ge," replied plato with a grin that distended that organ unduly. that he did not keep it shut may be inferred from the fact that within the next half hour he had eaten and drunk fifty cents' worth of candy, ginger-pop, and other available delicacies that appealed to the youthful palate. having nothing more to spend, and the high prices prevailing for some time after the war having left him capable of locomotion, plato was promptly on hand at the appointed time and place. tryon placed a letter in plato's hand, still sticky with molasses candy,--he had inclosed it in a second cover by way of protection. "give that letter," he said, "to your teacher; don't say a word about it to a living soul; bring me an answer, and give it into my own hand, and you shall have another half dollar." tryon was quite aware that by a surreptitious correspondence he ran some risk of compromising rena. but he had felt, as soon as he had indulged his first opportunity to talk of her, an irresistible impulse to see her and speak to her again. he could scarcely call at her boarding-place,--what possible proper excuse could a young white man have for visiting a colored woman? at the schoolhouse she would be surrounded by her pupils, and a private interview would be as difficult, with more eyes to remark and more tongues to comment upon it. he might address her by mail, but did not know how often she sent to the nearest post-office. a letter mailed in the town must pass through the hands of a postmaster notoriously inquisitive and evil-minded, who was familiar with tryon's handwriting and had ample time to attend to other people's business. to meet the teacher alone on the road seemed scarcely feasible, according to plato's statement. a messenger, then, was not only the least of several evils, but really the only practicable way to communicate with rena. he thought he could trust plato, though miserably aware that he could not trust himself where this girl was concerned. the letter handed by tryon to plato, and by the latter delivered with due secrecy and precaution, ran as follows:-- dear miss warwick,--you may think it strange that i should address you after what has passed between us; but learning from my mother of your presence in the neighborhood, i am constrained to believe that you do not find my proximity embarrassing, and i cannot resist the wish to meet you at least once more, and talk over the circumstances of our former friendship. from a practical point of view this may seem superfluous, as the matter has been definitely settled. i have no desire to find fault with you; on the contrary, i wish to set myself right with regard to my own actions, and to assure you of my good wishes. in other words, since we must part, i would rather we parted friends than enemies. if nature and society--or fate, to put it another way--have decreed that we cannot live together, it is nevertheless possible that we may carry into the future a pleasant though somewhat sad memory of a past friendship. will you not grant me one interview? i appreciate the difficulty of arranging it; i have found it almost as hard to communicate with you by letter. i will suit myself to your convenience and meet you at any time and place you may designate. please answer by bearer, who i think is trustworthy, and believe me, whatever your answer may be, respectfully yours, g. t. the next day but one tryon received through the mail the following reply to his letter:-- george tryon, esq. dear sir,--i have requested your messenger to say that i will answer your letter by mail, which i shall now proceed to do. i assure you that i was entirely ignorant of your residence in this neighborhood, or it would have been the last place on earth in which i should have set foot. as to our past relations, they were ended by your own act. i frankly confess that i deceived you; i have paid the penalty, and have no complaint to make. i appreciate the delicacy which has made you respect my brother's secret, and thank you for it. i remember the whole affair with shame and humiliation, and would willingly forget it. as to a future interview, i do not see what good it would do either of us. you are white, and you have given me to understand that i am black. i accept the classification, however unfair, and the consequences, however unjust, one of which is that we cannot meet in the same parlor, in the same church, at the same table, or anywhere, in social intercourse; upon a steamboat we would not sit at the same table; we could not walk together on the street, or meet publicly anywhere and converse, without unkind remark. as a white man, this might not mean a great deal to you; as a woman, shut out already by my color from much that is desirable, my good name remains my most valuable possession. i beg of you to let me alone. the best possible proof you can give me of your good wishes is to relinquish any desire or attempt to see me. i shall have finished my work here in a few days. i have other troubles, of which you know nothing, and any meeting with you would only add to a burden which is already as much as i can bear. to speak of parting is superfluous--we have already parted. it were idle to dream of a future friendship between people so widely different in station. such a friendship, if possible in itself, would never be tolerated by the lady whom you are to marry, with whom you drove by my schoolhouse the other day. a gentleman so loyal to his race and its traditions as you have shown yourself could not be less faithful to the lady to whom he has lost his heart and his memory in three short months. no, mr. tryon, our romance is ended, and better so. we could never have been happy. i have found a work in which i may be of service to others who have fewer opportunities than mine have been. leave me in peace, i beseech you, and i shall soon pass out of your neighborhood as i have passed out of your life, and hope to pass out of your memory. yours very truly, rowena walden. xxx an unusual honor to rena's high-strung and sensitive nature, already under very great tension from her past experience, the ordeal of the next few days was a severe one. on the one hand, jeff wain's infatuation had rapidly increased, in view of her speedy departure. from mrs. tryon's remark about wain's wife amanda, and from things rena had since learned, she had every reason to believe that this wife was living, and that wain must be aware of the fact. in the light of this knowledge, wain's former conduct took on a blacker significance than, upon reflection, she had charitably clothed it with after the first flush of indignation. that he had not given up his design to make love to her was quite apparent, and, with amanda alive, his attentions, always offensive since she had gathered their import, became in her eyes the expression of a villainous purpose, of which she could not speak to others, and from which she felt safe only so long as she took proper precautions against it. in a week her school would be over, and then she would get elder johnson, or some one else than wain, to take her back to patesville. true, she might abandon her school and go at once; but her work would be incomplete, she would have violated her contract, she would lose her salary for the month, explanations would be necessary, and would not be forthcoming. she might feign sickness,--indeed, it would scarcely be feigning, for she felt far from well; she had never, since her illness, quite recovered her former vigor--but the inconvenience to others would be the same, and her self-sacrifice would have had, at its very first trial, a lame and impotent conclusion. she had as yet no fear of personal violence from wain; but, under the circumstances, his attentions were an insult. he was evidently bent upon conquest, and vain enough to think he might achieve it by virtue of his personal attractions. if he could have understood how she loathed the sight of his narrow eyes, with their puffy lids, his thick, tobacco-stained lips, his doubtful teeth, and his unwieldy person, wain, a monument of conceit that he was, might have shrunk, even in his own estimation, to something like his real proportions. rena believed that, to defend herself from persecution at his hands, it was only necessary that she never let him find her alone. this, however, required constant watchfulness. relying upon his own powers, and upon a woman's weakness and aversion to scandal, from which not even the purest may always escape unscathed, and convinced by her former silence that he had nothing serious to fear, wain made it a point to be present at every public place where she might be. he assumed, in conversation with her which she could not avoid, and stated to others, that she had left his house because of a previous promise to divide the time of her stay between elder johnson's house and his own. he volunteered to teach a class in the sunday-school which rena conducted at the colored methodist church, and when she remained to service, occupied a seat conspicuously near her own. in addition to these public demonstrations, which it was impossible to escape, or, it seemed, with so thick-skinned an individual as wain, even to discourage, she was secretly and uncomfortably conscious that she could scarcely stir abroad without the risk of encountering one of two men, each of whom was on the lookout for an opportunity to find her alone. the knowledge of tryon's presence in the vicinity had been almost as much as rena could bear. to it must be added the consciousness that he, too, was pursuing her, to what end she could not tell. after his letter to her brother, and the feeling therein displayed, she found it necessary to crush once or twice a wild hope that, her secret being still unknown save to a friendly few, he might return and claim her. now, such an outcome would be impossible. he had become engaged to another woman,--this in itself would be enough to keep him from her, if it were not an index of a vastly more serious barrier, a proof that he had never loved her. if he had loved her truly, he would never have forgotten her in three short months,--three long months they had heretofore seemed to her, for in them she had lived a lifetime of experience. another impassable barrier lay in the fact that his mother had met her, and that she was known in the neighborhood. thus cut off from any hope that she might be anything to him, she had no wish to meet her former lover; no possible good could come of such a meeting; and yet her fluttering heart told her that if he should come, as his letter foreshadowed that he might,--if he should come, the loving george of old, with soft words and tender smiles and specious talk of friendship--ah! then, her heart would break! she must not meet him--at any cost she must avoid him. but this heaping up of cares strained her endurance to the breaking-point. toward the middle of the last week, she knew that she had almost reached the limit, and was haunted by a fear that she might break down before the week was over. now her really fine nature rose to the emergency, though she mustered her forces with a great effort. if she could keep wain at his distance and avoid tryon for three days longer, her school labors would be ended and she might retire in peace and honor. "miss rena," said plato to her on tuesday, "ain't it 'bout time i wuz gwine home wid you ag'in?" "you may go with me to-morrow, plato," answered the teacher. after school plato met an anxious eyed young man in the woods a short distance from the schoolhouse. "well, plato, what news?" "i's gwine ter see her home ter-morrer, mars geo'ge." "to-morrow!" replied tryon; "how very fortunate! i wanted you to go to town to-morrow to take an important message for me. i'm sorry, plato--you might have earned another dollar." to lie is a disgraceful thing, and yet there are times when, to a lover's mind, love dwarfs all ordinary laws. plato scratched his head disconsolately, but suddenly a bright thought struck him. "can't i go ter town fer you atter i've seed her home, mars geo'ge?" "n-o, i'm afraid it would be too late," returned tryon doubtfully. "den i'll haf ter ax 'er ter lemme go nex' day," said plato, with resignation. the honor might be postponed or, if necessary, foregone; the opportunity to earn a dollar was the chance of a lifetime and must not be allowed to slip. "no, plato," rejoined tryon, shaking his head, "i shouldn't want to deprive you of so great a pleasure." tryon was entirely sincere in this characterization of plato's chance; he would have given many a dollar to be sure of plato's place and plato's welcome. rena's letter had re-inflamed his smouldering passion; only opposition was needed to fan it to a white heat. wherein lay the great superiority of his position, if he was denied the right to speak to the one person in the world whom he most cared to address? he felt some dim realization of the tyranny of caste, when he found it not merely pressing upon an inferior people who had no right to expect anything better, but barring his own way to something that he desired. he meant her no harm--but he must see her. he could never marry her now--but he must see her. he was conscious of a certain relief at the thought that he had not asked blanche leary to be his wife. his hand was unpledged. he could not marry the other girl, of course, but they must meet again. the rest he would leave to fate, which seemed reluctant to disentangle threads which it had woven so closely. "i think, plato, that i see an easier way out of the difficulty. your teacher, i imagine, merely wants some one to see her safely home. don't you think, if you should go part of the way, that i might take your place for the rest, while you did my errand?" "why, sho'ly, mars geo'ge, you could take keer er her better 'n i could--better 'n anybody could--co'se you could!" mars geo'ge was white and rich, and could do anything. plato was proud of the fact that he had once belonged to mars geo'ge. he could not conceive of any one so powerful as mars geo'ge, unless it might be god, of whom plato had heard more or less, and even here the comparison might not be quite fair to mars geo'ge, for mars geo'ge was the younger of the two. it would undoubtedly be a great honor for the teacher to be escorted home by mars geo'ge. the teacher was a great woman, no doubt, and looked white; but mars geo'ge was the real article. mars geo'ge had never been known to go with a black woman before, and the teacher would doubtless thank plato for arranging that so great an honor should fall upon her. mars geo'ge had given him fifty cents twice, and would now give him a dollar. noble mars geo'ge! fortunate teacher! happy plato! "very well, plato. i think we can arrange it so that you can kill the two rabbits at one shot. suppose that we go over the road that she will take to go home." they soon arrived at the schoolhouse. school had been out an hour, and the clearing was deserted. plato led the way by the road through the woods to a point where, amid somewhat thick underbrush, another path intersected the road they were following. "now, plato," said tryon, pausing here, "this would be a good spot for you to leave the teacher and for me to take your place. this path leads to the main road, and will take you to town very quickly. i shouldn't say anything to the teacher about it at all; but when you and she get here, drop behind and run along this path until you meet me,--i'll be waiting a few yards down the road,--and then run to town as fast as your legs will carry you. as soon as you are gone, i'll come out and tell the teacher that i've sent you away on an errand, and will myself take your place. you shall have a dollar, and i'll ask her to let you go home with her the next day. but you mustn't say a word about it, plato, or you won't get the dollar, and i'll not ask the teacher to let you go home with her again." "all right, mars geo'ge, i ain't gwine ter say no mo' d'n ef de cat had my tongue." xxxi in deep waters rena was unusually fatigued at the close of her school on wednesday afternoon. she had been troubled all day with a headache, which, beginning with a dull pain, had gradually increased in intensity until every nerve was throbbing like a trip-hammer. the pupils seemed unusually stupid. a discouraging sense of the insignificance of any part she could perform towards the education of three million people with a school term of two months a year hung over her spirit like a pall. as the object of wain's attentions, she had begun to feel somewhat like a wild creature who hears the pursuers on its track, and has the fear of capture added to the fatigue of flight. but when this excitement had gone too far and had neared the limit of exhaustion came tryon's letter, with the resulting surprise and consternation. rena had keyed herself up to a heroic pitch to answer it; but when the inevitable reaction came, she was overwhelmed with a sickening sense of her own weakness. the things which in another sphere had constituted her strength and shield were now her undoing, and exposed her to dangers from which they lent her no protection. not only was this her position in theory, but the pursuers were already at her heels. as the day wore on, these dark thoughts took on an added gloom, until, when the hour to dismiss school arrived, she felt as though she had not a friend in the world. this feeling was accentuated by a letter which she had that morning received from her mother, in which mis' molly spoke very highly of wain, and plainly expressed the hope that her daughter might like him so well that she would prefer to remain in sampson county. plato, bright-eyed and alert, was waiting in the school-yard until the teacher should be ready to start. having warned away several smaller children who had hung around after school as though to share his prerogative of accompanying the teacher, plato had swung himself into the low branches of an oak at the edge of the clearing, from which he was hanging by his legs, head downward. he dropped from this reposeful attitude when the teacher appeared at the door, and took his place at her side. a premonition of impending trouble caused the teacher to hesitate. she wished that she had kept more of the pupils behind. something whispered that danger lurked in the road she customarily followed. plato seemed insignificantly small and weak, and she felt miserably unable to cope with any difficult or untoward situation. "plato," she suggested, "i think we'll go round the other way to-night, if you don't mind." visions of mars geo'ge disappointed, of a dollar unearned and unspent, flitted through the narrow brain which some one, with the irony of ignorance or of knowledge, had mocked with the name of a great philosopher. plato was not an untruthful lad, but he seldom had the opportunity to earn a dollar. his imagination, spurred on by the instinct of self-interest, rose to the emergency. "i's feared you mought git snake-bit gwine roun' dat way, miss rena. my brer jim kill't a water-moccasin down dere yistiddy 'bout ten feet long." rena had a horror of snakes, with which the swamp by which the other road ran was infested. snakes were a vivid reality; her presentiment was probably a mere depression of spirits due to her condition of nervous exhaustion. a cloud had come up and threatened rain, and the wind was rising ominously. the old way was the shorter; she wanted above all things to get to elder johnson's and go to bed. perhaps sleep would rest her tired brain--she could not imagine herself feeling worse, unless she should break down altogether. she plunged into the path and hastened forward so as to reach home before the approaching storm. so completely was she absorbed in her own thoughts that she scarcely noticed that plato himself seemed preoccupied. instead of capering along like a playful kitten or puppy, he walked by her side unusually silent. when they had gone a short distance and were approaching a path which intersected their road at something near a right angle, the teacher missed plato. he had dropped behind a moment before; now he had disappeared entirely. her vague alarm of a few moments before returned with redoubled force. "plato!" she called; "plato!" there was no response, save the soughing of the wind through the swaying treetops. she stepped hastily forward, wondering if this were some childish prank. if so, it was badly timed, and she would let plato feel the weight of her displeasure. her forward step had brought her to the junction of the two paths, where she paused doubtfully. the route she had been following was the most direct way home, but led for quite a distance through the forest, which she did not care to traverse alone. the intersecting path would soon take her to the main road, where she might find shelter or company, or both. glancing around again in search of her missing escort, she became aware that a man was approaching her from each of the two paths. in one she recognized the eager and excited face of george tryon, flushed with anticipation of their meeting, and yet grave with uncertainty of his reception. advancing confidently along the other path she saw the face of jeff wain, drawn, as she imagined in her anguish, with evil passions which would stop at nothing. what should she do? there was no sign of plato--for aught she could see or hear of him, the earth might have swallowed him up. some deadly serpent might have stung him. some wandering rabbit might have tempted him aside. another thought struck her. plato had been very quiet--there had been something on his conscience--perhaps he had betrayed her! but to which of the two men, and to what end? the problem was too much for her overwrought brain. she turned and fled. a wiser instinct might have led her forward. in the two conflicting dangers she might have found safety. the road after all was a public way. any number of persons might meet there accidentally. but she saw only the darker side of the situation. to turn to tryon for protection before wain had by some overt act manifested the evil purpose which she as yet only suspected would be, she imagined, to acknowledge a previous secret acquaintance with tryon, thus placing her reputation at wain's mercy, and to charge herself with a burden of obligation toward a man whom she wished to avoid and had refused to meet. if, on the other hand, she should go forward to meet wain, he would undoubtedly offer to accompany her homeward. tryon would inevitably observe the meeting, and suppose it prearranged. not for the world would she have him think so--why she should care for his opinion, she did not stop to argue. she turned and fled, and to avoid possible pursuit, struck into the underbrush at an angle which she calculated would bring her in a few rods to another path which would lead quickly into the main road. she had run only a few yards when she found herself in the midst of a clump of prickly shrubs and briars. meantime the storm had burst; the rain fell in torrents. extricating herself from the thorns, she pressed forward, but instead of coming out upon the road, found herself penetrating deeper and deeper into the forest. the storm increased in violence. the air grew darker and darker. it was near evening, the clouds were dense, the thick woods increased the gloom. suddenly a blinding flash of lightning pierced the darkness, followed by a sharp clap of thunder. there was a crash of falling timber. terror-stricken, rena flew forward through the forest, the underbrush growing closer and closer as she advanced. suddenly the earth gave way beneath her feet and she sank into a concealed morass. by clasping the trunk of a neighboring sapling she extricated herself with an effort, and realized with a horrible certainty that she was lost in the swamp. turning, she tried to retrace her steps. a flash of lightning penetrated the gloom around her, and barring her path she saw a huge black snake,--harmless enough, in fact, but to her excited imagination frightful in appearance. with a wild shriek she turned again, staggered forward a few yards, stumbled over a projecting root, and fell heavily to the earth. when rena had disappeared in the underbrush, tryon and wain had each instinctively set out in pursuit of her, but owing to the gathering darkness, the noise of the storm, and the thickness of the underbrush, they missed not only rena but each other, and neither was aware of the other's presence in the forest. wain kept up the chase until the rain drove him to shelter. tryon, after a few minutes, realized that she had fled to escape him, and that to pursue her would be to defeat rather than promote his purpose. he desisted, therefore, and returning to the main road, stationed himself at a point where he could watch elder johnson's house, and having waited for a while without any signs of rena, concluded that she had taken refuge in some friendly cabin. turning homeward disconsolately as night came on, he intercepted plato on his way back from town, and pledged him to inviolable secrecy so effectually that plato, when subsequently questioned, merely answered that he had stopped a moment to gather some chinquapins, and when he had looked around the teacher was gone. rena not appearing at supper-time nor for an hour later, the elder, somewhat anxious, made inquiries about the neighborhood, and finding his guest at no place where she might be expected to stop, became somewhat alarmed. wain's house was the last to which he went. he had surmised that there was some mystery connected with her leaving wain's, but had never been given any definite information about the matter. in response to his inquiries, wain expressed surprise, but betrayed a certain self-consciousness which did not escape the elder's eye. returning home, he organized a search party from his own family and several near neighbors, and set out with dogs and torches to scour the woods for the missing teacher. a couple of hours later, they found her lying unconscious in the edge of the swamp, only a few rods from a well-defined path which would soon have led her to the open highway. strong arms lifted her gently and bore her home. mrs. johnson undressed her and put her to bed, administering a homely remedy, of which whiskey was the principal ingredient, to counteract the effects of the exposure. there was a doctor within five miles, but no one thought of sending for him, nor was it at all likely that it would have been possible to get him for such a case at such an hour. rena's illness, however, was more deeply seated than her friends could imagine. a tired body, in sympathy with an overwrought brain, had left her peculiarly susceptible to the nervous shock of her forest experience. the exposure for several hours in her wet clothing to the damps and miasma of the swamp had brought on an attack of brain fever. the next morning, she was delirious. one of the children took word to the schoolhouse that the teacher was sick and there would be no school that day. a number of curious and sympathetic people came in from time to time and suggested various remedies, several of which old mrs. johnson, with catholic impartiality, administered to the helpless teacher, who from delirium gradually sunk into a heavy stupor scarcely distinguishable from sleep. it was predicted that she would probably be well in the morning; if not, it would then be time to consider seriously the question of sending for a doctor. xxxii the power of love after tryon's failure to obtain an interview with rena through plato's connivance, he decided upon a different course of procedure. in a few days her school term would be finished. he was not less desirous to see her, was indeed as much more eager as opposition would be likely to make a very young man who was accustomed to having his own way, and whose heart, as he had discovered, was more deeply and permanently involved than he had imagined. his present plan was to wait until the end of the school; then, when rena went to clinton on the saturday or monday to draw her salary for the month, he would see her in the town, or, if necessary, would follow her to patesville. no power on earth should keep him from her long, but he had no desire to interfere in any way with the duty which she owed to others. when the school was over and her work completed, then he would have his innings. writing letters was too unsatisfactory a method of communication--he must see her face to face. the first of his three days of waiting had passed, when, about ten o'clock on the morning of the second day, which seemed very long in prospect, while driving along the road toward clinton, he met plato, with a rabbit trap in his hand. "well, plato," he asked, "why are you absent from the classic shades of the academy to-day?" "hoddy, mars geo'ge. w'at wuz dat you say?" "why are you not at school to-day?" "ain' got no teacher, mars geo'ge. teacher's gone!" "gone!" exclaimed tryon, with a sudden leap of the heart. "gone where? what do you mean?" "teacher got los' in de swamp, night befo' las', 'cause plato wa'n't dere ter show her de way out'n de woods. elder johnson foun' 'er wid dawgs and tawches, an' fotch her home an' put her ter bed. no school yistiddy. she wuz out'n her haid las' night, an' dis mawnin' she wuz gone." "gone where?" "dey don' nobody know whar, suh." leaving plato abruptly, tryon hastened down the road toward elder johnson's cabin. this was no time to stand on punctilio. the girl had been lost in the woods in the storm, amid the thunder and lightning and the pouring rain. she was sick with fright and exposure, and he was the cause of it all. bribery, corruption, and falsehood had brought punishment in their train, and the innocent had suffered while the guilty escaped. he must learn at once what had become of her. reaching elder johnson's house, he drew up by the front fence and gave the customary halloa, which summoned a woman to the door. "good-morning," he said, nodding unconsciously, with the careless politeness of a gentleman to his inferiors. "i'm mr. tryon. i have come to inquire about the sick teacher." "why, suh," the woman replied respectfully, "she got los' in de woods night befo' las', an' she wuz out'n her min' most er de time yistiddy. las' night she must 'a' got out er bed an' run away w'en eve'ybody wuz soun' asleep, fer dis mawnin' she wuz gone, an' none er us knows whar she is." "has any search been made for her?" "yas, suh, my husban' an' de child'en has been huntin' roun' all de mawnin', an' he's gone ter borry a hoss now ter go fu'ther. but lawd knows dey ain' no tellin' whar she'd go, 'less'n she got her min' back sence she lef'." tryon's mare was in good condition. he had money in his pocket and nothing to interfere with his movements. he set out immediately on the road to patesville, keeping a lookout by the roadside, and stopping each person he met to inquire if a young woman, apparently ill, had been seen traveling along the road on foot. no one had met such a traveler. when he had gone two or three miles, he drove through a shallow branch that crossed the road. the splashing of his horse's hoofs in the water prevented him from hearing a low groan that came from the woods by the roadside. he drove on, making inquiries at each farmhouse and of every person whom he encountered. shortly after crossing the branch, he met a young negro with a cartload of tubs and buckets and piggins, and asked him if he had seen on the road a young white woman with dark eyes and hair, apparently sick or demented. the young man answered in the negative, and tryon pushed forward anxiously. at noon he stopped at a farmhouse and swallowed a hasty meal. his inquiries here elicited no information, and he was just leaving when a young man came in late to dinner and stated, in response to the usual question, that he had met, some two hours before, a young woman who answered tryon's description, on the lillington road, which crossed the main road to patesville a short distance beyond the farmhouse. he had spoken to the woman. at first she had paid no heed to his question. when addressed a second time, she had answered in a rambling and disconnected way, which indicated to his mind that there was something wrong with her. tryon thanked his informant and hastened to the lillington road. stopping as before to inquire, he followed the woman for several hours, each mile of the distance taking him farther away from patesville. from time to time he heard of the woman. toward nightfall he found her. she was white enough, with the sallowness of the sandhill poor white. she was still young, perhaps, but poverty and a hard life made her look older than she ought. she was not fair, and she was not rena. when tryon came up to her, she was sitting on the doorsill of a miserable cabin, and held in her hand a bottle, the contents of which had never paid any revenue tax. she had walked twenty miles that day, and had beguiled the tedium of the journey by occasional potations, which probably accounted for the incoherency of speech which several of those who met her had observed. when tryon drew near, she tendered him the bottle with tipsy cordiality. he turned in disgust and retraced his steps to the patesville road, which he did not reach until nightfall. as it was too dark to prosecute the search with any chance of success, he secured lodging for the night, intending to resume his quest early in the morning. xxxiii a mule and a cart frank fowler's heart was filled with longing for a sight of rena's face. when she had gone away first, on the ill-fated trip to south carolina, her absence had left an aching void in his life; he had missed her cheerful smile, her pleasant words, her graceful figure moving about across the narrow street. his work had grown monotonous during her absence; the clatter of hammer and mallet, that had seemed so merry when punctuated now and then by the strains of her voice, became a mere humdrum rapping of wood upon wood and iron upon iron. he had sought work in south carolina with the hope that he might see her. he had satisfied this hope, and had tried in vain to do her a service; but fate had been against her; her castle of cards had come tumbling down. he felt that her sorrow had brought her nearer to him. the distance between them depended very much upon their way of looking at things. he knew that her experience had dragged her through the valley of humiliation. his unselfish devotion had reacted to refine and elevate his own spirit. when he heard the suggestion, after her second departure, that she might marry wain, he could not but compare himself with this new aspirant. he, frank, was a man, an honest man--a better man than the shifty scoundrel with whom she had ridden away. she was but a woman, the best and sweetest and loveliest of all women, but yet a woman. after a few short years of happiness or sorrow,--little of joy, perhaps, and much of sadness, which had begun already,--they would both be food for worms. white people, with a deeper wisdom perhaps than they used in their own case, regarded rena and himself as very much alike. they were certainly both made by the same god, in much the same physical and mental mould; they breathed the same air, ate the same food, spoke the same speech, loved and hated, laughed and cried, lived and would die, the same. if god had meant to rear any impassable barrier between people of contrasting complexions, why did he not express the prohibition as he had done between other orders of creation? when rena had departed for sampson county, frank had reconciled himself to her absence by the hope of her speedy return. he often stepped across the street to talk to mis' molly about her. several letters had passed between mother and daughter, and in response to frank's inquiries his neighbor uniformly stated that rena was well and doing well, and sent her love to all inquiring friends. but frank observed that mis' molly, when pressed as to the date of rena's return, grew more and more indefinite; and finally the mother, in a burst of confidential friendship, told frank of all her hopes with reference to the stranger from down the country. "yas, frank," she concluded, "it'll be her own fault ef she don't become a lady of proputty, fer mr. wain is rich, an' owns a big plantation, an' hires a lot of hands, and is a big man in the county. he's crazy to git her, an' it all lays in her own han's." frank did not find this news reassuring. he believed that wain was a liar and a scoundrel. he had nothing more than his intuitions upon which to found this belief, but it was none the less firm. if his estimate of the man's character were correct, then his wealth might be a fiction, pure and simple. if so, the truth should be known to mis' molly, so that instead of encouraging a marriage with wain, she would see him in his true light, and interpose to rescue her daughter from his importunities. a day or two after this conversation, frank met in the town a negro from sampson county, made his acquaintance, and inquired if he knew a man by the name of jeff wain. "oh, jeff wain!" returned the countryman slightingly; "yas, i knows 'im, an' don' know no good of 'im. one er dese yer biggity, braggin' niggers--talks lack he own de whole county, an' ain't wuth no mo' d'n i is--jes' a big bladder wid a handful er shot rattlin' roun' in it. had a wife, when i wuz dere, an' beat her an' 'bused her so she had ter run away." this was alarming information. wain had passed in the town as a single man, and frank had had no hint that he had ever been married. there was something wrong somewhere. frank determined that he would find out the truth and, if possible, do something to protect rena against the obviously evil designs of the man who had taken her away. the barrel factory had so affected the cooper's trade that peter and frank had turned their attention more or less to the manufacture of small woodenware for domestic use. frank's mule was eating off its own head, as the saying goes. it required but little effort to persuade peter that his son might take a load of buckets and tubs and piggins into the country and sell them or trade them for country produce at a profit. in a few days frank had his stock prepared, and set out on the road to sampson county. he went about thirty miles the first day, and camped by the roadside for the night, resuming the journey at dawn. after driving for an hour through the tall pines that overhung the road like the stately arch of a cathedral aisle, weaving a carpet for the earth with their brown spines and cones, and soothing the ear with their ceaseless murmur, frank stopped to water his mule at a point where the white, sandy road, widening as it went, sloped downward to a clear-running branch. on the right a bay-tree bending over the stream mingled the heavy odor of its flowers with the delicate perfume of a yellow jessamine vine that had overrun a clump of saplings on the left. from a neighboring tree a silver-throated mocking-bird poured out a flood of riotous melody. a group of minnows; startled by the splashing of the mule's feet, darted away into the shadow of the thicket, their quick passage leaving the amber water filled with laughing light. the mule drank long and lazily, while over frank stole thoughts in harmony with the peaceful scene,--thoughts of rena, young and beautiful, her friendly smile, her pensive dark eyes. he would soon see her now, and if she had any cause for fear or unhappiness, he would place himself at her service--for a day, a week, a month, a year, a lifetime, if need be. his reverie was broken by a slight noise from the thicket at his left. "i wonder who dat is?" he muttered. "it soun's mighty quare, ter say de leas'." he listened intently for a moment, but heard nothing further. "it must 'a' be'n a rabbit er somethin' scamp'in' th'ough de woods. g'long dere, caesar!" as the mule stepped forward, the sound was repeated. this time it was distinctly audible, the long, low moan of some one in sickness or distress. "dat ain't no rabbit," said frank to himself. "dere's somethin' wrong dere. stan' here, caesar, till i look inter dis matter." pulling out from the branch, frank sprang from the saddle and pushed his way cautiously through the outer edge of the thicket. "good lawd!" he exclaimed with a start, "it's a woman--a w'ite woman!" the slender form of a young woman lay stretched upon the ground in a small open space a few yards in extent. her face was turned away, and frank could see at first only a tangled mass of dark brown hair, matted with twigs and leaves and cockleburs, and hanging in wild profusion around her neck. frank stood for a moment irresolute, debating the serious question whether he should investigate further with a view to rendering assistance, or whether he should put as great a distance as possible between himself and this victim, as she might easily be, of some violent crime, lest he should himself be suspected of it--a not unlikely contingency, if he were found in the neighborhood and the woman should prove unable to describe her assailant. while he hesitated, the figure moved restlessly, and a voice murmured:-- "mamma, oh, mamma!" the voice thrilled frank like an electric shock. trembling in every limb, he sprang forward toward the prostrate figure. the woman turned her head, and he saw that it was rena. her gown was torn and dusty, and fringed with burs and briars. when she had wandered forth, half delirious, pursued by imaginary foes, she had not stopped to put on her shoes, and her little feet were blistered and swollen and bleeding. frank knelt by her side and lifted her head on his arm. he put his hand upon her brow; it was burning with fever. "miss rena! rena! don't you know me?" she turned her wild eyes on him suddenly. "yes, i know you, jeff wain. go away from me! go away!" her voice rose to a scream; she struggled in his grasp and struck at him fiercely with her clenched fists. her sleeve fell back and disclosed the white scar made by his own hand so many years before. "you're a wicked man," she panted. "don't touch me! i hate you and despise you!" frank could only surmise how she had come here, in such a condition. when she spoke of wain in this manner, he drew his own conclusions. some deadly villainy of wain's had brought her to this pass. anger stirred his nature to the depths, and found vent in curses on the author of rena's misfortunes. "damn him!" he groaned. "i'll have his heart's blood fer dis, ter de las' drop!" rena now laughed and put up her arms appealingly. "george," she cried, in melting tones, "dear george, do you love me? how much do you love me? ah, you don't love me!" she moaned; "i'm black; you don't love me; you despise me!" her voice died away into a hopeless wail. frank knelt by her side, his faithful heart breaking with pity, great tears rolling untouched down his dusky cheeks. "oh, my honey, my darlin'," he sobbed, "frank loves you better 'n all de worl'." meantime the sun shone on as brightly as before, the mocking-bird sang yet more joyously. a gentle breeze sprang up and wafted the odor of bay and jessamine past them on its wings. the grand triumphal sweep of nature's onward march recked nothing of life's little tragedies. when the first burst of his grief was over, frank brought water from the branch, bathed rena's face and hands and feet, and forced a few drops between her reluctant lips. he then pitched the cartload of tubs, buckets, and piggins out into the road, and gathering dried leaves and pine-straw, spread them in the bottom of the cart. he stooped, lifted her frail form in his arms, and laid it on the leafy bed. cutting a couple of hickory withes, he arched them over the cart, and gathering an armful of jessamine quickly wove it into an awning to protect her from the sun. she was quieter now, and seemed to fall asleep. "go ter sleep, honey," he murmured caressingly, "go ter sleep, an' frank'll take you home ter yo' mammy!" toward noon he was met by a young white man, who peered inquisitively into the canopied cart. "hello!" exclaimed the stranger, "who've you got there?" "a sick woman, suh." "why, she's white, as i'm a sinner!" he cried, after a closer inspection. "look a-here, nigger, what are you doin' with this white woman?" "she's not w'ite, boss,--she's a bright mulatter." "yas, mighty bright," continued the stranger suspiciously. "where are you goin' with her?" "i'm takin' her ter patesville, ter her mammy." the stranger passed on. toward evening frank heard hounds baying in the distance. a fox, weary with running, brush drooping, crossed the road ahead of the cart. presently, the hounds straggled across the road, followed by two or three hunters on horseback, who stopped at sight of the strangely canopied cart. they stared at the sick girl and demanded who she was. "i don't b'lieve she's black at all," declared one, after frank's brief explanation. "this nigger has a bad eye,--he's up ter some sort of devilment. what ails the girl?" "'pears ter be some kind of a fever," replied frank; adding diplomatically, "i don't know whether it's ketchin' er no--she's be'n out er her head most er de time." they drew off a little at this. "i reckon it's all right," said the chief spokesman. the hounds were baying clamorously in the distance. the hunters followed the sound and disappeared m the woods. frank drove all day and all night, stopping only for brief periods of rest and refreshment. at dawn, from the top of the long white hill, he sighted the river bridge below. at sunrise he rapped at mis' molly's door. upon rising at dawn, tryon's first step, after a hasty breakfast, was to turn back toward clinton. he had wasted half a day in following the false scent on the lillington road. it seemed, after reflection, unlikely that a woman seriously ill should have been able to walk any considerable distance before her strength gave out. in her delirium, too, she might have wandered in a wrong direction, imagining any road to lead to patesville. it would be a good plan to drive back home, continuing his inquiries meantime, and ascertain whether or not she had been found by those who were seeking her, including many whom tryon's inquiries had placed upon the alert. if she should prove still missing, he would resume the journey to patesville and continue the search in that direction. she had probably not wandered far from the highroad; even in delirium she would be likely to avoid the deep woods, with which her illness was associated. he had retraced more than half the distance to clinton when he overtook a covered wagon. the driver, when questioned, said that he had met a young negro with a mule, and a cart in which lay a young woman, white to all appearance, but claimed by the negro to be a colored girl who had been taken sick on the road, and whom he was conveying home to her mother at patesville. from a further description of the cart tryon recognized it as the one he had met the day before. the woman could be no other than rena. he turned his mare and set out swiftly on the road to patesville. if anything could have taken more complete possession of george tryon at twenty-three than love successful and triumphant, it was love thwarted and denied. never in the few brief delirious weeks of his courtship had he felt so strongly drawn to the beautiful sister of the popular lawyer, as he was now driven by an aching heart toward the same woman stripped of every adventitions advantage and placed, by custom, beyond the pale of marriage with men of his own race. custom was tyranny. love was the only law. would god have made hearts to so yearn for one another if he had meant them to stay forever apart? if this girl should die, it would be he who had killed her, by his cruelty, no less surely than if with his own hand he had struck her down. he had been so dazzled by his own superiority, so blinded by his own glory, that he had ruthlessly spurned and spoiled the image of god in this fair creature, whom he might have had for his own treasure,--whom, please god, he would yet have, at any cost, to love and cherish while they both should live. there were difficulties--they had seemed insuperable, but love would surmount them. sacrifices must be made, but if the world without love would be nothing, then why not give up the world for love? he would hasten to patesville. he would find her; he would tell her that he loved her, that she was all the world to him, that he had come to marry her, and take her away where they might be happy together. he pictured to himself the joy that would light up her face; he felt her soft arms around his neck, her tremulous kisses upon his lips. if she were ill, his love would woo her back to health,--if disappointment and sorrow had contributed to her illness, joy and gladness should lead to her recovery. he urged the mare forward; if she would but keep up her present pace, he would reach patesville by nightfall. dr. green had just gone down the garden path to his buggy at the gate. mis' molly came out to the back piazza, where frank, weary and haggard, sat on the steps with homer pettifoot and billy oxendine, who, hearing of rena's return, had come around after their day's work. "rena wants to see you, frank," said mis' molly, with a sob. he walked in softly, reverently, and stood by her bedside. she turned her gentle eyes upon him and put out her slender hand, which he took in his own broad palm. "frank," she murmured, "my good friend--my best friend--you loved me best of them all." the tears rolled untouched down his cheeks. "i'd 'a' died, fer you, miss rena," he said brokenly. mary b. threw open a window to make way for the passing spirit, and the red and golden glory of the setting sun, triumphantly ending his daily course, flooded the narrow room with light. between sunset and dark a traveler, seated in a dusty buggy drawn by a tired horse, crossed the long river bridge and drove up front street. just as the buggy reached the gate in front of the house behind the cedars, a woman was tying a piece of crape upon the door-knob. pale with apprehension, tryon sat as if petrified, until a tall, side-whiskered mulatto came down the garden walk to the front gate. "who's dead?" demanded tryon hoarsely, scarcely recognizing his own voice. "a young cullud 'oman, sah," answered homer pettifoot, touching his hat, "mis' molly walden's daughter rena." the wife of his youth and other stories of the color line, and selected essays charles w. chesnutt introduction charles waddell chesnutt ( - )--african-american educator, lawyer, and activist--was the most prominent black prose author of his day. in both his fiction and his essays, he addressed the thorny issues of the "color line" and racism in an outspoken way. despite the critical acclaim resulting from several works of fiction and non-fiction published between and , he was unable to make a living as an author. he kept writing, however, and several works which were not published during his lifetime have been rediscovered (and published) in recent years. he was awarded the springarn medal for distinguished literary achievement by the naacp in . the library at fayetteville state university, in north carolina, is named after him. the wife of his youth ( ) was chesnutt's second collection of short stories, drawing upon his mixed race heritage. these deal largely with race relations, the far-reaching effects of jim crow laws, and color prejudice among african americans toward darker-skinned blacks. eric j. sundquist wrote: "chesnutt's color-line stories, like his conjure tales, are at their best haunting, psychologically and philosophically astute studies of the nation's betrayal of the promise of racial equality and its descent into a brutal world of segregation. [he] made the family a means of delineating america's racial crisis, during slavery and afterward." for our pg edition, i have added three of chesnutt's essays on the "color line" in an appendix to this collection. suzanne shell, project gutenberg project manager contents the wife of his youth her virginia mammy the sheriff's children a matter of principle cicely's dream the passing of grandison uncle wellington's wives the bouquet the web of circumstance appendix three essays on the color line: what is a white man? ( ) the future american ( ) the disfranchisement of the negro ( ) the wife of his youth i mr. ryder was going to give a ball. there were several reasons why this was an opportune time for such an event. mr. ryder might aptly be called the dean of the blue veins. the original blue veins were a little society of colored persons organized in a certain northern city shortly after the war. its purpose was to establish and maintain correct social standards among a people whose social condition presented almost unlimited room for improvement. by accident, combined perhaps with some natural affinity, the society consisted of individuals who were, generally speaking, more white than black. some envious outsider made the suggestion that no one was eligible for membership who was not white enough to show blue veins. the suggestion was readily adopted by those who were not of the favored few, and since that time the society, though possessing a longer and more pretentious name, had been known far and wide as the "blue vein society," and its members as the "blue veins." the blue veins did not allow that any such requirement existed for admission to their circle, but, on the contrary, declared that character and culture were the only things considered; and that if most of their members were light-colored, it was because such persons, as a rule, had had better opportunities to qualify themselves for membership. opinions differed, too, as to the usefulness of the society. there were those who had been known to assail it violently as a glaring example of the very prejudice from which the colored race had suffered most; and later, when such critics had succeeded in getting on the inside, they had been heard to maintain with zeal and earnestness that the society was a lifeboat, an anchor, a bulwark and a shield,--a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night, to guide their people through the social wilderness. another alleged prerequisite for blue vein membership was that of free birth; and while there was really no such requirement, it is doubtless true that very few of the members would have been unable to meet it if there had been. if there were one or two of the older members who had come up from the south and from slavery, their history presented enough romantic circumstances to rob their servile origin of its grosser aspects. while there were no such tests of eligibility, it is true that the blue veins had their notions on these subjects, and that not all of them were equally liberal in regard to the things they collectively disclaimed. mr. ryder was one of the most conservative. though he had not been among the founders of the society, but had come in some years later, his genius for social leadership was such that he had speedily become its recognized adviser and head, the custodian of its standards, and the preserver of its traditions. he shaped its social policy, was active in providing for its entertainment, and when the interest fell off, as it sometimes did, he fanned the embers until they burst again into a cheerful flame. there were still other reasons for his popularity. while he was not as white as some of the blue veins, his appearance was such as to confer distinction upon them. his features were of a refined type, his hair was almost straight; he was always neatly dressed; his manners were irreproachable, and his morals above suspicion. he had come to groveland a young man, and obtaining employment in the office of a railroad company as messenger had in time worked himself up to the position of stationery clerk, having charge of the distribution of the office supplies for the whole company. although the lack of early training had hindered the orderly development of a naturally fine mind, it had not prevented him from doing a great deal of reading or from forming decidedly literary tastes. poetry was his passion. he could repeat whole pages of the great english poets; and if his pronunciation was sometimes faulty, his eye, his voice, his gestures, would respond to the changing sentiment with a precision that revealed a poetic soul and disarmed criticism. he was economical, and had saved money; he owned and occupied a very comfortable house on a respectable street. his residence was handsomely furnished, containing among other things a good library, especially rich in poetry, a piano, and some choice engravings. he generally shared his house with some young couple, who looked after his wants and were company for him; for mr. ryder was a single man. in the early days of his connection with the blue veins he had been regarded as quite a catch, and young ladies and their mothers had manoeuvred with much ingenuity to capture him. not, however, until mrs. molly dixon visited groveland had any woman ever made him wish to change his condition to that of a married man. mrs. dixon had come to groveland from washington in the spring, and before the summer was over she had won mr. ryder's heart. she possessed many attractive qualities. she was much younger than he; in fact, he was old enough to have been her father, though no one knew exactly how old he was. she was whiter than he, and better educated. she had moved in the best colored society of the country, at washington, and had taught in the schools of that city. such a superior person had been eagerly welcomed to the blue vein society, and had taken a leading part in its activities. mr. ryder had at first been attracted by her charms of person, for she was very good looking and not over twenty-five; then by her refined manners and the vivacity of her wit. her husband had been a government clerk, and at his death had left a considerable life insurance. she was visiting friends in groveland, and, finding the town and the people to her liking, had prolonged her stay indefinitely. she had not seemed displeased at mr. ryder's attentions, but on the contrary had given him every proper encouragement; indeed, a younger and less cautious man would long since have spoken. but he had made up his mind, and had only to determine the time when he would ask her to be his wife. he decided to give a ball in her honor, and at some time during the evening of the ball to offer her his heart and hand. he had no special fears about the outcome, but, with a little touch of romance, he wanted the surroundings to be in harmony with his own feelings when he should have received the answer he expected. mr. ryder resolved that this ball should mark an epoch in the social history of groveland. he knew, of course,--no one could know better,--the entertainments that had taken place in past years, and what must be done to surpass them. his ball must be worthy of the lady in whose honor it was to be given, and must, by the quality of its guests, set an example for the future. he had observed of late a growing liberality, almost a laxity, in social matters, even among members of his own set, and had several times been forced to meet in a social way persons whose complexions and callings in life were hardly up to the standard which he considered proper for the society to maintain. he had a theory of his own. "i have no race prejudice," he would say, "but we people of mixed blood are ground between the upper and the nether millstone. our fate lies between absorption by the white race and extinction in the black. the one does n't want us yet, but may take us in time. the other would welcome us, but it would be for us a backward step. 'with malice towards none, with charity for all,' we must do the best we can for ourselves and those who are to follow us. self-preservation is the first law of nature." his ball would serve by its exclusiveness to counteract leveling tendencies, and his marriage with mrs. dixon would help to further the upward process of absorption he had been wishing and waiting for. ii the ball was to take place on friday night. the house had been put in order, the carpets covered with canvas, the halls and stairs decorated with palms and potted plants; and in the afternoon mr. ryder sat on his front porch, which the shade of a vine running up over a wire netting made a cool and pleasant lounging place. he expected to respond to the toast "the ladies" at the supper, and from a volume of tennyson--his favorite poet--was fortifying himself with apt quotations. the volume was open at "a dream of fair women." his eyes fell on these lines, and he read them aloud to judge better of their effect:---- "at length i saw a lady within call, stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there; a daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinely fair." he marked the verse, and turning the page read the stanza beginning,---- "o sweet pale margaret, o rare pale margaret." he weighed the passage a moment, and decided that it would not do. mrs. dixon was the palest lady he expected at the ball, and she was of a rather ruddy complexion, and of lively disposition and buxom build. so he ran over the leaves until his eye rested on the description of queen guinevere:---- "she seem'd a part of joyous spring; a gown of grass-green silk she wore, buckled with golden clasps before; a light-green tuft of plumes she bore closed in a golden ring. * * * * * "she look'd so lovely, as she sway'd the rein with dainty finger-tips, a man had given all other bliss, and all his worldly worth for this, to waste his whole heart in one kiss upon her perfect lips." as mr. ryder murmured these words audibly, with an appreciative thrill, he heard the latch of his gate click, and a light footfall sounding on the steps. he turned his head, and saw a woman standing before his door. she was a little woman, not five feet tall, and proportioned to her height. although she stood erect, and looked around her with very bright and restless eyes, she seemed quite old; for her face was crossed and recrossed with a hundred wrinkles, and around the edges of her bonnet could be seen protruding here and there a tuft of short gray wool. she wore a blue calico gown of ancient cut, a little red shawl fastened around her shoulders with an old-fashioned brass brooch, and a large bonnet profusely ornamented with faded red and yellow artificial flowers. and she was very black,--so black that her toothless gums, revealed when she opened her mouth to speak, were not red, but blue. she looked like a bit of the old plantation life, summoned up from the past by the wave of a magician's wand, as the poet's fancy had called into being the gracious shapes of which mr. ryder had just been reading. he rose from his chair and came over to where she stood. "good-afternoon, madam," he said. "good-evenin', suh," she answered, ducking suddenly with a quaint curtsy. her voice was shrill and piping, but softened somewhat by age. "is dis yere whar mistuh ryduh lib, suh?" she asked, looking around her doubtfully, and glancing into the open windows, through which some of the preparations for the evening were visible. "yes," he replied, with an air of kindly patronage, unconsciously flattered by her manner, "i am mr. ryder. did you want to see me?" "yas, suh, ef i ain't 'sturbin' of you too much." "not at all. have a seat over here behind the vine, where it is cool. what can i do for you?" "'scuse me, suh," she continued, when she had sat down on the edge of a chair, "'scuse me, suh, i 's lookin' for my husban'. i heerd you wuz a big man an' had libbed heah a long time, an' i 'lowed you would n't min' ef i 'd come roun' an' ax you ef you 'd ever heerd of a merlatter man by de name er sam taylor 'quirin' roun' in de chu'ches ermongs' de people fer his wife 'liza jane?" mr. ryder seemed to think for a moment. "there used to be many such cases right after the war," he said, "but it has been so long that i have forgotten them. there are very few now. but tell me your story, and it may refresh my memory." she sat back farther in her chair so as to be more comfortable, and folded her withered hands in her lap. "my name 's 'liza," she began, "'liza jane. w'en i wuz young i us'ter b'long ter marse bob smif, down in ole missoura. i wuz bawn down dere. wen i wuz a gal i wuz married ter a man named jim. but jim died, an' after dat i married a merlatter man named sam taylor. sam wuz free-bawn, but his mammy and daddy died, an' de w'ite folks 'prenticed him ter my marster fer ter work fer 'im 'tel he wuz growed up. sam worked in de fiel', an' i wuz de cook. one day ma'y ann, ole miss's maid, came rushin' out ter de kitchen, an' says she, ''liza jane, ole marse gwine sell yo' sam down de ribber.' "'go way f'm yere,' says i; 'my husban' 's free!' "'don' make no diff'ence. i heerd ole marse tell ole miss he wuz gwine take yo' sam 'way wid 'im ter-morrow, fer he needed money, an' he knowed whar he could git a t'ousan' dollars fer sam an' no questions axed.' "w'en sam come home f'm de fiel' dat night, i tole him 'bout ole marse gwine steal 'im, an' sam run erway. his time wuz mos' up, an' he swo' dat w'en he wuz twenty-one he would come back an' he'p me run erway, er else save up de money ter buy my freedom. an' i know he 'd 'a' done it, fer he thought a heap er me, sam did. but w'en he come back he didn' fin' me, fer i wuzn' dere. ole marse had heerd dat i warned sam, so he had me whip' an' sol' down de ribber. "den de wah broke out, an' w'en it wuz ober de cullud folks wuz scattered. i went back ter de ole home; but sam wuzn' dere, an' i could n' l'arn nuffin' 'bout 'im. but i knowed he 'd be'n dere to look fer me an' had n' foun' me, an' had gone erway ter hunt fer me. "i 's be'n lookin' fer 'im eber sence," she added simply, as though twenty-five years were but a couple of weeks, "an' i knows he 's be'n lookin' fer me. fer he sot a heap er sto' by me, sam did, an' i know he 's be'n huntin' fer me all dese years,--'less'n he 's be'n sick er sump'n, so he could n' work, er out'n his head, so he could n' 'member his promise. i went back down de ribber, fer i 'lowed he 'd gone down dere lookin' fer me. i 's be'n ter noo orleens, an' atlanty, an' charleston, an' richmon'; an' w'en i 'd be'n all ober de souf i come ter de norf. fer i knows i 'll fin' 'im some er dese days," she added softly, "er he 'll fin' me, an' den we 'll bofe be as happy in freedom as we wuz in de ole days befo' de wah." a smile stole over her withered countenance as she paused a moment, and her bright eyes softened into a far-away look. this was the substance of the old woman's story. she had wandered a little here and there. mr. ryder was looking at her curiously when she finished. "how have you lived all these years?" he asked. "cookin', suh. i 's a good cook. does you know anybody w'at needs a good cook, suh? i 's stoppin' wid a cullud fam'ly roun' de corner yonder 'tel i kin git a place." "do you really expect to find your husband? he may be dead long ago." she shook her head emphatically. "oh no, he ain' dead. de signs an' de tokens tells me. i dremp three nights runnin' on'y dis las' week dat i foun' him." "he may have married another woman. your slave marriage would not have prevented him, for you never lived with him after the war, and without that your marriage does n't count." "would n' make no diff'ence wid sam. he would n' marry no yuther 'ooman 'tel he foun' out 'bout me. i knows it," she added. "sump'n 's be'n tellin' me all dese years dat i 's gwine fin' sam 'fo' i dies." "perhaps he 's outgrown you, and climbed up in the world where he would n't care to have you find him." "no, indeed, suh," she replied, "sam ain' dat kin' er man. he wuz good ter me, sam wuz, but he wuz n' much good ter nobody e'se, fer he wuz one er de triflin'es' han's on de plantation. i 'spec's ter haf ter suppo't 'im w'en i fin' 'im, fer he nebber would work 'less'n he had ter. but den he wuz free, an' he did n' git no pay fer his work, an' i don' blame 'im much. mebbe he 's done better sence he run erway, but i ain' 'spectin' much." "you may have passed him on the street a hundred times during the twenty-five years, and not have known him; time works great changes." she smiled incredulously. "i 'd know 'im 'mongs' a hund'ed men. fer dey wuz n' no yuther merlatter man like my man sam, an' i could n' be mistook. i 's toted his picture roun' wid me twenty-five years." "may i see it?" asked mr. ryder. "it might help me to remember whether i have seen the original." as she drew a small parcel from her bosom he saw that it was fastened to a string that went around her neck. removing several wrappers, she brought to light an old-fashioned daguerreotype in a black case. he looked long and intently at the portrait. it was faded with time, but the features were still distinct, and it was easy to see what manner of man it had represented. he closed the case, and with a slow movement handed it back to her. "i don't know of any man in town who goes by that name," he said, "nor have i heard of any one making such inquiries. but if you will leave me your address, i will give the matter some attention, and if i find out anything i will let you know." she gave him the number of a house in the neighborhood, and went away, after thanking him warmly. he wrote the address on the fly-leaf of the volume of tennyson, and, when she had gone, rose to his feet and stood looking after her curiously. as she walked down the street with mincing step, he saw several persons whom she passed turn and look back at her with a smile of kindly amusement. when she had turned the corner, he went upstairs to his bedroom, and stood for a long time before the mirror of his dressing-case, gazing thoughtfully at the reflection of his own face. iii at eight o'clock the ballroom was a blaze of light and the guests had begun to assemble; for there was a literary programme and some routine business of the society to be gone through with before the dancing. a black servant in evening dress waited at the door and directed the guests to the dressing-rooms. the occasion was long memorable among the colored people of the city; not alone for the dress and display, but for the high average of intelligence and culture that distinguished the gathering as a whole. there were a number of school-teachers, several young doctors, three or four lawyers, some professional singers, an editor, a lieutenant in the united states army spending his furlough in the city, and others in various polite callings; these were colored, though most of them would not have attracted even a casual glance because of any marked difference from white people. most of the ladies were in evening costume, and dress coats and dancing pumps were the rule among the men. a band of string music, stationed in an alcove behind a row of palms, played popular airs while the guests were gathering. the dancing began at half past nine. at eleven o'clock supper was served. mr. ryder had left the ballroom some little time before the intermission, but reappeared at the supper-table. the spread was worthy of the occasion, and the guests did full justice to it. when the coffee had been served, the toast-master, mr. solomon sadler, rapped for order. he made a brief introductory speech, complimenting host and guests, and then presented in their order the toasts of the evening. they were responded to with a very fair display of after-dinner wit. "the last toast," said the toast-master, when he reached the end of the list, "is one which must appeal to us all. there is no one of us of the sterner sex who is not at some time dependent upon woman,--in infancy for protection, in manhood for companionship, in old age for care and comforting. our good host has been trying to live alone, but the fair faces i see around me to-night prove that he too is largely dependent upon the gentler sex for most that makes life worth living,--the society and love of friends,--and rumor is at fault if he does not soon yield entire subjection to one of them. mr. ryder will now respond to the toast,--the ladies." there was a pensive look in mr. ryder's eyes as he took the floor and adjusted his eyeglasses. he began by speaking of woman as the gift of heaven to man, and after some general observations on the relations of the sexes he said: "but perhaps the quality which most distinguishes woman is her fidelity and devotion to those she loves. history is full of examples, but has recorded none more striking than one which only to-day came under my notice." he then related, simply but effectively, the story told by his visitor of the afternoon. he gave it in the same soft dialect, which came readily to his lips, while the company listened attentively and sympathetically. for the story had awakened a responsive thrill in many hearts. there were some present who had seen, and others who had heard their fathers and grandfathers tell, the wrongs and sufferings of this past generation, and all of them still felt, in their darker moments, the shadow hanging over them. mr. ryder went on:---- "such devotion and confidence are rare even among women. there are many who would have searched a year, some who would have waited five years, a few who might have hoped ten years; but for twenty-five years this woman has retained her affection for and her faith in a man she has not seen or heard of in all that time. "she came to me to-day in the hope that i might be able to help her find this long-lost husband. and when she was gone i gave my fancy rein, and imagined a case i will put to you. "suppose that this husband, soon after his escape, had learned that his wife had been sold away, and that such inquiries as he could make brought no information of her whereabouts. suppose that he was young, and she much older than he; that he was light, and she was black; that their marriage was a slave marriage, and legally binding only if they chose to make it so after the war. suppose, too, that he made his way to the north, as some of us have done, and there, where he had larger opportunities, had improved them, and had in the course of all these years grown to be as different from the ignorant boy who ran away from fear of slavery as the day is from the night. suppose, even, that he had qualified himself, by industry, by thrift, and by study, to win the friendship and be considered worthy the society of such people as these i see around me to-night, gracing my board and filling my heart with gladness; for i am old enough to remember the day when such a gathering would not have been possible in this land. suppose, too, that, as the years went by, this man's memory of the past grew more and more indistinct, until at last it was rarely, except in his dreams, that any image of this bygone period rose before his mind. and then suppose that accident should bring to his knowledge the fact that the wife of his youth, the wife he had left behind him,--not one who had walked by his side and kept pace with him in his upward struggle, but one upon whom advancing years and a laborious life had set their mark,--was alive and seeking him, but that he was absolutely safe from recognition or discovery, unless he chose to reveal himself. my friends, what would the man do? i will presume that he was one who loved honor, and tried to deal justly with all men. i will even carry the case further, and suppose that perhaps he had set his heart upon another, whom he had hoped to call his own. what would he do, or rather what ought he to do, in such a crisis of a lifetime? "it seemed to me that he might hesitate, and i imagined that i was an old friend, a near friend, and that he had come to me for advice; and i argued the case with him. i tried to discuss it impartially. after we had looked upon the matter from every point of view, i said to him, in words that we all know:---- "'this above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.' "then, finally, i put the question to him, 'shall you acknowledge her?' "and now, ladies and gentlemen, friends and companions, i ask you, what should he have done?" there was something in mr. ryder's voice that stirred the hearts of those who sat around him. it suggested more than mere sympathy with an imaginary situation; it seemed rather in the nature of a personal appeal. it was observed, too, that his look rested more especially upon mrs. dixon, with a mingled expression of renunciation and inquiry. she had listened, with parted lips and streaming eyes. she was the first to speak: "he should have acknowledged her." "yes," they all echoed, "he should have acknowledged her." "my friends and companions," responded mr. ryder, "i thank you, one and all. it is the answer i expected, for i knew your hearts." he turned and walked toward the closed door of an adjoining room, while every eye followed him in wondering curiosity. he came back in a moment, leading by the hand his visitor of the afternoon, who stood startled and trembling at the sudden plunge into this scene of brilliant gayety. she was neatly dressed in gray, and wore the white cap of an elderly woman. "ladies and gentlemen," he said, "this is the woman, and i am the man, whose story i have told you. permit me to introduce to you the wife of my youth." her virginia mammy i the pianist had struck up a lively two-step, and soon the floor was covered with couples, each turning on its own axis, and all revolving around a common centre, in obedience perhaps to the same law of motion that governs the planetary systems. the dancing-hall was a long room, with a waxed floor that glistened with the reflection of the lights from the chandeliers. the walls were hung in paper of blue and white, above a varnished hard wood wainscoting; the monotony of surface being broken by numerous windows draped with curtains of dotted muslin, and by occasional engravings and colored pictures representing the dances of various nations, judiciously selected. the rows of chairs along the two sides of the room were left unoccupied by the time the music was well under way, for the pianist, a tall colored woman with long fingers and a muscular wrist, played with a verve and a swing that set the feet of the listeners involuntarily in motion. the dance was sure to occupy the class for a quarter of an hour at least, and the little dancing-mistress took the opportunity to slip away to her own sitting-room, which was on the same floor of the block, for a few minutes of rest. her day had been a hard one. there had been a matinee at two o'clock, a children's class at four, and at eight o'clock the class now on the floor had assembled. when she reached the sitting-room she gave a start of pleasure. a young man rose at her entrance, and advanced with both hands extended--a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired young man, with a frank and kindly countenance, now lit up with the animation of pleasure. he seemed about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. his face was of the type one instinctively associates with intellect and character, and it gave the impression, besides, of that intangible something which we call race. he was neatly and carefully dressed, though his clothing was not without indications that he found it necessary or expedient to practice economy. "good-evening, clara," he said, taking her hands in his; "i 've been waiting for you five minutes. i supposed you would be in, but if you had been a moment later i was going to the hall to look you up. you seem tired to-night," he added, drawing her nearer to him and scanning her features at short range. "this work is too hard; you are not fitted for it. when are you going to give it up?" "the season is almost over," she answered, "and then i shall stop for the summer." he drew her closer still and kissed her lovingly. "tell me, clara," he said, looking down into her face,--he was at least a foot taller than she,--"when i am to have my answer." "will you take the answer you can get to-night?" she asked with a wan smile. "i will take but one answer, clara. but do not make me wait too long for that. why, just think of it! i have known you for six months." "that is an extremely long time," said clara, as they sat down side by side. "it has been an age," he rejoined. "for a fortnight of it, too, which seems longer than all the rest, i have been waiting for my answer. i am turning gray under the suspense. seriously, clara dear, what shall it be? or rather, when shall it be? for to the other question there is but one answer possible." he looked into her eyes, which slowly filled with tears. she repulsed him gently as he bent over to kiss them away. "you know i love you, john, and why i do not say what you wish. you must give me a little more time to make up my mind before i can consent to burden you with a nameless wife, one who does not know who her mother was"---- "she was a good woman, and beautiful, if you are at all like her." "or her father"---- "he was a gentleman and a scholar, if you inherited from him your mind or your manners." "it is good of you to say that, and i try to believe it. but it is a serious matter; it is a dreadful thing to have no name." "you are known by a worthy one, which was freely given you, and is legally yours." "i know--and i am grateful for it. after all, though, it is not my real name; and since i have learned that it was not, it seems like a garment--something external, accessory, and not a part of myself. it does not mean what one's own name would signify." "take mine, clara, and make it yours; i lay it at your feet. some honored men have borne it." "ah yes, and that is what makes my position the harder. your great-grandfather was governor of connecticut." "i have heard my mother say so." "and one of your ancestors came over in the mayflower." "in some capacity--i have never been quite clear whether as ship's cook or before the mast." "now you are insincere, john; but you cannot deceive me. you never spoke in that way about your ancestors until you learned that i had none. i know you are proud of them, and that the memory of the governor and the judge and the harvard professor and the mayflower pilgrim makes you strive to excel, in order to prove yourself worthy of them." "it did until i met you, clara. now the one inspiration of my life is the hope to make you mine." "and your profession?" "it will furnish me the means to take you out of this; you are not fit for toil." "and your book--your treatise that is to make you famous?" "i have worked twice as hard on it and accomplished twice as much since i have hoped that you might share my success." "oh! if i but knew the truth!" she sighed, "or could find it out! i realize that i am absurd, that i ought to be happy. i love my parents--my foster-parents--dearly. i owe them everything. mother--poor, dear mother!--could not have loved me better or cared for me more faithfully had i been her own child. yet--i am ashamed to say it--i always felt that i was not like them, that there was a subtle difference between us. they were contented in prosperity, resigned in misfortune; i was ever restless, and filled with vague ambitions. they were good, but dull. they loved me, but they never said so. i feel that there is warmer, richer blood coursing in my veins than the placid stream that crept through theirs." "there will never be any such people to me as they were," said her lover, "for they took you and brought you up for me." "sometimes," she went on dreamily, "i feel sure that i am of good family, and the blood of my ancestors seems to call to me in clear and certain tones. then again when my mood changes, i am all at sea--i feel that even if i had but simply to turn my hand to learn who i am and whence i came, i should shrink from taking the step, for fear that what i might learn would leave me forever unhappy." "dearest," he said, taking her in his arms, while from the hall and down the corridor came the softened strains of music, "put aside these unwholesome fancies. your past is shrouded in mystery. take my name, as you have taken my love, and i 'll make your future so happy that you won't have time to think of the past. what are a lot of musty, mouldy old grandfathers, compared with life and love and happiness? it 's hardly good form to mention one's ancestors nowadays, and what 's the use of them at all if one can't boast of them?" "it 's all very well of you to talk that way," she rejoined. "but suppose you should marry me, and when you become famous and rich, and patients flock to your office, and fashionable people to your home, and every one wants to know who you are and whence you came, you 'll be obliged to bring out the governor, and the judge, and the rest of them. if you should refrain, in order to forestall embarrassing inquiries about _my_ ancestry, i should have deprived you of something you are entitled to, something which has a real social value. and when people found out all about you, as they eventually would from some source, they would want to know--we americans are a curious people--who your wife was, and you could only say"---- "the best and sweetest woman on earth, whom i love unspeakably." "you know that is not what i mean. you could only say--a miss nobody, from nowhere." "a miss hohlfelder, from cincinnati, the only child of worthy german parents, who fled from their own country in ' to escape political persecution--an ancestry that one surely need not be ashamed of." "no; but the consciousness that it was not true would be always with me, poisoning my mind, and darkening my life and yours." "your views of life are entirely too tragic, clara," the young man argued soothingly. "we are all worms of the dust, and if we go back far enough, each of us has had millions of ancestors; peasants and serfs, most of them; thieves, murderers, and vagabonds, many of them, no doubt; and therefore the best of us have but little to boast of. yet we are all made after god's own image, and formed by his hand, for his ends; and therefore not to be lightly despised, even the humblest of us, least of all by ourselves. for the past we can claim no credit, for those who made it died with it. our destiny lies in the future." "yes," she sighed, "i know all that. but i am not like you. a woman is not like a man; she cannot lose herself in theories and generalizations. and there are tests that even all your philosophy could not endure. suppose you should marry me, and then some time, by the merest accident, you should learn that my origin was the worst it could be--that i not only had no name, but was not entitled to one." "i cannot believe it," he said, "and from what we do know of your history it is hardly possible. if i learned it, i should forget it, unless, perchance, it should enhance your value in my eyes, by stamping you as a rare work of nature, an exception to the law of heredity, a triumph of pure beauty and goodness over the grosser limitations of matter. i cannot imagine, now that i know you, anything that could make me love you less. i would marry you just the same--even if you were one of your dancing-class to-night." "i must go back to them," said clara, as the music ceased. "my answer," he urged, "give me my answer!" "not to-night, john," she pleaded. "grant me a little longer time to make up my mind--for your sake." "not for my sake, clara, no." "well--for mine." she let him take her in his arms and kiss her again. "i have a patient yet to see to-night," he said as he went out. "if i am not detained too long, i may come back this way--if i see the lights in the hall still burning. do not wonder if i ask you again for my answer, for i shall be unhappy until i get it." ii a stranger entering the hall with miss hohlfelder would have seen, at first glance, only a company of well-dressed people, with nothing to specially distinguish them from ordinary humanity in temperate climates. after the eye had rested for a moment and begun to separate the mass into its component parts, one or two dark faces would have arrested its attention; and with the suggestion thus offered, a closer inspection would have revealed that they were nearly all a little less than white. with most of them this fact would not have been noticed, while they were alone or in company with one another, though if a fair white person had gone among them it would perhaps have been more apparent. from the few who were undistinguishable from pure white, the colors ran down the scale by minute gradations to the two or three brown faces at the other extremity. it was miss hohlfelder's first colored class. she had been somewhat startled when first asked to take it. no person of color had ever applied to her for lessons; and while a woman of that race had played the piano for her for several months, she had never thought of colored people as possible pupils. so when she was asked if she would take a class of twenty or thirty, she had hesitated, and begged for time to consider the application. she knew that several of the more fashionable dancing-schools tabooed all pupils, singly or in classes, who labored under social disabilities--and this included the people of at least one other race who were vastly farther along in the world than the colored people of the community where miss hohlfelder lived. personally she had no such prejudice, except perhaps a little shrinking at the thought of personal contact with the dark faces of whom americans always think when "colored people" are spoken of. again, a class of forty pupils was not to be despised, for she taught for money, which was equally current and desirable, regardless of its color. she had consulted her foster-parents, and after them her lover. her foster-parents, who were german-born, and had never become thoroughly americanized, saw no objection. as for her lover, he was indifferent. "do as you please," he said. "it may drive away some other pupils. if it should break up the business entirely, perhaps you might be willing to give me a chance so much the sooner." she mentioned the matter to one or two other friends, who expressed conflicting opinions. she decided at length to take the class, and take the consequences. "i don't think it would be either right or kind to refuse them for any such reason, and i don't believe i shall lose anything by it." she was somewhat surprised, and pleasantly so, when her class came together for their first lesson, at not finding them darker and more uncouth. her pupils were mostly people whom she would have passed on the street without a second glance, and among them were several whom she had known by sight for years, but had never dreamed of as being colored people. their manners were good, they dressed quietly and as a rule with good taste, avoiding rather than choosing bright colors and striking combinations--whether from natural preference, or because of a slightly morbid shrinking from criticism, of course she could not say. among them, the dancing-mistress soon learned, there were lawyers and doctors, teachers, telegraph operators, clerks, milliners and dressmakers, students of the local college and scientific school, and, somewhat to her awe at the first meeting, even a member of the legislature. they were mostly young, although a few light-hearted older people joined the class, as much for company as for the dancing. "of course, miss hohlfelder," explained mr. solomon sadler, to whom the teacher had paid a compliment on the quality of the class, "the more advanced of us are not numerous enough to make the fine distinctions that are possible among white people; and of course as we rise in life we can't get entirely away from our brothers and our sisters and our cousins, who don't always keep abreast of us. we do, however, draw certain lines of character and manners and occupation. you see the sort of people we are. of course we have no prejudice against color, and we regard all labor as honorable, provided a man does the best he can. but we must have standards that will give our people something to aspire to." the class was not a difficult one, as many of the members were already fairly good dancers. indeed the class had been formed as much for pleasure as for instruction. music and hall rent and a knowledge of the latest dances could be obtained cheaper in this way than in any other. the pupils had made rapid progress, displaying in fact a natural aptitude for rhythmic motion, and a keen susceptibility to musical sounds. as their race had never been criticised for these characteristics, they gave them full play, and soon developed, most of them, into graceful and indefatigable dancers. they were now almost at the end of their course, and this was the evening of the last lesson but one. miss hohlfelder had remarked to her lover more than once that it was a pleasure to teach them. "they enter into the spirit of it so thoroughly, and they seem to enjoy themselves so much." "one would think," he suggested, "that the whitest of them would find their position painful and more or less pathetic; to be so white and yet to be classed as black--so near and yet so far." "they don't accept our classification blindly. they do not acknowledge any inferiority; they think they are a great deal better than any but the best white people," replied miss hohlfelder. "and since they have been coming here, do you know," she went on, "i hardly think of them as any different from other people. i feel perfectly at home among them." "it is a great thing to have faith in one's self," he replied. "it is a fine thing, too, to be able to enjoy the passing moment. one of your greatest charms in my eyes, clara, is that in your lighter moods you have this faculty. you sing because you love to sing. you find pleasure in dancing, even by way of work. you feel the _joie de vivre_--the joy of living. you are not always so, but when you are so i think you most delightful." miss hohlfelder, upon entering the hall, spoke to the pianist and then exchanged a few words with various members of the class. the pianist began to play a dreamy strauss waltz. when the dance was well under way miss hohlfelder left the hall again and stepped into the ladies' dressing-room. there was a woman seated quietly on a couch in a corner, her hands folded on her lap. "good-evening, miss hohlfelder. you do not seem as bright as usual to-night." miss hohlfelder felt a sudden yearning for sympathy. perhaps it was the gentle tones of the greeting; perhaps the kindly expression of the soft though faded eyes that were scanning miss hohlfelder's features. the woman was of the indefinite age between forty and fifty. there were lines on her face which, if due to years, might have carried her even past the half-century mark, but if caused by trouble or ill health might leave her somewhat below it. she was quietly dressed in black, and wore her slightly wavy hair low over her ears, where it lay naturally in the ripples which some others of her sex so sedulously seek by art. a little woman, of clear olive complexion and regular features, her face was almost a perfect oval, except as time had marred its outline. she had been in the habit of coming to the class with some young women of the family she lived with, part boarder, part seamstress and friend of the family. sometimes, while waiting for her young charges, the music would jar her nerves, and she would seek the comparative quiet of the dressing-room. "oh, i 'm all right, mrs. harper," replied the dancing-mistress, with a brave attempt at cheerfulness,--"just a little tired, after a hard day's work." she sat down on the couch by the elder woman's side. mrs. harper took her hand and stroked it gently, and clara felt soothed and quieted by her touch. "there are tears in your eyes and trouble in your face. i know it, for i have shed the one and known the other. tell me, child, what ails you? i am older than you, and perhaps i have learned some things in the hard school of life that may be of comfort or service to you." such a request, coming from a comparative stranger, might very properly have been resented or lightly parried. but clara was not what would be called self-contained. her griefs seemed lighter when they were shared with others, even in spirit. there was in her nature a childish strain that craved sympathy and comforting. she had never known--or if so it was only in a dim and dreamlike past--the tender, brooding care that was her conception of a mother's love. mrs. hohlfelder had been fond of her in a placid way, and had given her every comfort and luxury her means permitted. clara's ideal of maternal love had been of another and more romantic type; she had thought of a fond, impulsive mother, to whose bosom she could fly when in trouble or distress, and to whom she could communicate her sorrows and trials; who would dry her tears and soothe her with caresses. now, when even her kind foster-mother was gone, she felt still more the need of sympathy and companionship with her own sex; and when this little mrs. harper spoke to her so gently, she felt her heart respond instinctively. "yes, mrs. harper," replied clara with a sigh, "i am in trouble, but it is trouble that you nor any one else can heal." "you do not know, child. a simple remedy can sometimes cure a very grave complaint. tell me your trouble, if it is something you are at liberty to tell." "i have a story," said clara, "and it is a strange one,--a story i have told to but one other person, one very dear to me." "he must be dear to you indeed, from the tone in which you speak of him. your very accents breathe love." "yes, i love him, and if you saw him--perhaps you have seen him, for he has looked in here once or twice during the dancing-lessons--you would know why i love him. he is handsome, he is learned, he is ambitious, he is brave, he is good; he is poor, but he will not always be so; and he loves me, oh, so much!" the other woman smiled. "it is not so strange to love, nor yet to be loved. and all lovers are handsome and brave and fond." "that is not all of my story. he wants to marry me." clara paused, as if to let this statement impress itself upon the other. "true lovers always do," said the elder woman. "but sometimes, you know, there are circumstances which prevent them." "ah yes," murmured the other reflectively, and looking at the girl with deeper interest, "circumstances which prevent them. i have known of such a case." "the circumstance which prevents us from marrying is my story." "tell me your story, child, and perhaps, if i cannot help you otherwise, i can tell you one that will make yours seem less sad." "you know me," said the young woman, "as miss hohlfelder; but that is not actually my name. in fact i do not know my real name, for i am not the daughter of mr. and mrs. hohlfelder, but only an adopted child. while mrs. hohlfelder lived, i never knew that i was not her child. i knew i was very different from her and father,--i mean mr. hohlfelder. i knew they were fair and i was dark; they were stout and i was slender; they were slow and i was quick. but of course i never dreamed of the true reason of this difference. when mother--mrs. hohlfelder--died, i found among her things one day a little packet, carefully wrapped up, containing a child's slip and some trinkets. the paper wrapper of the packet bore an inscription that awakened my curiosity. i asked father hohlfelder whose the things had been, and then for the first time i learned my real story. "i was not their own daughter, he stated, but an adopted child. twenty-three years ago, when he had lived in st. louis, a steamboat explosion had occurred up the river, and on a piece of wreckage floating down stream, a girl baby had been found. there was nothing on the child to give a hint of its home or parentage; and no one came to claim it, though the fact that a child had been found was advertised all along the river. it was believed that the infant's parents must have perished in the wreck, and certainly no one of those who were saved could identify the child. there had been a passenger list on board the steamer, but the list, with the officer who kept it, had been lost in the accident. the child was turned over to an orphan asylum, from which within a year it was adopted by the two kind-hearted and childless german people who brought it up as their own. i was that child." the woman seated by clara's side had listened with strained attention. "did you learn the name of the steamboat?" she asked quietly, but quickly, when clara paused. "the pride of st. louis," answered clara. she did not look at mrs. harper, but was gazing dreamily toward the front, and therefore did not see the expression that sprang into the other's face,--a look in which hope struggled with fear, and yearning love with both,--nor the strong effort with which mrs. harper controlled herself and moved not one muscle while the other went on. "i was never sought," clara continued, "and the good people who brought me up gave me every care. father and mother--i can never train my tongue to call them anything else--were very good to me. when they adopted me they were poor; he was a pharmacist with a small shop. later on he moved to cincinnati, where he made and sold a popular 'patent' medicine and amassed a fortune. then i went to a fashionable school, was taught french, and deportment, and dancing. father hohlfelder made some bad investments, and lost most of his money. the patent medicine fell off in popularity. a year or two ago we came to this city to live. father bought this block and opened the little drug store below. we moved into the rooms upstairs. the business was poor, and i felt that i ought to do something to earn money and help support the family. i could dance; we had this hall, and it was not rented all the time, so i opened a dancing-school." "tell me, child," said the other woman, with restrained eagerness, "what were the things found upon you when you were taken from the river?" "yes," answered the girl, "i will. but i have not told you all my story, for this is but the prelude. about a year ago a young doctor rented an office in our block. we met each other, at first only now and then, and afterwards oftener; and six months ago he told me that he loved me." she paused, and sat with half opened lips and dreamy eyes, looking back into the past six months. "and the things found upon you"---- "yes, i will show them to you when you have heard all my story. he wanted to marry me, and has asked me every week since. i have told him that i love him, but i have not said i would marry him. i don't think it would be right for me to do so, unless i could clear up this mystery. i believe he is going to be great and rich and famous, and there might come a time when he would be ashamed of me. i don't say that i shall never marry him; for i have hoped--i have a presentiment that in some strange way i shall find out who i am, and who my parents were. it may be mere imagination on my part, but somehow i believe it is more than that." "are you sure there was no mark on the things that were found upon you?" said the elder woman. "ah yes," sighed clara, "i am sure, for i have looked at them a hundred times. they tell me nothing, and yet they suggest to me many things. come," she said, taking the other by the hand, "and i will show them to you." she led the way along the hall to her sitting-room, and to her bedchamber beyond. it was a small room hung with paper showing a pattern of morning-glories on a light ground, with dotted muslin curtains, a white iron bedstead, a few prints on the wall, a rocking-chair--a very dainty room. she went to the maple dressing-case, and opened one of the drawers. as they stood for a moment, the mirror reflecting and framing their image, more than one point of resemblance between them was emphasized. there was something of the same oval face, and in clara's hair a faint suggestion of the wave in the older woman's; and though clara was fairer of complexion, and her eyes were gray and the other's black, there was visible, under the influence of the momentary excitement, one of those indefinable likenesses which are at times encountered,--sometimes marking blood relationship, sometimes the impress of a common training; in one case perhaps a mere earmark of temperament, and in another the index of a type. except for the difference in color, one might imagine that if the younger woman were twenty years older the resemblance would be still more apparent. clara reached her hand into the drawer and drew out a folded packet, which she unwrapped, mrs. harper following her movements meanwhile with a suppressed intensity of interest which clara, had she not been absorbed in her own thoughts, could not have failed to observe. when the last fold of paper was removed there lay revealed a child's muslin slip. clara lifted it and shook it gently until it was unfolded before their eyes. the lower half was delicately worked in a lacelike pattern, revealing an immense amount of patient labor. the elder woman seized the slip with hands which could not disguise their trembling. scanning the garment carefully, she seemed to be noting the pattern of the needlework, and then, pointing to a certain spot, exclaimed:---- "i thought so! i was sure of it! do you not see the letters--m.s.?" "oh, how wonderful!" clara seized the slip in turn and scanned the monogram. "how strange that you should see that at once and that i should not have discovered it, who have looked at it a hundred times! and here," she added, opening a small package which had been inclosed in the other, "is my coral necklace. perhaps your keen eyes can find something in that." it was a simple trinket, at which the older woman gave but a glance--a glance that added to her emotion. "listen, child," she said, laying her trembling hand on the other's arm. "it is all very strange and wonderful, for that slip and necklace, and, now that i have seen them, your face and your voice and your ways, all tell me who you are. your eyes are your father's eyes, your voice is your father's voice. the slip was worked by your mother's hand." "oh!" cried clara, and for a moment the whole world swam before her eyes. "i was on the pride of st. louis, and i knew your father--and your mother." clara, pale with excitement, burst into tears, and would have fallen had not the other woman caught her in her arms. mrs. harper placed her on the couch, and, seated by her side, supported her head on her shoulder. her hands seemed to caress the young woman with every touch. "tell me, oh, tell me all!" clara demanded, when the first wave of emotion had subsided. "who were my father and my mother, and who am i?" the elder woman restrained her emotion with an effort, and answered as composedly as she could,---- "there were several hundred passengers on the pride of st. louis when she left cincinnati on that fateful day, on her regular trip to new orleans. your father and mother were on the boat--and i was on the boat. we were going down the river, to take ship at new orleans for france, a country which your father loved." "who was my father?" asked clara. the woman's words fell upon her ear like water on a thirsty soil. "your father was a virginia gentleman, and belonged to one of the first families, the staffords, of melton county." clara drew herself up unconsciously, and into her face there came a frank expression of pride which became it wonderfully, setting off a beauty that needed only this to make it all but perfect of its type. "i knew it must be so," she murmured. "i have often felt it. blood will always tell. and my mother?" "your mother--also belonged to one of the first families of virginia, and in her veins flowed some of the best blood of the old dominion." "what was her maiden name?" "mary fairfax. as i was saying, your father was a virginia gentleman. he was as handsome a man as ever lived, and proud, oh, so proud!--and good, and kind. he was a graduate of the university and had studied abroad." "my mother--was she beautiful?" "she was much admired, and your father loved her from the moment he first saw her. your father came back from europe, upon his father's sudden death, and entered upon his inheritance. but he had been away from virginia so long, and had read so many books, that he had outgrown his home. he did not believe that slavery was right, and one of the first things he did was to free his slaves. his views were not popular, and he sold out his lands a year before the war, with the intention of moving to europe." "in the mean time he had met and loved and married my mother?" "in the mean time he had met and loved your mother." "my mother was a virginia belle, was she not?" "the fairfaxes," answered mrs. harper, "were the first of the first families, the bluest of the blue-bloods. the miss fairfaxes were all beautiful and all social favorites." "what did my father do then, when he had sold out in virginia?" "he went with your mother and you--you were then just a year old--to cincinnati, to settle up some business connected with his estate. when he had completed his business, he embarked on the pride of st. louis with you and your mother and a colored nurse." "and how did you know about them?" asked clara. "i was one of the party. i was"---- "you were the colored nurse?--my 'mammy,' they would have called you in my old virginia home?" "yes, child, i was--your mammy. upon my bosom you have rested; my breasts once gave you nourishment; my hands once ministered to you; my arms sheltered you, and my heart loved you and mourned you like a mother loves and mourns her firstborn." "oh, how strange, how delightful!" exclaimed clara. "now i understand why you clasped me so tightly, and were so agitated when i told you my story. it is too good for me to believe. i am of good blood, of an old and aristocratic family. my presentiment has come true. i can marry my lover, and i shall owe all my happiness to you. how can i ever repay you?" "you can kiss me, child, kiss your mammy." their lips met, and they were clasped in each other's arms. one put into the embrace all of her new-found joy, the other all the suppressed feeling of the last half hour, which in turn embodied the unsatisfied yearning of many years. the music had ceased and the pupils had left the hall. mrs. harper's charges had supposed her gone, and had left for home without her. but the two women, sitting in clara's chamber, hand in hand, were oblivious to external things and noticed neither the hour nor the cessation of the music. "why, dear mammy," said the young woman musingly, "did you not find me, and restore me to my people?" "alas, child! i was not white, and when i was picked up from the water, after floating miles down the river, the man who found me kept me prisoner for a time, and, there being no inquiry for me, pretended not to believe that i was free, and took me down to new orleans and sold me as a slave. a few years later the war set me free. i went to st. louis but could find no trace of you. i had hardly dared to hope that a child had been saved, when so many grown men and women had lost their lives. i made such inquiries as i could, but all in vain." "did you go to the orphan asylum?" "the orphan asylum had been burned and with it all the records. the war had scattered the people so that i could find no one who knew about a lost child saved from a river wreck. there were many orphans in those days, and one more or less was not likely to dwell in the public mind." "did you tell my people in virginia?" "they, too, were scattered by the war. your uncles lost their lives on the battlefield. the family mansion was burned to the ground. your father's remaining relatives were reduced to poverty, and moved away from virginia." "what of my mother's people?" "they are all dead. god punished them. they did not love your father, and did not wish him to marry your mother. they helped to drive him to his death." "i am alone in the world, then, without kith or kin," murmured clara, "and yet, strange to say, i am happy. if i had known my people and lost them, i should be sad. they are gone, but they have left me their name and their blood. i would weep for my poor father and mother if i were not so glad." just then some one struck a chord upon the piano in the hall, and the sudden breaking of the stillness recalled clara's attention to the lateness of the hour. "i had forgotten about the class," she exclaimed. "i must go and attend to them." they walked along the corridor and entered the hall. dr. winthrop was seated at the piano, drumming idly on the keys. "i did not know where you had gone," he said. "i knew you would be around, of course, since the lights were not out, and so i came in here to wait for you." "listen, john, i have a wonderful story to tell you." then she told him mrs. harper's story. he listened attentively and sympathetically, at certain points taking his eyes from clara's face and glancing keenly at mrs. harper, who was listening intently. as he looked from one to the other he noticed the resemblance between them, and something in his expression caused mrs. harper's eyes to fall, and then glance up appealingly. "and now," said clara, "i am happy. i know my name. i am a virginia stafford. i belong to one, yes, to two of what were the first families of virginia. john, my family is as good as yours. if i remember my history correctly, the cavaliers looked down upon the roundheads." "i admit my inferiority," he replied. "if you are happy i am glad." "clara stafford," mused the girl. "it is a pretty name." "you will never have to use it," her lover declared, "for now you will take mine." "then i shall have nothing left of all that i have found"---- "except your husband," asserted dr. winthrop, putting his arm around her, with an air of assured possession. mrs. harper was looking at them with moistened eyes in which joy and sorrow, love and gratitude, were strangely blended. clara put out her hand to her impulsively. "and my mammy," she cried, "my dear virginia mammy." the sheriffs children branson county, north carolina, is in a sequestered district of one of the staidest and most conservative states of the union. society in branson county is almost primitive in its simplicity. most of the white people own the farms they till, and even before the war there were no very wealthy families to force their neighbors, by comparison, into the category of "poor whites." to branson county, as to most rural communities in the south, the war is the one historical event that overshadows all others. it is the era from which all local chronicles are dated,--births, deaths, marriages, storms, freshets. no description of the life of any southern community would be perfect that failed to emphasize the all pervading influence of the great conflict. yet the fierce tide of war that had rushed through the cities and along the great highways of the country had comparatively speaking but slightly disturbed the sluggish current of life in this region, remote from railroads and navigable streams. to the north in virginia, to the west in tennessee, and all along the seaboard the war had raged; but the thunder of its cannon had not disturbed the echoes of branson county, where the loudest sounds heard were the crack of some hunter's rifle, the baying of some deep-mouthed hound, or the yodel of some tuneful negro on his way through the pine forest. to the east, sherman's army had passed on its march to the sea; but no straggling band of "bummers" had penetrated the confines of branson county. the war, it is true, had robbed the county of the flower of its young manhood; but the burden of taxation, the doubt and uncertainty of the conflict, and the sting of ultimate defeat, had been borne by the people with an apathy that robbed misfortune of half its sharpness. the nearest approach to town life afforded by branson county is found in the little village of troy, the county seat, a hamlet with a population of four or five hundred. ten years make little difference in the appearance of these remote southern towns. if a railroad is built through one of them, it infuses some enterprise; the social corpse is galvanized by the fresh blood of civilization that pulses along the farthest ramifications of our great system of commercial highways. at the period of which i write, no railroad had come to troy. if a traveler, accustomed to the bustling life of cities, could have ridden through troy on a summer day, he might easily have fancied himself in a deserted village. around him he would have seen weather-beaten houses, innocent of paint, the shingled roofs in many instances covered with a rich growth of moss. here and there he would have met a razor-backed hog lazily rooting his way along the principal thoroughfare; and more than once he would probably have had to disturb the slumbers of some yellow dog, dozing away the hours in the ardent sunshine, and reluctantly yielding up his place in the middle of the dusty road. on saturdays the village presented a somewhat livelier appearance, and the shade trees around the court house square and along front street served as hitching-posts for a goodly number of horses and mules and stunted oxen, belonging to the farmer-folk who had come in to trade at the two or three local stores. a murder was a rare event in branson county. every well-informed citizen could tell the number of homicides committed in the county for fifty years back, and whether the slayer, in any given instance, had escaped, either by flight or acquittal, or had suffered the penalty of the law. so, when it became known in troy early one friday morning in summer, about ten years after the war, that old captain walker, who had served in mexico under scott, and had left an arm on the field of gettysburg, had been foully murdered during the night, there was intense excitement in the village. business was practically suspended, and the citizens gathered in little groups to discuss the murder, and speculate upon the identity of the murderer. it transpired from testimony at the coroner's inquest, held during the morning, that a strange mulatto had been seen going in the direction of captain walker's house the night before, and had been met going away from troy early friday morning, by a farmer on his way to town. other circumstances seemed to connect the stranger with the crime. the sheriff organized a posse to search for him, and early in the evening, when most of the citizens of troy were at supper, the suspected man was brought in and lodged in the county jail. by the following morning the news of the capture had spread to the farthest limits of the county. a much larger number of people than usual came to town that saturday,--bearded men in straw hats and blue homespun shirts, and butternut trousers of great amplitude of material and vagueness of outline; women in homespun frocks and slat-bonnets, with faces as expressionless as the dreary sandhills which gave them a meagre sustenance. the murder was almost the sole topic of conversation. a steady stream of curious observers visited the house of mourning, and gazed upon the rugged face of the old veteran, now stiff and cold in death; and more than one eye dropped a tear at the remembrance of the cheery smile, and the joke--sometimes superannuated, generally feeble, but always good-natured--with which the captain had been wont to greet his acquaintances. there was a growing sentiment of anger among these stern men, toward the murderer who had thus cut down their friend, and a strong feeling that ordinary justice was too slight a punishment for such a crime. toward noon there was an informal gathering of citizens in dan tyson's store. "i hear it 'lowed that square kyahtah's too sick ter hol' co'te this evenin'," said one, "an' that the purlim'nary hearin' 'll haf ter go over 'tel nex' week." a look of disappointment went round the crowd. "hit 's the durndes', meanes' murder ever committed in this caounty," said another, with moody emphasis. "i s'pose the nigger 'lowed the cap'n had some green-backs," observed a third speaker. "the cap'n," said another, with an air of superior information, "has left two bairls of confedrit money, which he 'spected 'ud be good some day er nuther." this statement gave rise to a discussion of the speculative value of confederate money; but in a little while the conversation returned to the murder. "hangin' air too good fer the murderer," said one; "he oughter be burnt, stidier bein' hung." there was an impressive pause at this point, during which a jug of moonlight whiskey went the round of the crowd. "well," said a round-shouldered farmer, who, in spite of his peaceable expression and faded gray eye, was known to have been one of the most daring followers of a rebel guerrilla chieftain, "what air yer gwine ter do about it? ef you fellers air gwine ter set down an' let a wuthless nigger kill the bes' white man in branson, an' not say nuthin' ner do nuthin', _i 'll_ move outen the caounty." this speech gave tone and direction to the rest of the conversation. whether the fear of losing the round-shouldered farmer operated to bring about the result or not is immaterial to this narrative; but, at all events, the crowd decided to lynch the negro. they agreed that this was the least that could be done to avenge the death of their murdered friend, and that it was a becoming way in which to honor his memory. they had some vague notions of the majesty of the law and the rights of the citizen, but in the passion of the moment these sunk into oblivion; a white man had been killed by a negro. "the cap'n was an ole sodger," said one of his friends solemnly. "he 'll sleep better when he knows that a co'te-martial has be'n hilt an' jestice done." by agreement the lynchers were to meet at tyson's store at five o'clock in the afternoon, and proceed thence to the jail, which was situated down the lumberton dirt road (as the old turnpike antedating the plank-road was called), about half a mile south of the court-house. when the preliminaries of the lynching had been arranged, and a committee appointed to manage the affair, the crowd dispersed, some to go to their dinners, and some to secure recruits for the lynching party. it was twenty minutes to five o'clock, when an excited negro, panting and perspiring, rushed up to the back door of sheriff campbell's dwelling, which stood at a little distance from the jail and somewhat farther than the latter building from the court-house. a turbaned colored woman came to the door in response to the negro's knock. "hoddy, sis' nance." "hoddy, brer sam." "is de shurff in," inquired the negro. "yas, brer sam, he 's eatin' his dinner," was the answer. "will yer ax 'im ter step ter de do' a minute, sis' nance?" the woman went into the dining-room, and a moment later the sheriff came to the door. he was a tall, muscular man, of a ruddier complexion than is usual among southerners. a pair of keen, deep-set gray eyes looked out from under bushy eyebrows, and about his mouth was a masterful expression, which a full beard, once sandy in color, but now profusely sprinkled with gray, could not entirely conceal. the day was hot; the sheriff had discarded his coat and vest, and had his white shirt open at the throat. "what do you want, sam?" he inquired of the negro, who stood hat in hand, wiping the moisture from his face with a ragged shirt-sleeve. "shurff, dey gwine ter hang de pris'ner w'at 's lock' up in de jail. dey 're comin' dis a-way now. i wuz layin' down on a sack er corn down at de sto', behine a pile er flour-bairls, w'en i hearn doc' cain en kunnel wright talkin' erbout it. i slip' outen de back do', en run here as fas' as i could. i hearn you say down ter de sto' once't dat you would n't let nobody take a pris'ner 'way fum you widout walkin' over yo' dead body, en i thought i 'd let you know 'fo' dey come, so yer could pertec' de pris'ner." the sheriff listened calmly, but his face grew firmer, and a determined gleam lit up his gray eyes. his frame grew more erect, and he unconsciously assumed the attitude of a soldier who momentarily expects to meet the enemy face to face. "much obliged, sam," he answered. "i 'll protect the prisoner. who 's coming?" "i dunno who-all _is_ comin'," replied the negro. "dere 's mistah mcswayne, en doc' cain, en maje' mcdonal', en kunnel wright, en a heap er yuthers. i wuz so skeered i done furgot mo' d'n half un em. i spec' dey mus' be mos' here by dis time, so i 'll git outen de way, fer i don' want nobody fer ter think i wuz mix' up in dis business." the negro glanced nervously down the road toward the town, and made a movement as if to go away. "won't you have some dinner first?" asked the sheriff. the negro looked longingly in at the open door, and sniffed the appetizing odor of boiled pork and collards. "i ain't got no time fer ter tarry, shurff," he said, "but sis' nance mought gin me sump'n i could kyar in my han' en eat on de way." a moment later nancy brought him a huge sandwich of split corn-pone, with a thick slice of fat bacon inserted between the halves, and a couple of baked yams. the negro hastily replaced his ragged hat on his head, dropped the yams in the pocket of his capacious trousers, and, taking the sandwich in his hand, hurried across the road and disappeared in the woods beyond. the sheriff reëntered the house, and put on his coat and hat. he then took down a double-barreled shotgun and loaded it with buckshot. filling the chambers of a revolver with fresh cartridges, he slipped it into the pocket of the sack-coat which he wore. a comely young woman in a calico dress watched these proceedings with anxious surprise. "where are you going, father?" she asked. she had not heard the conversation with the negro. "i am goin' over to the jail," responded the sheriff. "there 's a mob comin' this way to lynch the nigger we 've got locked up. but they won't do it," he added, with emphasis. "oh, father! don't go!" pleaded the girl, clinging to his arm; "they 'll shoot you if you don't give him up." "you never mind me, polly," said her father reassuringly, as he gently unclasped her hands from his arm. "i 'll take care of myself and the prisoner, too. there ain't a man in branson county that would shoot me. besides, i have faced fire too often to be scared away from my duty. you keep close in the house," he continued, "and if any one disturbs you just use the old horse-pistol in the top bureau drawer. it 's a little old-fashioned, but it did good work a few years ago." the young girl shuddered at this sanguinary allusion, but made no further objection to her father's departure. the sheriff of branson was a man far above the average of the community in wealth, education, and social position. his had been one of the few families in the county that before the war had owned large estates and numerous slaves. he had graduated at the state university at chapel hill, and had kept up some acquaintance with current literature and advanced thought. he had traveled some in his youth, and was looked up to in the county as an authority on all subjects connected with the outer world. at first an ardent supporter of the union, he had opposed the secession movement in his native state as long as opposition availed to stem the tide of public opinion. yielding at last to the force of circumstances, he had entered the confederate service rather late in the war, and served with distinction through several campaigns, rising in time to the rank of colonel. after the war he had taken the oath of allegiance, and had been chosen by the people as the most available candidate for the office of sheriff, to which he had been elected without opposition. he had filled the office for several terms, and was universally popular with his constituents. colonel or sheriff campbell, as he was indifferently called, as the military or civil title happened to be most important in the opinion of the person addressing him, had a high sense of the responsibility attaching to his office. he had sworn to do his duty faithfully, and he knew what his duty was, as sheriff, perhaps more clearly than he had apprehended it in other passages of his life. it was, therefore, with no uncertainty in regard to his course that he prepared his weapons and went over to the jail. he had no fears for polly's safety. the sheriff had just locked the heavy front door of the jail behind him when a half dozen horsemen, followed by a crowd of men on foot, came round a bend in the road and drew near the jail. they halted in front of the picket fence that surrounded the building, while several of the committee of arrangements rode on a few rods farther to the sheriff's house. one of them dismounted and rapped on the door with his riding-whip. "is the sheriff at home?" he inquired. "no, he has just gone out," replied polly, who had come to the door. "we want the jail keys," he continued. "they are not here," said polly. "the sheriff has them himself." then she added, with assumed indifference, "he is at the jail now." the man turned away, and polly went into the front room, from which she peered anxiously between the slats of the green blinds of a window that looked toward the jail. meanwhile the messenger returned to his companions and announced his discovery. it looked as though the sheriff had learned of their design and was preparing to resist it. one of them stepped forward and rapped on the jail door. "well, what is it?" said the sheriff, from within. "we want to talk to you, sheriff," replied the spokesman. there was a little wicket in the door; this the sheriff opened, and answered through it. "all right, boys, talk away. you are all strangers to me, and i don't know what business you can have." the sheriff did not think it necessary to recognize anybody in particular on such an occasion; the question of identity sometimes comes up in the investigation of these extra-judicial executions. "we 're a committee of citizens and we want to get into the jail." "what for? it ain't much trouble to get into jail. most people want to keep out." the mob was in no humor to appreciate a joke, and the sheriff's witticism fell dead upon an unresponsive audience. "we want to have a talk with the nigger that killed cap'n walker." "you can talk to that nigger in the court-house, when he 's brought out for trial. court will be in session here next week. i know what you fellows want, but you can't get my prisoner to-day. do you want to take the bread out of a poor man's mouth? i get seventy-five cents a day for keeping this prisoner, and he 's the only one in jail. i can't have my family suffer just to please you fellows." one or two young men in the crowd laughed at the idea of sheriff campbell's suffering for want of seventy-five cents a day; but they were frowned into silence by those who stood near them. "ef yer don't let us in," cried a voice, "we 'll bu's' the do' open." "bust away," answered the sheriff, raising his voice so that all could hear. "but i give you fair warning. the first man that tries it will be filled with buckshot. i 'm sheriff of this county; i know my duty, and i mean to do it." "what 's the use of kicking, sheriff," argued one of the leaders of the mob. "the nigger is sure to hang anyhow; he richly deserves it; and we 've got to do something to teach the niggers their places, or white people won't be able to live in the county." "there 's no use talking, boys," responded the sheriff. "i 'm a white man outside, but in this jail i 'm sheriff; and if this nigger 's to be hung in this county, i propose to do the hanging. so you fellows might as well right-about-face, and march back to troy. you 've had a pleasant trip, and the exercise will be good for you. you know _me_. i 've got powder and ball, and i 've faced fire before now, with nothing between me and the enemy, and i don't mean to surrender this jail while i 'm able to shoot." having thus announced his determination, the sheriff closed and fastened the wicket, and looked around for the best position from which to defend the building. the crowd drew off a little, and the leaders conversed together in low tones. the branson county jail was a small, two-story brick building, strongly constructed, with no attempt at architectural ornamentation. each story was divided into two large cells by a passage running from front to rear. a grated iron door gave entrance from the passage to each of the four cells. the jail seldom had many prisoners in it, and the lower windows had been boarded up. when the sheriff had closed the wicket, he ascended the steep wooden stairs to the upper floor. there was no window at the front of the upper passage, and the most available position from which to watch the movements of the crowd below was the front window of the cell occupied by the solitary prisoner. the sheriff unlocked the door and entered the cell. the prisoner was crouched in a corner, his yellow face, blanched with terror, looking ghastly in the semi-darkness of the room. a cold perspiration had gathered on his forehead, and his teeth were chattering with affright. "for god's sake, sheriff," he murmured hoarsely, "don't let 'em lynch me; i did n't kill the old man." the sheriff glanced at the cowering wretch with a look of mingled contempt and loathing. "get up," he said sharply. "you will probably be hung sooner or later, but it shall not be to-day, if i can help it. i 'll unlock your fetters, and if i can't hold the jail, you 'll have to make the best fight you can. if i 'm shot, i 'll consider my responsibility at an end." there were iron fetters on the prisoner's ankles, and handcuffs on his wrists. these the sheriff unlocked, and they fell clanking to the floor. "keep back from the window," said the sheriff. "they might shoot if they saw you." the sheriff drew toward the window a pine bench which formed a part of the scanty furniture of the cell, and laid his revolver upon it. then he took his gun in hand, and took his stand at the side of the window where he could with least exposure of himself watch the movements of the crowd below. the lynchers had not anticipated any determined resistance. of course they had looked for a formal protest, and perhaps a sufficient show of opposition to excuse the sheriff in the eye of any stickler for legal formalities. they had not however come prepared to fight a battle, and no one of them seemed willing to lead an attack upon the jail. the leaders of the party conferred together with a good deal of animated gesticulation, which was visible to the sheriff from his outlook, though the distance was too great for him to hear what was said. at length one of them broke away from the group, and rode back to the main body of the lynchers, who were restlessly awaiting orders. "well, boys," said the messenger, "we 'll have to let it go for the present. the sheriff says he 'll shoot, and he 's got the drop on us this time. there ain't any of us that want to follow cap'n walker jest yet. besides, the sheriff is a good fellow, and we don't want to hurt 'im. but," he added, as if to reassure the crowd, which began to show signs of disappointment, "the nigger might as well say his prayers, for he ain't got long to live." there was a murmur of dissent from the mob, and several voices insisted that an attack be made on the jail. but pacific counsels finally prevailed, and the mob sullenly withdrew. the sheriff stood at the window until they had disappeared around the bend in the road. he did not relax his watchfulness when the last one was out of sight. their withdrawal might be a mere feint, to be followed by a further attempt. so closely, indeed, was his attention drawn to the outside, that he neither saw nor heard the prisoner creep stealthily across the floor, reach out his hand and secure the revolver which lay on the bench behind the sheriff, and creep as noiselessly back to his place in the corner of the room. a moment after the last of the lynching party had disappeared there was a shot fired from the woods across the road; a bullet whistled by the window and buried itself in the wooden casing a few inches from where the sheriff was standing. quick as thought, with the instinct born of a semi-guerrilla army experience, he raised his gun and fired twice at the point from which a faint puff of smoke showed the hostile bullet to have been sent. he stood a moment watching, and then rested his gun against the window, and reached behind him mechanically for the other weapon. it was not on the bench. as the sheriff realized this fact, he turned his head and looked into the muzzle of the revolver. "stay where you are, sheriff," said the prisoner, his eyes glistening, his face almost ruddy with excitement. the sheriff mentally cursed his own carelessness for allowing him to be caught in such a predicament. he had not expected anything of the kind. he had relied on the negro's cowardice and subordination in the presence of an armed white man as a matter of course. the sheriff was a brave man, but realized that the prisoner had him at an immense disadvantage. the two men stood thus for a moment, fighting a harmless duel with their eyes. "well, what do you mean to do?" asked the sheriff with apparent calmness. "to get away, of course," said the prisoner, in a tone which caused the sheriff to look at him more closely, and with an involuntary feeling of apprehension; if the man was not mad, he was in a state of mind akin to madness, and quite as dangerous. the sheriff felt that he must speak the prisoner fair, and watch for a chance to turn the tables on him. the keen-eyed, desperate man before him was a different being altogether from the groveling wretch who had begged so piteously for life a few minutes before. at length the sheriff spoke:---- "is this your gratitude to me for saving your life at the risk of my own? if i had not done so, you would now be swinging from the limb of some neighboring tree." "true," said the prisoner, "you saved my life, but for how long? when you came in, you said court would sit next week. when the crowd went away they said i had not long to live. it is merely a choice of two ropes." "while there 's life there 's hope," replied the sheriff. he uttered this commonplace mechanically, while his brain was busy in trying to think out some way of escape. "if you are innocent you can prove it." the mulatto kept his eye upon the sheriff. "i did n't kill the old man," he replied; "but i shall never be able to clear myself. i was at his house at nine o'clock. i stole from it the coat that was on my back when i was taken. i would be convicted, even with a fair trial, unless the real murderer were discovered beforehand." the sheriff knew this only too well. while he was thinking what argument next to use, the prisoner continued:---- "throw me the keys--no, unlock the door." the sheriff stood a moment irresolute. the mulatto's eye glittered ominously. the sheriff crossed the room and unlocked the door leading into the passage. "now go down and unlock the outside door." the heart of the sheriff leaped within him. perhaps he might make a dash for liberty, and gain the outside. he descended the narrow stairs, the prisoner keeping close behind him. the sheriff inserted the huge iron key into the lock. the rusty bolt yielded slowly. it still remained for him to pull the door open. "stop!" thundered the mulatto, who seemed to divine the sheriff's purpose. "move a muscle, and i 'll blow your brains out." the sheriff obeyed; he realized that his chance had not yet come. "now keep on that side of the passage, and go back upstairs." keeping the sheriff under cover of the revolver, the mulatto followed him up the stairs. the sheriff expected the prisoner to lock him into the cell and make his own escape. he had about come to the conclusion that the best thing he could do under the circumstances was to submit quietly, and take his chances of recapturing the prisoner after the alarm had been given. the sheriff had faced death more than once upon the battlefield. a few minutes before, well armed, and with a brick wall between him and them he had dared a hundred men to fight; but he felt instinctively that the desperate man confronting him was not to be trifled with, and he was too prudent a man to risk his life against such heavy odds. he had polly to look after, and there was a limit beyond which devotion to duty would be quixotic and even foolish. "i want to get away," said the prisoner, "and i don't want to be captured; for if i am i know i will be hung on the spot. i am afraid," he added somewhat reflectively, "that in order to save myself i shall have to kill you." "good god!" exclaimed the sheriff in involuntary terror; "you would not kill the man to whom you owe your own life." "you speak more truly than you know," replied the mulatto. "i indeed owe my life to you." the sheriff started, he was capable of surprise, even in that moment of extreme peril. "who are you?" he asked in amazement. "tom, cicely's son," returned the other. he had closed the door and stood talking to the sheriff through the grated opening. "don't you remember cicely--cicely whom you sold, with her child, to the speculator on his way to alabama?" the sheriff did remember. he had been sorry for it many a time since. it had been the old story of debts, mortgages, and bad crops. he had quarreled with the mother. the price offered for her and her child had been unusually large, and he had yielded to the combination of anger and pecuniary stress. "good god!" he gasped, "you would not murder your own father?" "my father?" replied the mulatto. "it were well enough for me to claim the relationship, but it comes with poor grace from you to ask anything by reason of it. what father's duty have you ever performed for me? did you give me your name, or even your protection? other white men gave their colored sons freedom and money, and sent them to the free states. _you_ sold _me_ to the rice swamps." "i at least gave you the life you cling to," murmured the sheriff. "life?" said the prisoner, with a sarcastic laugh. "what kind of a life? you gave me your own blood, your own features,--no man need look at us together twice to see that,--and you gave me a black mother. poor wretch! she died under the lash, because she had enough womanhood to call her soul her own. you gave me a white man's spirit, and you made me a slave, and crushed it out." "but you are free now," said the sheriff. he had not doubted, could not doubt, the mulatto's word. he knew whose passions coursed beneath that swarthy skin and burned in the black eyes opposite his own. he saw in this mulatto what he himself might have become had not the safeguards of parental restraint and public opinion been thrown around him. "free to do what?" replied the mulatto. "free in name, but despised and scorned and set aside by the people to whose race i belong far more than to my mother's." "there are schools," said the sheriff. "you have been to school." he had noticed that the mulatto spoke more eloquently and used better language than most branson county people. "i have been to school, and dreamed when i went that it would work some marvelous change in my condition. but what did i learn? i learned to feel that no degree of learning or wisdom will change the color of my skin and that i shall always wear what in my own country is a badge of degradation. when i think about it seriously i do not care particularly for such a life. it is the animal in me, not the man, that flees the gallows. i owe you nothing," he went on, "and expect nothing of you; and it would be no more than justice if i should avenge upon you my mother's wrongs and my own. but still i hate to shoot you; i have never yet taken human life--for i did _not_ kill the old captain. will you promise to give no alarm and make no attempt to capture me until morning, if i do not shoot?" so absorbed were the two men in their colloquy and their own tumultuous thoughts that neither of them had heard the door below move upon its hinges. neither of them had heard a light step come stealthily up the stairs, nor seen a slender form creep along the darkening passage toward the mulatto. the sheriff hesitated. the struggle between his love of life and his sense of duty was a terrific one. it may seem strange that a man who could sell his own child into slavery should hesitate at such a moment, when his life was trembling in the balance. but the baleful influence of human slavery poisoned the very fountains of life, and created new standards of right. the sheriff was conscientious; his conscience had merely been warped by his environment. let no one ask what his answer would have been; he was spared the necessity of a decision. "stop," said the mulatto, "you need not promise. i could not trust you if you did. it is your life for mine; there is but one safe way for me; you must die." he raised his arm to fire, when there was a flash--a report from the passage behind him. his arm fell heavily at his side, and the pistol dropped at his feet. the sheriff recovered first from his surprise, and throwing open the door secured the fallen weapon. then seizing the prisoner he thrust him into the cell and locked the door upon him; after which he turned to polly, who leaned half-fainting against the wall, her hands clasped over her heart. "oh, father, i was just in time!" she cried hysterically, and, wildly sobbing, threw herself into her father's arms. "i watched until they all went away," she said. "i heard the shot from the woods and i saw you shoot. then when you did not come out i feared something had happened, that perhaps you had been wounded. i got out the other pistol and ran over here. when i found the door open, i knew something was wrong, and when i heard voices i crept upstairs, and reached the top just in time to hear him say he would kill you. oh, it was a narrow escape!" when she had grown somewhat calmer, the sheriff left her standing there and went back into the cell. the prisoner's arm was bleeding from a flesh wound. his bravado had given place to a stony apathy. there was no sign in his face of fear or disappointment or feeling of any kind. the sheriff sent polly to the house for cloth, and bound up the prisoner's wound with a rude skill acquired during his army life. "i 'll have a doctor come and dress the wound in the morning," he said to the prisoner. "it will do very well until then, if you will keep quiet. if the doctor asks you how the wound was caused, you can say that you were struck by the bullet fired from the woods. it would do you no good to have it known that you were shot while attempting to escape." the prisoner uttered no word of thanks or apology, but sat in sullen silence. when the wounded arm had been bandaged, polly and her father returned to the house. the sheriff was in an unusually thoughtful mood that evening. he put salt in his coffee at supper, and poured vinegar over his pancakes. to many of polly's questions he returned random answers. when he had gone to bed he lay awake for several hours. in the silent watches of the night, when he was alone with god, there came into his mind a flood of unaccustomed thoughts. an hour or two before, standing face to face with death, he had experienced a sensation similar to that which drowning men are said to feel--a kind of clarifying of the moral faculty, in which the veil of the flesh, with its obscuring passions and prejudices, is pushed aside for a moment, and all the acts of one's life stand out, in the clear light of truth, in their correct proportions and relations,--a state of mind in which one sees himself as god may be supposed to see him. in the reaction following his rescue, this feeling had given place for a time to far different emotions. but now, in the silence of midnight, something of this clearness of spirit returned to the sheriff. he saw that he had owed some duty to this son of his,--that neither law nor custom could destroy a responsibility inherent in the nature of mankind. he could not thus, in the eyes of god at least, shake off the consequences of his sin. had he never sinned, this wayward spirit would never have come back from the vanished past to haunt him. as these thoughts came, his anger against the mulatto died away, and in its place there sprang up a great pity. the hand of parental authority might have restrained the passions he had seen burning in the prisoner's eyes when the desperate man spoke the words which had seemed to doom his father to death. the sheriff felt that he might have saved this fiery spirit from the slough of slavery; that he might have sent him to the free north, and given him there, or in some other land, an opportunity to turn to usefulness and honorable pursuits the talents that had run to crime, perhaps to madness; he might, still less, have given this son of his the poor simulacrum of liberty which men of his caste could possess in a slave-holding community; or least of all, but still something, he might have kept the boy on the plantation, where the burdens of slavery would have fallen lightly upon him. the sheriff recalled his own youth. he had inherited an honored name to keep untarnished; he had had a future to make; the picture of a fair young bride had beckoned him on to happiness. the poor wretch now stretched upon a pallet of straw between the brick walls of the jail had had none of these things,--no name, no father, no mother--in the true meaning of motherhood,--and until the past few years no possible future, and then one vague and shadowy in its outline, and dependent for form and substance upon the slow solution of a problem in which there were many unknown quantities. from what he might have done to what he might yet do was an easy transition for the awakened conscience of the sheriff. it occurred to him, purely as a hypothesis, that he might permit his prisoner to escape; but his oath of office, his duty as sheriff, stood in the way of such a course, and the sheriff dismissed the idea from his mind. he could, however, investigate the circumstances of the murder, and move heaven and earth to discover the real criminal, for he no longer doubted the prisoner's innocence; he could employ counsel for the accused, and perhaps influence public opinion in his favor. an acquittal once secured, some plan could be devised by which the sheriff might in some degree atone for his crime against this son of his--against society--against god. when the sheriff had reached this conclusion he fell into an unquiet slumber, from which he awoke late the next morning. he went over to the jail before breakfast and found the prisoner lying on his pallet, his face turned to the wall; he did not move when the sheriff rattled the door. "good-morning," said the latter, in a tone intended to waken the prisoner. there was no response. the sheriff looked more keenly at the recumbent figure; there was an unnatural rigidity about its attitude. he hastily unlocked the door and, entering the cell, bent over the prostrate form. there was no sound of breathing; he turned the body over--it was cold and stiff. the prisoner had torn the bandage from his wound and bled to death during the night. he had evidently been dead several hours. a matter of principle i "what our country needs most in its treatment of the race problem," observed mr. cicero clayton at one of the monthly meetings of the blue vein society, of which he was a prominent member, "is a clearer conception of the brotherhood of man." the same sentiment in much the same words had often fallen from mr. clayton's lips,--so often, in fact, that the younger members of the society sometimes spoke of him--among themselves of course--as "brotherhood clayton." the sobriquet derived its point from the application he made of the principle involved in this oft-repeated proposition. the fundamental article of mr. clayton's social creed was that he himself was not a negro. "i know," he would say, "that the white people lump us all together as negroes, and condemn us all to the same social ostracism. but i don't accept this classification, for my part, and i imagine that, as the chief party in interest, i have a right to my opinion. people who belong by half or more of their blood to the most virile and progressive race of modern times have as much right to call themselves white as others have to call them negroes." mr. clayton spoke warmly, for he was well informed, and had thought much upon the subject; too much, indeed, for he had not been able to escape entirely the tendency of too much concentration upon one subject to make even the clearest minds morbid. "of course we can't enforce our claims, or protect ourselves from being robbed of our birthright; but we can at least have principles, and try to live up to them the best we can. if we are not accepted as white, we can at any rate make it clear that we object to being called black. our protest cannot fail in time to impress itself upon the better class of white people; for the anglo-saxon race loves justice, and will eventually do it, where it does not conflict with their own interests." whether or not the fact that mr. clayton meant no sarcasm, and was conscious of no inconsistency in this eulogy, tended to establish the racial identity he claimed may safely be left to the discerning reader. in living up to his creed mr. clayton declined to associate to any considerable extent with black people. this was sometimes a little inconvenient, and occasionally involved a sacrifice of some pleasure for himself and his family, because they would not attend entertainments where many black people were likely to be present. but they had a social refuge in a little society of people like themselves; they attended, too, a church, of which nearly all the members were white, and they were connected with a number of the religious and benevolent associations open to all good citizens, where they came into contact with the better class of white people, and were treated, in their capacity of members, with a courtesy and consideration scarcely different from that accorded to other citizens. mr. clayton's racial theory was not only logical enough, but was in his own case backed up by substantial arguments. he had begun life with a small patrimony, and had invested his money in a restaurant, which by careful and judicious attention had grown from a cheap eating-house into the most popular and successful confectionery and catering establishment in groveland. his business occupied a double store on oakwood avenue. he owned houses and lots, and stocks and bonds, had good credit at the banks, and lived in a style befitting his income and business standing. in person he was of olive complexion, with slightly curly hair. his features approached the cuban or latin-american type rather than the familiar broad characteristics of the mulatto, this suggestion of something foreign being heightened by a vandyke beard and a carefully waxed and pointed mustache. when he walked to church on sunday mornings with his daughter alice, they were a couple of such striking appearance as surely to attract attention. miss alice clayton was queen of her social set. she was young, she was handsome. she was nearly white; she frankly confessed her sorrow that she was not entirely so. she was accomplished and amiable, dressed in good taste, and had for her father by all odds the richest colored man--the term is used with apologies to mr. clayton, explaining that it does not necessarily mean a negro--in groveland. so pronounced was her superiority that really she had but one social rival worthy of the name,--miss lura watkins, whose father kept a prosperous livery stable and lived in almost as good style as the claytons. miss watkins, while good-looking enough, was not so young nor quite so white as miss clayton. she was popular, however, among their mutual acquaintances, and there was a good-natured race between the two as to which should make the first and best marriage. marriages among miss clayton's set were serious affairs. of course marriage is always a serious matter, whether it be a success or a failure, and there are those who believe that any marriage is better than no marriage. but among miss clayton's friends and associates matrimony took on an added seriousness because of the very narrow limits within which it could take place. miss clayton and her friends, by reason of their assumed superiority to black people, or perhaps as much by reason of a somewhat morbid shrinking from the curiosity manifested toward married people of strongly contrasting colors, would not marry black men, and except in rare instances white men would not marry them. they were therefore restricted for a choice to the young men of their own complexion. but these, unfortunately for the girls, had a wider choice. in any state where the laws permit freedom of the marriage contract, a man, by virtue of his sex, can find a wife of whatever complexion he prefers; of course he must not always ask too much in other respects, for most women like to better their social position when they marry. to the number thus lost by "going on the other side," as the phrase went, add the worthless contingent whom no self-respecting woman would marry, and the choice was still further restricted; so that it had become fashionable, when the supply of eligible men ran short, for those of miss clayton's set who could afford it to go traveling, ostensibly for pleasure, but with the serious hope that they might meet their fate away from home. miss clayton had perhaps a larger option than any of her associates. among such men as there were she could have taken her choice. her beauty, her position, her accomplishments, her father's wealth, all made her eminently desirable. but, on the other hand, the same things rendered her more difficult to reach, and harder to please. to get access to her heart, too, it was necessary to run the gauntlet of her parents, which, until she had reached the age of twenty-three, no one had succeeded in doing safely. many had called, but none had been chosen. there was, however, one spot left unguarded, and through it cupid, a veteran sharpshooter, sent a dart. mr. clayton had taken into his service and into his household a poor relation, a sort of cousin several times removed. this boy--his name was jack--had gone into mr. clayton's service at a very youthful age,--twelve or thirteen. he had helped about the housework, washed the dishes, swept the floors, taken care of the lawn and the stable for three or four years, while he attended school. his cousin had then taken him into the store, where he had swept the floor, washed the windows, and done a class of work that kept fully impressed upon him the fact that he was a poor dependent. nevertheless he was a cheerful lad, who took what he could get and was properly grateful, but always meant to get more. by sheer force of industry and affability and shrewdness, he forced his employer to promote him in time to a position of recognized authority in the establishment. any one outside of the family would have perceived in him a very suitable husband for miss clayton; he was of about the same age, or a year or two older, was as fair of complexion as she, when she was not powdered, and was passably good-looking, with a bearing of which the natural manliness had been no more warped than his training and racial status had rendered inevitable; for he had early learned the law of growth, that to bend is better than to break. he was sometimes sent to accompany miss clayton to places in the evening, when she had no other escort, and it is quite likely that she discovered his good points before her parents did. that they should in time perceive them was inevitable. but even then, so accustomed were they to looking down upon the object of their former bounty, that they only spoke of the matter jocularly. "well, alice," her father would say in his bluff way, "you 'll not be absolutely obliged to die an old maid. if we can't find anything better for you, there 's always jack. as long as he does n't take to some other girl, you can fall back on him as a last chance. he 'd be glad to take you to get into the business." miss alice had considered the joke a very poor one when first made, but by occasional repetition she became somewhat familiar with it. in time it got around to jack himself, to whom it seemed no joke at all. he had long considered it a consummation devoutly to be wished, and when he became aware that the possibility of such a match had occurred to the other parties in interest, he made up his mind that the idea should in due course of time become an accomplished fact. he had even suggested as much to alice, in a casual way, to feel his ground; and while she had treated the matter lightly, he was not without hope that she had been impressed by the suggestion. before he had had time, however, to follow up this lead, miss clayton, in the spring of -, went away on a visit to washington. the occasion of her visit was a presidential inauguration. the new president owed his nomination mainly to the votes of the southern delegates in the convention, and was believed to be correspondingly well disposed to the race from which the southern delegates were for the most part recruited. friends of rival and unsuccessful candidates for the nomination had more than hinted that the southern delegates were very substantially rewarded for their support at the time when it was given; whether this was true or not the parties concerned know best. at any rate the colored politicians did not see it in that light, for they were gathered from near and far to press their claims for recognition and patronage. on the evening following the white house inaugural ball, the colored people of washington gave an "inaugural" ball at a large public hall. it was under the management of their leading citizens, among them several high officials holding over from the last administration, and a number of professional and business men. this ball was the most noteworthy social event that colored circles up to that time had ever known. there were many visitors from various parts of the country. miss clayton attended the ball, the honors of which she carried away easily. she danced with several partners, and was introduced to innumerable people whom she had never seen before, and whom she hardly expected ever to meet again. she went away from the ball, at four o'clock in the morning, in a glow of triumph, and with a confused impression of senators and representatives and lawyers and doctors of all shades, who had sought an introduction, led her through the dance, and overwhelmed her with compliments. she returned home the next day but one, after the most delightful week of her life. ii one afternoon, about three weeks after her return from washington, alice received a letter through the mail. the envelope bore the words "house of representatives" printed in one corner, and in the opposite corner, in a bold running hand, a congressman's frank, "hamilton m. brown, m.c." the letter read as follows:---- house of representatives, washington, d.c., march , -. miss alice clayton, groveland. dear friend (if i may be permitted to call you so after so brief an acquaintance),--i remember with sincerest pleasure our recent meeting at the inaugural ball, and the sensation created by your beauty, your amiable manners, and your graceful dancing. time has so strengthened the impression i then received, that i should have felt inconsolable had i thought it impossible ever to again behold the charms which had brightened the occasion of our meeting and eclipsed by their brilliancy the leading belles of the capital. i had hoped, however, to have the pleasure of meeting you again, and circumstances have fortunately placed it in my power to do so at an early date. you have doubtless learned that the contest over the election in the sixth congressional district of south carolina has been decided in my favor, and that i now have the honor of representing my native state at the national capital. i have just been appointed a member of a special committee to visit and inspect the sault river and the straits of mackinac, with reference to the needs of lake navigation. i have made arrangements to start a week ahead of the other members of the committee, whom i am to meet in detroit on the th. i shall leave here on the d, and will arrive in groveland on the d, by the . evening express. i shall remain in groveland several days, in the course of which i shall be pleased to call, and renew the acquaintance so auspiciously begun in washington, which it is my fondest hope may ripen into a warmer friendship. if you do not regard my visit as presumptuous, and do not write me in the mean while forbidding it, i shall do myself the pleasure of waiting on you the morning after my arrival in groveland. with renewed expressions of my sincere admiration and profound esteem, i remain, sincerely yours, hamilton m. brown, m.c. to alice, and especially to her mother, this bold and flowery letter had very nearly the force of a formal declaration. they read it over again and again, and spent most of the afternoon discussing it. there were few young men in groveland eligible as husbands for so superior a person as alice clayton, and an addition to the number would be very acceptable. but the mere fact of his being a congressman was not sufficient to qualify him; there were other considerations. "i 've never heard of this honorable hamilton m. brown," said mr. clayton. the letter had been laid before him at the supper-table. "it 's strange, alice, that you have n't said anything about him before. you must have met lots of swell folks not to recollect a congressman." "but he was n't a congressman then," answered alice; "he was only a claimant. i remember senator bruce, and mr. douglass; but there were so many doctors and lawyers and politicians that i could n't keep track of them all. still i have a faint impression of a mr. brown who danced with me." she went into the parlor and brought out the dancing programme she had used at the washington ball. she had decorated it with a bow of blue ribbon and preserved it as a souvenir of her visit. "yes," she said, after examining it, "i must have danced with him. here are the initials--'h.m.b.'" "what color is he?" asked mr. clayton, as he plied his knife and fork. "i have a notion that he was rather dark--darker than any one i had ever danced with before." "why did you dance with him?" asked her father. "you were n't obliged to go back on your principles because you were away from home." "well, father, 'when you 're in rome'--you know the rest. mrs. clearweather introduced me to several dark men, to him among others. they were her friends, and common decency required me to be courteous." "if this man is black, we don't want to encourage him. if he 's the right sort, we 'll invite him to the house." "and make him feel at home," added mrs. clayton, on hospitable thoughts intent. "we must ask sadler about him to-morrow," said mr. clayton, when he had drunk his coffee and lighted his cigar. "if he 's the right man he shall have cause to remember his visit to groveland. we 'll show him that washington is not the only town on earth." the uncertainty of the family with regard to mr. brown was soon removed. mr. solomon sadler, who was supposed to know everything worth knowing concerning the colored race, and everybody of importance connected with it, dropped in after supper to make an evening call. sadler was familiar with the history of every man of negro ancestry who had distinguished himself in any walk of life. he could give the pedigree of alexander pushkin, the titles of scores of dumas's novels (even sadler had not time to learn them all), and could recite the whole of wendell phillips's lecture on toussaint l'ouverture. he claimed a personal acquaintance with mr. frederick douglass, and had been often in washington, where he was well known and well received in good colored society. "let me see," he said reflectively, when asked for information about the honorable hamilton m. brown. "yes, i think i know him. he studied at oberlin just after the war. he was about leaving there when i entered. there were two h.m. browns there--a hamilton m. brown and a henry m. brown. one was stout and dark and the other was slim and quite light; you could scarcely tell him from a dark white man. they used to call them 'light brown' and 'dark brown.' i did n't know either of them except by sight, for they were there only a few weeks after i went in. as i remember them, hamilton was the fair one--a very good-looking, gentlemanly fellow, and, as i heard, a good student and a fine speaker." "do you remember what kind of hair he had?" asked mr. clayton. "very good indeed; straight, as i remember it. he looked something like a spaniard or a portuguese." "now that you describe him," said alice, "i remember quite well dancing with such a gentleman; and i 'm wrong about my 'h.m.b.' the dark man must have been some one else; there are two others on my card that i can't remember distinctly, and he was probably one of those." "i guess he 's all right, alice," said her father when sadler had gone away. "he evidently means business, and we must treat him white. of course he must stay with us; there are no hotels in groveland while he is here. let 's see--he 'll be here in three days. that is n't very long, but i guess we can get ready. i 'll write a letter this afternoon--or you write it, and invite him to the house, and say i 'll meet him at the depot. and you may have _carte blanche_ for making the preparations." "we must have some people to meet him." "certainly; a reception is the proper thing. sit down immediately and write the letter and i 'll mail it first thing in the morning, so he 'll get it before he has time to make other arrangements. and you and your mother put your heads together and make out a list of guests, and i 'll have the invitations printed to-morrow. we will show the darkeys of groveland how to entertain a congressman." it will be noted that in moments of abstraction or excitement mr. clayton sometimes relapsed into forms of speech not entirely consistent with his principles. but some allowance must be made for his atmosphere; he could no more escape from it than the leopard can change his spots, or the--in deference to mr. clayton's feelings the quotation will be left incomplete. alice wrote the letter on the spot and it was duly mailed, and sped on its winged way to washington. the preparations for the reception were made as thoroughly and elaborately as possible on so short a notice. the invitations were issued; the house was cleaned from attic to cellar; an orchestra was engaged for the evening; elaborate floral decorations were planned and the flowers ordered. even the refreshments, which ordinarily, in the household of a caterer, would be mere matter of familiar detail, became a subject of serious consultation and study. the approaching event was a matter of very much interest to the fortunate ones who were honored with invitations, and this for several reasons. they were anxious to meet this sole representative of their race in the --th congress, and as he was not one of the old-line colored leaders, but a new star risen on the political horizon, there was a special curiosity to see who he was and what he looked like. moreover, the claytons did not often entertain a large company, but when they did, it was on a scale commensurate with their means and position, and to be present on such an occasion was a thing to remember and to talk about. and, most important consideration of all, some remarks dropped by members of the clayton family had given rise to the rumor that the congressman was seeking a wife. this invested his visit with a romantic interest, and gave the reception a practical value; for there were other marriageable girls besides miss clayton, and if one was left another might be taken. iii on the evening of april d, at fifteen minutes of six o'clock, mr. clayton, accompanied by jack, entered the livery carriage waiting at his gate and ordered the coachman to drive to the union depot. he had taken jack along, partly for company, and partly that jack might relieve the congressman of any trouble about his baggage, and make himself useful in case of emergency. jack was willing enough to go, for he had foreseen in the visitor a rival for alice's hand,--indeed he had heard more or less of the subject for several days,--and was glad to make a reconnaissance before the enemy arrived upon the field of battle. he had made--at least he had thought so--considerable progress with alice during the three weeks since her return from washington, and once or twice alice had been perilously near the tender stage. this visit had disturbed the situation and threatened to ruin his chances; but he did not mean to give up without a struggle. arrived at the main entrance, mr. clayton directed the carriage to wait, and entered the station with jack. the union depot at groveland was an immense oblong structure, covering a dozen parallel tracks and furnishing terminal passenger facilities for half a dozen railroads. the tracks ran east and west, and the depot was entered from the south, at about the middle of the building. on either side of the entrance, the waiting-rooms, refreshment rooms, baggage and express departments, and other administrative offices, extended in a row for the entire length of the building; and beyond them and parallel with them stretched a long open space, separated from the tracks by an iron fence or _grille_. there were two entrance gates in the fence, at which tickets must be shown before access could be had to trains, and two other gates, by which arriving passengers came out. mr. clayton looked at the blackboard on the wall underneath the station clock, and observed that the . train from washington was five minutes late. accompanied by jack he walked up and down the platform until the train, with the usual accompaniment of panting steam and clanging bell and rumbling trucks, pulled into the station, and drew up on the third or fourth track from the iron railing. mr. clayton stationed himself at the gate nearest the rear end of the train, reasoning that the congressman would ride in a parlor car, and would naturally come out by the gate nearest the point at which he left the train. "you 'd better go and stand by the other gate, jack," he said to his companion, "and stop him if he goes out that way." the train was well filled and a stream of passengers poured through. mr. clayton scanned the crowd carefully as they approached the gate, and scrutinized each passenger as he came through, without seeing any one that met the description of congressman brown, as given by sadler, or any one that could in his opinion be the gentleman for whom he was looking. when the last one had passed through he was left to the conclusion that his expected guest had gone out by the other gate. mr. clayton hastened thither. "did n't he come out this way, jack?" he asked. "no, sir," replied the young man, "i have n't seen him." "that 's strange," mused mr. clayton, somewhat anxiously. "he would hardly fail to come without giving us notice. surely we must have missed him. we 'd better look around a little. you go that way and i 'll go this." mr. clayton turned and walked several rods along the platform to the men's waiting-room, and standing near the door glanced around to see if he could find the object of his search. the only colored person in the room was a stout and very black man, wearing a broadcloth suit and a silk hat, and seated a short distance from the door. on the seat by his side stood a couple of valises. on one of them, the one nearest him, on which his arm rested, was written, in white letters, plainly legible,---- "h.m. brown, m.c. washington, d.c." mr. clayton's feelings at this discovery can better be imagined than described. he hastily left the waiting-room, before the black gentleman, who was looking the other way, was even aware of his presence, and, walking rapidly up and down the platform, communed with himself upon what course of action the situation demanded. he had invited to his house, had come down to meet, had made elaborate preparations to entertain on the following evening, a light-colored man,--a white man by his theory, an acceptable guest, a possible husband for his daughter, an avowed suitor for her hand. if the congressman had turned out to be brown, even dark brown, with fairly good hair, though he might not have desired him as a son-in-law, yet he could have welcomed him as a guest. but even this softening of the blow was denied him, for the man in the waiting-room was palpably, aggressively black, with pronounced african features and woolly hair, without apparently a single drop of redeeming white blood. could he, in the face of his well-known principles, his lifelong rule of conduct, take this negro into his home and introduce him to his friends? could he subject his wife and daughter to the rude shock of such a disappointment? it would be bad enough for them to learn of the ghastly mistake, but to have him in the house would be twisting the arrow in the wound. mr. clayton had the instincts of a gentleman, and realized the delicacy of the situation. but to get out of his difficulty without wounding the feelings of the congressman required not only diplomacy but dispatch. whatever he did must be done promptly; for if he waited many minutes the congressman would probably take a carriage and be driven to mr. clayton's residence. a ray of hope came for a moment to illumine the gloom of the situation. perhaps the black man was merely sitting there, and not the owner of the valise! for there were two valises, one on each side of the supposed congressman. for obvious reasons he did not care to make the inquiry himself, so he looked around for his companion, who came up a moment later. "jack," he exclaimed excitedly, "i 'm afraid we 're in the worst kind of a hole, unless there 's some mistake! run down to the men's waiting-room and you 'll see a man and a valise, and you 'll understand what i mean. ask that darkey if he is the honorable mr. brown, congressman from south carolina. if he says yes, come back right away and let me know, without giving him time to ask any questions, and put your wits to work to help me out of the scrape." "i wonder what 's the matter?" said jack to himself, but did as he was told. in a moment he came running back. "yes, sir," he announced; "he says he 's the man." "jack," said mr. clayton desperately, "if you want to show your appreciation of what i 've done for you, you must suggest some way out of this. i 'd never dare to take that negro to my house, and yet i 'm obliged to treat him like a gentleman." jack's eyes had worn a somewhat reflective look since he had gone to make the inquiry. suddenly his face brightened with intelligence, and then, as a newsboy ran into the station calling his wares, hardened into determination. "clarion, special extry 'dition! all about de epidemic er dipt'eria!" clamored the newsboy with shrill childish treble, as he made his way toward the waiting-room. jack darted after him, and saw the man to whom he had spoken buy a paper. he ran back to his employer, and dragged him over toward the ticket-seller's window. "i have it, sir!" he exclaimed, seizing a telegraph blank and writing rapidly, and reading aloud as he wrote. "how's this for a way out?"---- "dear sir,--i write you this note here in the depot to inform you of an unfortunate event which has interfered with my plans and those of my family for your entertainment while in groveland. yesterday my daughter alice complained of a sore throat, which by this afternoon had developed into a case of malignant diphtheria. in consequence our house has been quarantined; and while i have felt myself obliged to come down to the depot, i do not feel that i ought to expose you to the possibility of infection, and i therefore send you this by another hand. the bearer will conduct you to a carriage which i have ordered placed at your service, and unless you should prefer some other hotel, you will be driven to the forest hill house, where i beg you will consider yourself my guest during your stay in the city, and make the fullest use of every convenience it may offer. from present indications i fear no one of our family will be able to see you, which we shall regret beyond expression, as we have made elaborate arrangements for your entertainment. i still hope, however, that you may enjoy your visit, as there are many places of interest in the city, and many friends will doubtless be glad to make your acquaintance. "with assurances of my profound regret, i am sincerely yours, cicero clayton." "splendid!" cried mr. clayton. "you 've helped me out of a horrible scrape. now, go and take him to the hotel and see him comfortably located, and tell them to charge the bill to me." "i suspect, sir," suggested jack, "that i 'd better not go up to the house, and you 'll have to stay in yourself for a day or two, to keep up appearances. i 'll sleep on the lounge at the store, and we can talk business over the telephone." "all right, jack, we 'll arrange the details later. but for heaven's sake get him started, or he 'll be calling a hack to drive up to the house. i 'll go home on a street car." "so far so good," sighed mr. clayton to himself as he escaped from the station. "jack is a deuced clever fellow, and i 'll have to do something more for him. but the tug-of-war is yet to come. i 've got to bribe a doctor, shut up the house for a day or two, and have all the ill-humor of two disappointed women to endure until this negro leaves town. well, i 'm sure my wife and alice will back me up at any cost. no sacrifice is too great to escape having to entertain him; of course i have no prejudice against his color,--he can't help that,--but it is the _principle_ of the thing. if we received him it would be a concession fatal to all my views and theories. and i am really doing him a kindness, for i 'm sure that all the world could not make alice and her mother treat him with anything but cold politeness. it 'll be a great mortification to alice, but i don't see how else i could have got out of it." he boarded the first car that left the depot, and soon reached home. the house was lighted up, and through the lace curtains of the parlor windows he could see his wife and daughter, elegantly dressed, waiting to receive their distinguished visitor. he rang the bell impatiently, and a servant opened the door. "the gentleman did n't come?" asked the maid. "no," he said as he hung up his hat. this brought the ladies to the door. "he did n't come?" they exclaimed. "what 's the matter?" "i 'll tell you," he said. "mary," this to the servant, a white girl, who stood in open-eyed curiosity, "we shan't need you any more to-night." then he went into the parlor, and, closing the door, told his story. when he reached the point where he had discovered the color of the honorable mr. brown, miss clayton caught her breath, and was on the verge of collapse. "that nigger," said mrs. clayton indignantly, "can never set foot in this house. but what did you do with him?" mr. clayton quickly unfolded his plan, and described the disposition he had made of the congressman. "it 's an awful shame," said mrs. clayton. "just think of the trouble and expense we have gone to! and poor alice 'll never get over it, for everybody knows he came to see her and that he 's smitten with her. but you 've done just right; we never would have been able to hold up our heads again if we had introduced a black man, even a congressman, to the people that are invited here to-morrow night, as a sweetheart of alice. why, she would n't marry him if he was president of the united states and plated with gold an inch thick. the very idea!" "well," said mr. clayton, "then we 'we got to act quick. alice must wrap up her throat--by the way, alice, how _is_ your throat?" "it 's sore," sobbed alice, who had been in tears almost from her father's return, "and i don't care if i do have diphtheria and die, no, i don't!" and she wept on. "wrap up your throat and go to bed, and i 'll go over to doctor pillsbury's and get a diphtheria card to nail up on the house. in the morning, first thing, we 'll have to write notes recalling the invitations for to-morrow evening, and have them delivered by messenger boys. we were fools for not finding out all about this man from some one who knew, before we invited him here. sadler don't know more than half he thinks he does, anyway. and we 'll have to do this thing thoroughly, or our motives will be misconstrued, and people will say we are prejudiced and all that, when it is only a matter of principle with us." the programme outlined above was carried out to the letter. the invitations were recalled, to the great disappointment of the invited guests. the family physician called several times during the day. alice remained in bed, and the maid left without notice, in such a hurry that she forgot to take her best clothes. mr. clayton himself remained at home. he had a telephone in the house, and was therefore in easy communication with his office, so that the business did not suffer materially by reason of his absence from the store. about ten o'clock in the morning a note came up from the hotel, expressing mr. brown's regrets and sympathy. toward noon mr. clayton picked up the morning paper, which he had not theretofore had time to read, and was glancing over it casually, when his eye fell upon a column headed "a colored congressman." he read the article with astonishment that rapidly turned to chagrin and dismay. it was an interview describing the congressman as a tall and shapely man, about thirty-five years old, with an olive complexion not noticeably darker than many a white man's, straight hair, and eyes as black as sloes. "the bearing of this son of south carolina reveals the polished manners of the southern gentleman, and neither from his appearance nor his conversation would one suspect that the white blood which flows in his veins in such preponderating measure had ever been crossed by that of a darker race," wrote the reporter, who had received instructions at the office that for urgent business considerations the lake shipping interest wanted representative brown treated with marked consideration. there was more of the article, but the introductory portion left mr. clayton in such a state of bewilderment that the paper fell from his hand. what was the meaning of it? had he been mistaken? obviously so, or else the reporter was wrong, which was manifestly improbable. when he had recovered himself somewhat, he picked up the newspaper and began reading where he had left off. "representative brown traveled to groveland in company with bishop jones of the african methodist jerusalem church, who is _en route_ to attend the general conference of his denomination at detroit next week. the bishop, who came in while the writer was interviewing mr. brown, is a splendid type of the pure negro. he is said to be a man of great power among his people, which may easily be believed after one has looked upon his expressive countenance and heard him discuss the questions which affect the welfare of his church and his race." mr. clayton stared at the paper. "'the bishop,'" he repeated, "'is a splendid type of the pure negro.' i must have mistaken the bishop for the congressman! but how in the world did jack get the thing balled up? i 'll call up the store and demand an explanation of him. "jack," he asked, "what kind of a looking man was the fellow you gave the note to at the depot?" "he was a very wicked-looking fellow, sir," came back the answer. "he had a bad eye, looked like a gambler, sir. i am not surprised that you did n't want to entertain him, even if he was a congressman." "what color was he--that 's what i want to know--and what kind of hair did he have?" "why, he was about my complexion, sir, and had straight black hair." the rules of the telephone company did not permit swearing over the line. mr. clayton broke the rules. "was there any one else with him?" he asked when he had relieved his mind. "yes, sir, bishop jones of the african methodist jerusalem church was sitting there with him; they had traveled from washington together. i drove the bishop to his stopping-place after i had left mr. brown at the hotel. i did n't suppose you 'd mind." mr. clayton fell into a chair, and indulged in thoughts unutterable. he folded up the paper and slipped it under the family bible, where it was least likely to be soon discovered. "i 'll hide the paper, anyway," he groaned. "i 'll never hear the last of this till my dying day, so i may as well have a few hours' respite. it 's too late to go back, and we 've got to play the farce out. alice is really sick with disappointment, and to let her know this now would only make her worse. maybe he 'll leave town in a day or two, and then she 'll be in condition to stand it. such luck is enough to disgust a man with trying to do right and live up to his principles." time hung a little heavy on mr. clayton's hands during the day. his wife was busy with the housework. he answered several telephone calls about alice's health, and called up the store occasionally to ask how the business was getting on. after lunch he lay down on a sofa and took a nap, from which he was aroused by the sound of the door-bell. he went to the door. the evening paper was lying on the porch, and the newsboy, who had not observed the diphtheria sign until after he had rung, was hurrying away as fast as his legs would carry him. mr. clayton opened the paper and looked it through to see if there was any reference to the visiting congressman. he found what he sought and more. an article on the local page contained a resume of the information given in the morning paper, with the following additional paragraph:---- "a reporter, who called at the forest hill this morning to interview representative brown, was informed that the congressman had been invited to spend the remainder of his time in groveland as the guest of mr. william watkins, the proprietor of the popular livery establishment on main street. mr. brown will remain in the city several days, and a reception will be tendered him at mr. watkins's on wednesday evening." "that ends it," sighed mr. clayton. "the dove of peace will never again rest on my roof-tree." but why dwell longer on the sufferings of mr. clayton, or attempt to describe the feelings or chronicle the remarks of his wife and daughter when they learned the facts in the case? as to representative brown, he was made welcome in the hospitable home of mr. william watkins. there was a large and brilliant assemblage at the party on wednesday evening, at which were displayed the costumes prepared for the clayton reception. mr. brown took a fancy to miss lura watkins, to whom, before the week was over, he became engaged to be married. meantime poor alice, the innocent victim of circumstances and principles, lay sick abed with a supposititious case of malignant diphtheria, and a real case of acute disappointment and chagrin. "oh, jack!" exclaimed alice, a few weeks later, on the way home from evening church in company with the young man, "what a dreadful thing it all was! and to think of that hateful lura watkins marrying the congressman!" the street was shaded by trees at the point where they were passing, and there was no one in sight. jack put his arm around her waist, and, leaning over, kissed her. "never mind, dear," he said soothingly, "you still have your 'last chance' left, and i 'll prove myself a better man than the congressman." * * * * * occasionally, at social meetings, when the vexed question of the future of the colored race comes up, as it often does, for discussion, mr. clayton may still be heard to remark sententiously:---- "what the white people of the united states need most, in dealing with this problem, is a higher conception of the brotherhood of man. for of one blood god made all the nations of the earth." cicely's dream i the old woman stood at the back door of the cabin, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking across the vegetable garden that ran up to the very door. beyond the garden she saw, bathed in the sunlight, a field of corn, just in the ear, stretching for half a mile, its yellow, pollen-laden tassels overtopping the dark green mass of broad glistening blades; and in the distance, through the faint morning haze of evaporating dew, the line of the woods, of a still darker green, meeting the clear blue of the summer sky. old dinah saw, going down the path, a tall, brown girl, in a homespun frock, swinging a slat-bonnet in one hand and a splint basket in the other. "oh, cicely!" she called. the girl turned and answered in a resonant voice, vibrating with youth and life,---- "yes, granny!" "be sho' and pick a good mess er peas, chile, fer yo' gran'daddy's gwine ter be home ter dinner ter-day." the old woman stood a moment longer and then turned to go into the house. what she had not seen was that the girl was not only young, but lithe and shapely as a sculptor's model; that her bare feet seemed to spurn the earth as they struck it; that though brown, she was not so brown but that her cheek was darkly red with the blood of another race than that which gave her her name and station in life; and the old woman did not see that cicely's face was as comely as her figure was superb, and that her eyes were dreamy with vague yearnings. cicely climbed the low fence between the garden and the cornfield, and started down one of the long rows leading directly away from the house. old needham was a good ploughman, and straight as an arrow ran the furrow between the rows of corn, until it vanished in the distant perspective. the peas were planted beside alternate hills of corn, the cornstalks serving as supports for the climbing pea-vines. the vines nearest the house had been picked more or less clear of the long green pods, and cicely walked down the row for a quarter of a mile, to where the peas were more plentiful. and as she walked she thought of her dream of the night before. she had dreamed a beautiful dream. the fact that it was a beautiful dream, a delightful dream, her memory retained very vividly. she was troubled because she could not remember just what her dream had been about. of one other fact she was certain, that in her dream she had found something, and that her happiness had been bound up with the thing she had found. as she walked down the corn-row she ran over in her mind the various things with which she had always associated happiness. had she found a gold ring? no, it was not a gold ring--of that she felt sure. was it a soft, curly plume for her hat? she had seen town people with them, and had indulged in day-dreams on the subject; but it was not a feather. was it a bright-colored silk dress? no; as much as she had always wanted one, it was not a silk dress. for an instant, in a dream, she had tasted some great and novel happiness, and when she awoke it was dashed from her lips, and she could not even enjoy the memory of it, except in a vague, indefinite, and tantalizing way. cicely was troubled, too, because dreams were serious things. dreams had certain meanings, most of them, and some dreams went by contraries. if her dream had been a prophecy of some good thing, she had by forgetting it lost the pleasure of anticipation. if her dream had been one of those that go by contraries, the warning would be in vain, because she would not know against what evil to provide. so, with a sigh, cicely said to herself that it was a troubled world, more or less; and having come to a promising point, began to pick the tenderest pea-pods and throw them into her basket. by the time she had reached the end of the line the basket was nearly full. glancing toward the pine woods beyond the rail fence, she saw a brier bush loaded with large, luscious blackberries. cicely was fond of blackberries, so she set her basket down, climbed the fence, and was soon busily engaged in gathering the fruit, delicious even in its wild state. she had soon eaten all she cared for. but the berries were still numerous, and it occurred to her that her granddaddy would like a blackberry pudding for dinner. catching up her apron, and using it as a receptacle for the berries, she had gathered scarcely more than a handful when she heard a groan. cicely was not timid, and her curiosity being aroused by the sound, she stood erect, and remained in a listening attitude. in a moment the sound was repeated, and, gauging the point from which it came, she plunged resolutely into the thick underbrush of the forest. she had gone but a few yards when she stopped short with an exclamation of surprise and concern. upon the ground, under the shadow of the towering pines, a man lay at full length,--a young man, several years under thirty, apparently, so far as his age could be guessed from a face that wore a short soft beard, and was so begrimed with dust and incrusted with blood that little could be seen of the underlying integument. what was visible showed a skin browned by nature or by exposure. his hands were of even a darker brown, almost as dark as cicely's own. a tangled mass of very curly black hair, matted with burs, dank with dew, and clotted with blood, fell partly over his forehead, on the edge of which, extending back into the hair, an ugly scalp wound was gaping, and, though apparently not just inflicted, was still bleeding slowly, as though reluctant to stop, in spite of the coagulation that had almost closed it. cicely with a glance took in all this and more. but, first of all, she saw the man was wounded and bleeding, and the nurse latent in all womankind awoke in her to the requirements of the situation. she knew there was a spring a few rods away, and ran swiftly to it. there was usually a gourd at the spring, but now it was gone. pouring out the blackberries in a little heap where they could be found again, she took off her apron, dipped one end of it into the spring, and ran back to the wounded man. the apron was clean, and she squeezed a little stream of water from it into the man's mouth. he swallowed it with avidity. cicely then knelt by his side, and with the wet end of her apron washed the blood from the wound lightly, and the dust from the man's face. then she looked at her apron a moment, debating whether she should tear it or not. "i 'm feared granny 'll be mad," she said to herself. "i reckon i 'll jes' use de whole apron." so she bound the apron around his head as well as she could, and then sat down a moment on a fallen tree trunk, to think what she should do next. the man already seemed more comfortable; he had ceased moaning, and lay quiet, though breathing heavily. "what shall i do with that man?" she reflected. "i don' know whether he 's a w'ite man or a black man. ef he 's a w'ite man, i oughter go an' tell de w'ite folks up at de big house, an' dey 'd take keer of 'im. if he 's a black man, i oughter go tell granny. he don' look lack a black man somehow er nuther, an' yet he don' look lack a w'ite man; he 's too dahk, an' his hair's too curly. but i mus' do somethin' wid 'im. he can't be lef' here ter die in de woods all by hisse'f. reckon i 'll go an' tell granny." she scaled the fence, caught up the basket of peas from where she had left it, and ran, lightly and swiftly as a deer, toward the house. her short skirt did not impede her progress, and in a few minutes she had covered the half mile and was at the cabin door, a slight heaving of her full and yet youthful breast being the only sign of any unusual exertion. her story was told in a moment. the old woman took down a black bottle from a high shelf, and set out with cicely across the cornfield, toward the wounded man. as they went through the corn cicely recalled part of her dream. she had dreamed that under some strange circumstances--what they had been was still obscure--she had met a young man--a young man whiter than she and yet not all white--and that he had loved her and courted her and married her. her dream had been all the sweeter because in it she had first tasted the sweetness of love, and she had not recalled it before because only in her dream had she known or thought of love as something supremely desirable. with the memory of her dream, however, her fears revived. dreams were solemn things. to cicely the fabric of a vision was by no means baseless. her trouble arose from her not being able to recall, though she was well versed in dream-lore, just what event was foreshadowed by a dream of finding a wounded man. if the wounded man were of her own race, her dream would thus far have been realized, and having met the young man, the other joys might be expected to follow. if he should turn out to be a white man, then her dream was clearly one of the kind that go by contraries, and she could expect only sorrow and trouble and pain as the proper sequences of this fateful discovery. ii the two women reached the fence that separated the cornfield from the pine woods. "how is i gwine ter git ovuh dat fence, chile?" asked the old woman. "wait a minute, granny," said cicely; "i 'll take it down." it was only an eight-rail fence, and it was a matter of but a few minutes for the girl to lift down and lay to either side the ends of the rails that formed one of the angles. this done, the old woman easily stepped across the remaining two or three rails. it was only a moment before they stood by the wounded man. he was lying still, breathing regularly, and seemingly asleep. "what is he, granny," asked the girl anxiously, "a w'ite man, or not?" old dinah pushed back the matted hair from the wounded man's brow, and looked at the skin beneath. it was fairer there, but yet of a decided brown. she raised his hand, pushed back the tattered sleeve from his wrist, and then she laid his hand down gently. "mos' lackly he 's a mulatter man f'om up de country somewhar. he don' look lack dese yer niggers roun' yere, ner yet lack a w'ite man. but de po' boy's in a bad fix, w'ateber he is, an' i 'spec's we bettah do w'at we kin fer 'im, an' w'en he comes to he 'll tell us w'at he is--er w'at he calls hisse'f. hol' 'is head up, chile, an' i 'll po' a drop er dis yer liquor down his th'oat; dat 'll bring 'im to quicker 'n anything e'se i knows." cicely lifted the sick man's head, and dinah poured a few drops of the whiskey between his teeth. he swallowed it readily enough. in a few minutes he opened his eyes and stared blankly at the two women. cicely saw that his eyes were large and black, and glistening with fever. "how you feelin', suh?" asked the old woman. there was no answer. "is you feelin' bettah now?" the wounded man kept on staring blankly. suddenly he essayed to put his hand to his head, gave a deep groan, and fell back again unconscious. "he 's gone ag'in," said dinah. "i reckon we 'll hafter tote 'im up ter de house and take keer er 'im dere. w'ite folks would n't want ter fool wid a nigger man, an' we doan know who his folks is. he 's outer his head an' will be fer some time yet, an' we can't tell nuthin' 'bout 'im tel he comes ter his senses." cicely lifted the wounded man by the arms and shoulders. she was strong, with the strength of youth and a sturdy race. the man was pitifully emaciated; how much, the two women had not suspected until they raised him. they had no difficulty whatever, except for the awkwardness of such a burden, in lifting him over the fence and carrying him through the cornfield to the cabin. they laid him on cicely's bed in the little lean-to shed that formed a room separate from the main apartment of the cabin. the old woman sent cicely to cook the dinner, while she gave her own attention exclusively to the still unconscious man. she brought water and washed him as though he were a child. "po' boy," she said, "he doan feel lack he 's be'n eatin' nuff to feed a sparrer. he 'pears ter be mos' starved ter def." she washed his wound more carefully, made some lint,--the art was well known in the sixties,--and dressed his wound with a fair degree of skill. "somebody must 'a' be'n tryin' ter put yo' light out, chile," she muttered to herself as she adjusted the bandage around his head. "a little higher er a little lower, an' you would n' 'a' be'n yere ter tell de tale. dem clo's," she argued, lifting the tattered garments she had removed from her patient, "don' b'long 'roun' yere. dat kinder weavin' come f'om down to'ds souf ca'lina. i wish needham 'u'd come erlong. he kin tell who dis man is, an' all erbout 'im." she made a bowl of gruel, and fed it, drop by drop, to the sick man. this roused him somewhat from his stupor, but when dinah thought he had enough of the gruel, and stopped feeding him, he closed his eyes again and relapsed into a heavy sleep that was so closely akin to unconsciousness as to be scarcely distinguishable from it. when old needham came home at noon, his wife, who had been anxiously awaiting his return, told him in a few words the story of cicely's discovery and of the subsequent events. needham inspected the stranger with a professional eye. he had been something of a plantation doctor in his day, and was known far and wide for his knowledge of simple remedies. the negroes all around, as well as many of the poorer white people, came to him for the treatment of common ailments. "he 's got a fevuh," he said, after feeling the patient's pulse and laying his hand on his brow, "an' we 'll hafter gib 'im some yarb tea an' nuss 'im tel de fevuh w'ars off. i 'spec'," he added, "dat i knows whar dis boy come f'om. he 's mos' lackly one er dem bright mulatters, f'om robeson county--some of 'em call deyse'ves croatan injins--w'at's been conscripted an' sent ter wu'k on de fo'tifications down at wimbleton er some'er's er nuther, an' done 'scaped, and got mos' killed gittin' erway, an' wuz n' none too well fed befo', an' nigh 'bout starved ter def sence. we 'll hafter hide dis man, er e'se we is lackly ter git inter trouble ou'se'ves by harb'rin' 'im. ef dey ketch 'im yere, dey 's liable ter take 'im out an' shoot 'im--an' des ez lackly us too." cicely was listening with bated breath. "oh, gran'daddy," she cried with trembling voice, "don' let 'em ketch 'im! hide 'im somewhar." "i reckon we 'll leave 'im yere fer a day er so. ef he had come f'om roun' yere i 'd be skeered ter keep 'im, fer de w'ite folks 'u'd prob'ly be lookin' fer 'im. but i knows ev'ybody w'at's be'n conscripted fer ten miles 'roun', an' dis yere boy don' b'long in dis neighborhood. w'en 'e gits so 'e kin he'p 'isse'f we 'll put 'im up in de lof an' hide 'im till de yankees come. fer dey 're comin', sho'. i dremp' las' night dey wuz close ter han', and i hears de w'ite folks talkin' ter deyse'ves 'bout it. an' de time is comin' w'en de good lawd gwine ter set his people free, an' it ain' gwine ter be long, nuther." needham's prophecy proved true. in less than a week the confederate garrison evacuated the arsenal in the neighboring town of patesville, blew up the buildings, destroyed the ordnance and stores, and retreated across the cape fear river, burning the river bridge behind them,--two acts of war afterwards unjustly attributed to general sherman's army, which followed close upon the heels of the retreating confederates. when there was no longer any fear for the stranger's safety, no more pains were taken to conceal him. his wound had healed rapidly, and in a week he had been able with some help to climb up the ladder into the loft. in all this time, however, though apparently conscious, he had said no word to any one, nor had he seemed to comprehend a word that was spoken to him. cicely had been his constant attendant. after the first day, during which her granny had nursed him, she had sat by his bedside, had fanned his fevered brow, had held food and water and medicine to his lips. when it was safe for him to come down from the loft and sit in a chair under a spreading oak, cicely supported him until he was strong enough to walk about the yard. when his strength had increased sufficiently to permit of greater exertion, she accompanied him on long rambles in the fields and woods. in spite of his gain in physical strength, the newcomer changed very little in other respects. for a long time he neither spoke nor smiled. to questions put to him he simply gave no reply, but looked at his questioner with the blank unconsciousness of an infant. by and by he began to recognize cicely, and to smile at her approach. the next step in returning consciousness was but another manifestation of the same sentiment. when cicely would leave him he would look his regret, and be restless and uneasy until she returned. the family were at a loss what to call him. to any inquiry as to his name he answered no more than to other questions. "he come jes' befo' sherman," said needham, after a few weeks, "lack john de baptis' befo' de lawd. i reckon we bettah call 'im john." so they called him john. he soon learned the name. as time went on cicely found that he was quick at learning things. she taught him to speak her own negro english, which he pronounced with absolute fidelity to her intonations; so that barring the quality of his voice, his speech was an echo of cicely's own. the summer wore away and the autumn came. john and cicely wandered in the woods together and gathered walnuts, and chinquapins and wild grapes. when harvest time came, they worked in the fields side by side,--plucked the corn, pulled the fodder, and gathered the dried peas from the yellow pea-vines. cicely was a phenomenal cotton-picker, and john accompanied her to the fields and stayed by her hours at a time, though occasionally he would complain of his head, and sit under a tree and rest part of the day while cicely worked, the two keeping one another always in sight. they did not have a great deal of intercourse with other people. young men came to the cabin sometimes to see cicely, but when they found her entirely absorbed in the stranger they ceased their visits. for a time cicely kept him away, as much as possible, from others, because she did not wish them to see that there was anything wrong about him. this was her motive at first, but after a while she kept him to herself simply because she was happier so. he was hers--hers alone. she had found him, as pharaoh's daughter had found moses in the bulrushes; she had taught him to speak, to think, to love. she had not taught him to remember; she would not have wished him to; she would have been jealous of any past to which he might have proved bound by other ties. her dream so far had come true. she had found him; he loved her. the rest of it would as surely follow, and that before long. for dreams were serious things, and time had proved hers to have been not a presage of misfortune, but one of the beneficent visions that are sent, that we may enjoy by anticipation the good things that are in store for us. iii but a short interval of time elapsed after the passage of the warlike host that swept through north carolina, until there appeared upon the scene the vanguard of a second army, which came to bring light and the fruits of liberty to a land which slavery and the havoc of war had brought to ruin. it is fashionable to assume that those who undertook the political rehabilitation of the southern states merely rounded out the ruin that the war had wrought--merely ploughed up the desolate land and sowed it with salt. perhaps the gentler judgments of the future may recognize that their task was a difficult one, and that wiser and honester men might have failed as egregiously. it may even, in time, be conceded that some good came out of the carpet-bag governments, as, for instance, the establishment of a system of popular education in the former slave states. where it had been a crime to teach people to read or write, a schoolhouse dotted every hillside, and the state provided education for rich and poor, for white and black alike. let us lay at least this token upon the grave of the carpet-baggers. the evil they did lives after them, and the statute of limitations does not seem to run against it. it is but just that we should not forget the good. long, however, before the work of political reconstruction had begun, a brigade of yankee schoolmasters and schoolma'ams had invaded dixie, and one of the latter had opened a freedman's bureau school in the town of patesville, about four miles from needham green's cabin on the neighboring sandhills. it had been quite a surprise to miss chandler's boston friends when she had announced her intention of going south to teach the freedmen. rich, accomplished, beautiful, and a social favorite, she was giving up the comforts and luxuries of northern life to go among hostile strangers, where her associates would be mostly ignorant negroes. perhaps she might meet occasionally an officer of some federal garrison, or a traveler from the north; but to all intents and purposes her friends considered her as going into voluntary exile. but heroism was not rare in those days, and martha chandler was only one of the great multitude whose hearts went out toward an oppressed race, and who freely poured out their talents, their money, their lives,--whatever god had given them,--in the sublime and not unfruitful effort to transform three millions of slaves into intelligent freemen. miss chandler's friends knew, too, that she had met a great sorrow, and more than suspected that out of it had grown her determination to go south. when cicely green heard that a school for colored people had been opened at patesville she combed her hair, put on her sunday frock and such bits of finery as she possessed, and set out for town early the next monday morning. there were many who came to learn the new gospel of education, which was to be the cure for all the freedmen's ills. the old and gray-haired, the full-grown man and woman, the toddling infant,--they came to acquire the new and wonderful learning that was to make them the equals of the white people. it was the teacher's task, by no means an easy one, to select from this incongruous mass the most promising material, and to distribute among them the second-hand books and clothing that were sent, largely by her boston friends, to aid her in her work; to find out what they knew, to classify them by their intelligence rather than by their knowledge, for they were all lamentably ignorant. some among them were the children of parents who had been free before the war, and of these some few could read and one or two could write. one paragon, who could repeat the multiplication table, was immediately promoted to the position of pupil teacher. miss chandler took a liking to the tall girl who had come so far to sit under her instruction. there was a fine, free air in her bearing, a lightness in her step, a sparkle in her eye, that spoke of good blood,--whether fused by nature in its own alembic, out of material despised and spurned of men, or whether some obscure ancestral strain, the teacher could not tell. the girl proved intelligent and learned rapidly, indeed seemed almost feverishly anxious to learn. she was quiet, and was, though utterly untrained, instinctively polite, and profited from the first day by the example of her teacher's quiet elegance. the teacher dressed in simple black. when cicely came back to school the second day, she had left off her glass beads and her red ribbon, and had arranged her hair as nearly like the teacher's as her skill and its quality would permit. the teacher was touched by these efforts at imitation, and by the intense devotion cicely soon manifested toward her. it was not a sycophantic, troublesome devotion, that made itself a burden to its object. it found expression in little things done rather than in any words the girl said. to the degree that the attraction was mutual, martha recognized in it a sort of freemasonry of temperament that drew them together in spite of the differences between them. martha felt sometimes, in the vague way that one speculates about the impossible, that if she were brown, and had been brought up in north carolina, she would be like cicely; and that if cicely's ancestors had come over in the mayflower, and cicely had been reared on beacon street, in the shadow of the state house dome, cicely would have been very much like herself. miss chandler was lonely sometimes. her duties kept her occupied all day. on sundays she taught a bible class in the schoolroom. correspondence with bureau officials and friends at home furnished her with additional occupation. at times, nevertheless, she felt a longing for the company of women of her own race; but the white ladies of the town did not call, even in the most formal way, upon the yankee school-teacher. miss chandler was therefore fain to do the best she could with such companionship as was available. she took cicely to her home occasionally, and asked her once to stay all night. thinking, however, that she detected a reluctance on the girl's part to remain away from home, she did not repeat her invitation. cicely, indeed, was filling a double rôle. the learning acquired from miss chandler she imparted to john at home. every evening, by the light of the pine-knots blazing on needham's ample hearth, she taught john to read the simple words she had learned during the day. why she did not take him to school she had never asked herself; there were several other pupils as old as he seemed to be. perhaps she still thought it necessary to protect him from curious remark. he worked with needham by day, and she could see him at night, and all of saturdays and sundays. perhaps it was the jealous selfishness of love. she had found him; he was hers. in the spring, when school was over, her granny had said that she might marry him. till then her dream would not yet have come true, and she must keep him to herself. and yet she did not wish him to lose this golden key to the avenues of opportunity. she would not take him to school, but she would teach him each day all that she herself had learned. he was not difficult to teach, but learned, indeed, with what seemed to cicely marvelous ease,--always, however, by her lead, and never of his own initiative. for while he could do a man's work, he was in most things but a child, without a child's curiosity. his love for cicely appeared the only thing for which he needed no suggestion; and even that possessed an element of childish dependence that would have seemed, to minds trained to thoughtful observation, infinitely pathetic. the spring came and cotton-planting time. the children began to drop out of miss chandler's school one by one, as their services were required at home. cicely was among those who intended to remain in school until the term closed with the "exhibition," in which she was assigned a leading part. she had selected her recitation, or "speech," from among half a dozen poems that her teacher had suggested, and to memorizing it she devoted considerable time and study. the exhibition, as the first of its kind, was sure to be a notable event. the parents and friends of the children were invited to attend, and a colored church, recently erected,--the largest available building,--was secured as the place where the exercises should take place. on the morning of the eventful day, uncle needham, assisted by john, harnessed the mule to the two-wheeled cart, on which a couple of splint-bottomed chairs were fastened to accommodate dinah and cicely. john put on his best clothes,--an ill-fitting suit of blue jeans,--a round wool hat, a pair of coarse brogans, a homespun shirt, and a bright blue necktie. cicely wore her best frock, a red ribbon at her throat, another in her hair, and carried a bunch of flowers in her hand. uncle needham and aunt dinah were also in holiday array. needham and john took their seats on opposite sides of the cart-frame, with their feet dangling down, and thus the equipage set out leisurely for the town. cicely had long looked forward impatiently to this day. she was going to marry john the next week, and then her dream would have come entirely true. but even this anticipated happiness did not overshadow the importance of the present occasion, which would be an epoch in her life, a day of joy and triumph. she knew her speech perfectly, and timidity was not one of her weaknesses. she knew that the red ribbons set off her dark beauty effectively, and that her dress fitted neatly the curves of her shapely figure. she confidently expected to win the first prize, a large morocco-covered bible, offered by miss chandler for the best exercise. cicely and her companions soon arrived at patesville. their entrance into the church made quite a sensation, for cicely was not only an acknowledged belle, but a general favorite, and to john there attached a tinge of mystery which inspired a respect not bestowed upon those who had grown up in the neighborhood. cicely secured a seat in the front part of the church, next to the aisle, in the place reserved for the pupils. as the house was already partly filled by townspeople when the party from the country arrived, needham and his wife and john were forced to content themselves with places somewhat in the rear of the room, from which they could see and hear what took place on the platform, but where they were not at all conspicuously visible to those at the front of the church. the schoolmistress had not yet arrived, and order was preserved in the audience by two of the elder pupils, adorned with large rosettes of red, white, and blue, who ushered the most important visitors to the seats reserved for them. a national flag was gracefully draped over the platform, and under it hung a lithograph of the great emancipator, for it was thus these people thought of him. he had saved the union, but the union had never meant anything good to them. he had proclaimed liberty to the captive, which meant all to them; and to them he was and would ever be the great emancipator. the schoolmistress came in at a rear door and took her seat upon the platform. martha was dressed in white; for once she had laid aside the sombre garb in which alone she had been seen since her arrival at patesville. she wore a yellow rose at her throat, a bunch of jasmine in her belt. a sense of responsibility for the success of the exhibition had deepened the habitual seriousness of her face, yet she greeted the audience with a smile. "don' miss chan'ler look sweet," whispered the little girls to one another, devouring her beauty with sparkling eyes, their lips parted over a wealth of ivory. "de lawd will bress dat chile," said one old woman, in soliloquy. "i t'ank de good marster i 's libbed ter see dis day." even envy could not hide its noisome head: a pretty quadroon whispered to her neighbor:---- "i don't b'liebe she 's natch'ly ez white ez dat. i 'spec' she 's be'n powd'rin'! an' i know all dat hair can't be her'n; she 's got on a switch, sho 's you bawn." "you knows dat ain' so, ma'y 'liza smif," rejoined the other, with a look of stern disapproval; "you _knows_ dat ain' so. you 'd gib yo' everlastin' soul 'f you wuz ez white ez miss chan'ler, en yo' ha'r wuz ez long ez her'n." "by jove, maxwell!" exclaimed a young officer, who belonged to the federal garrison stationed in the town, "but that girl is a beauty." the speaker and a companion were in fatigue uniform, and had merely dropped in for an hour between garrison duty. the ushers had wished to give them seats on the platform, but they had declined, thinking that perhaps their presence there might embarrass the teacher. they sought rather to avoid observation by sitting behind a pillar in the rear of the room, around which they could see without attracting undue attention. "to think," the lieutenant went on, "of that junonian figure, those lustrous orbs, that golden coronal, that flower of northern civilization, being wasted on these barbarians!" the speaker uttered an exaggerated but suppressed groan. his companion, a young man of clean-shaven face and serious aspect, nodded assent, but whispered reprovingly,---- "'sh! some one will hear you. the exercises are going to begin." when miss chandler stepped forward to announce the hymn to be sung by the school as the first exercise, every eye in the room was fixed upon her, except john's, which saw only cicely. when the teacher had uttered a few words, he looked up to her, and from that moment did not take his eyes off martha's face. after the singing, a little girl, dressed in white, crossed by ribbons of red and blue, recited with much spirit a patriotic poem. when martha announced the third exercise, john's face took on a more than usually animated expression, and there was a perceptible deepening of the troubled look in his eyes, never entirely absent since cicely had found him in the woods. a little yellow boy, with long curls, and a frightened air, next ascended the platform. "now, jimmie, be a man, and speak right out," whispered his teacher, tapping his arm reassuringly with her fan as he passed her. jimmie essayed to recite the lines so familiar to a past generation of schoolchildren:---- "i knew a widow very poor, who four small children had; the eldest was but six years old, a gentle, modest lad." he ducked his head hurriedly in a futile attempt at a bow; then, following instructions previously given him, fixed his eyes upon a large cardboard motto hanging on the rear wall of the room, which admonished him in bright red letters to "always speak the truth," and started off with assumed confidence "i knew a widow very poor, who"---- at this point, drawn by an irresistible impulse, his eyes sought the level of the audience. ah, fatal blunder! he stammered, but with an effort raised his eyes and began again: "i knew a widow very poor, who four"---- again his treacherous eyes fell, and his little remaining self-possession utterly forsook him. he made one more despairing effort:---- "i knew a widow very poor, who four small"---- and then, bursting into tears, turned and fled amid a murmur of sympathy. jimmie's inglorious retreat was covered by the singing in chorus of "the star-spangled banner," after which cicely green came forward to recite her poem. "by jove, maxwell!" whispered the young officer, who was evidently a connoisseur of female beauty, "that is n't bad for a bronze venus. i 'll tell you"---- "'sh!" said the other. "keep still." when cicely finished her recitation, the young officers began to applaud, but stopped suddenly in some confusion as they realized that they were the only ones in the audience so engaged. the colored people had either not learned how to express their approval in orthodox fashion, or else their respect for the sacred character of the edifice forbade any such demonstration. their enthusiasm found vent, however, in a subdued murmur, emphasized by numerous nods and winks and suppressed exclamations. during the singing that followed cicely's recitation the two officers quietly withdrew, their duties calling them away at this hour. at the close of the exercises, a committee on prizes met in the vestibule, and unanimously decided that cicely green was entitled to the first prize. proudly erect, with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed with victory, cicely advanced to the platform to receive the coveted reward. as she turned away, her eyes, shining with gratified vanity, sought those of her lover. john sat bent slightly forward in an attitude of strained attention; and cicely's triumph lost half its value when she saw that it was not at her, but at miss chandler, that his look was directed. though she watched him thenceforward, not one glance did he vouchsafe to his jealous sweetheart, and never for an instant withdrew his eyes from martha, or relaxed the unnatural intentness of his gaze. the imprisoned mind, stirred to unwonted effort, was struggling for liberty; and from martha had come the first ray of outer light that had penetrated its dungeon. before the audience was dismissed, the teacher rose to bid her school farewell. her intention was to take a vacation of three months; but what might happen in that time she did not know, and there were duties at home of such apparent urgency as to render her return to north carolina at least doubtful; so that in her own heart her _au revoir_ sounded very much like a farewell. she spoke to them of the hopeful progress they had made, and praised them for their eager desire to learn. she told them of the serious duties of life, and of the use they should make of their acquirements. with prophetic finger she pointed them to the upward way which they must climb with patient feet to raise themselves out of the depths. then, an unusual thing with her, she spoke of herself. her heart was full; it was with difficulty that she maintained her composure; for the faces that confronted her were kindly faces, and not critical, and some of them she had learned to love right well. "i am going away from you, my children," she said; "but before i go i want to tell you how i came to be in north carolina; so that if i have been able to do anything here among you for which you might feel inclined, in your good nature, to thank me, you may thank not me alone, but another who came before me, and whose work i have but taken up where _he_ laid it down. i had a friend,--a dear friend,--why should i be ashamed to say it?--a lover, to whom i was to be married,--as i hope all you girls may some day be happily married. his country needed him, and i gave him up. he came to fight for the union and for freedom, for he believed that all men are brothers. he did not come back again--he gave up his life for you. could i do less than he? i came to the land that he sanctified by his death, and i have tried in my weak way to tend the plant he watered with his blood, and which, in the fullness of time, will blossom forth into the perfect flower of liberty." she could say no more, and as the whole audience thrilled in sympathy with her emotion, there was a hoarse cry from the men's side of the room, and john forced his way to the aisle and rushed forward to the platform. "martha! martha!" "arthur! o arthur!" pent-up love burst the flood-gates of despair and oblivion, and caught these two young hearts in its torrent. captain arthur carey, of the st massachusetts, long since reported missing, and mourned as dead, was restored to reason and to his world. it seemed to him but yesterday that he had escaped from the confederate prison at salisbury; that in an encounter with a guard he had received a wound in the head; that he had wandered on in the woods, keeping himself alive by means of wild berries, with now and then a piece of bread or a potato from a friendly negro. it seemed but the night before that he had laid himself down, tortured with fever, weak from loss of blood, and with no hope that he would ever rise again. from that moment his memory of the past was a blank until he recognized martha on the platform and took up again the thread of his former existence where it had been broken off. * * * * * and cicely? well, there is often another woman, and cicely, all unwittingly to carey or to martha, had been the other woman. for, after all, her beautiful dream had been one of the kind that go by contraries. the passing of grandison i when it is said that it was done to please a woman, there ought perhaps to be enough said to explain anything; for what a man will not do to please a woman is yet to be discovered. nevertheless, it might be well to state a few preliminary facts to make it clear why young dick owens tried to run one of his father's negro men off to canada. in the early fifties, when the growth of anti-slavery sentiment and the constant drain of fugitive slaves into the north had so alarmed the slaveholders of the border states as to lead to the passage of the fugitive slave law, a young white man from ohio, moved by compassion for the sufferings of a certain bondman who happened to have a "hard master," essayed to help the slave to freedom. the attempt was discovered and frustrated; the abductor was tried and convicted for slave-stealing, and sentenced to a term of imprisonment in the penitentiary. his death, after the expiration of only a small part of the sentence, from cholera contracted while nursing stricken fellow prisoners, lent to the case a melancholy interest that made it famous in anti-slavery annals. dick owens had attended the trial. he was a youth of about twenty-two, intelligent, handsome, and amiable, but extremely indolent, in a graceful and gentlemanly way; or, as old judge fenderson put it more than once, he was lazy as the devil,--a mere figure of speech, of course, and not one that did justice to the enemy of mankind. when asked why he never did anything serious, dick would good-naturedly reply, with a well-modulated drawl, that he did n't have to. his father was rich; there was but one other child, an unmarried daughter, who because of poor health would probably never marry, and dick was therefore heir presumptive to a large estate. wealth or social position he did not need to seek, for he was born to both. charity lomax had shamed him into studying law, but notwithstanding an hour or so a day spent at old judge fenderson's office, he did not make remarkable headway in his legal studies. "what dick needs," said the judge, who was fond of tropes, as became a scholar, and of horses, as was befitting a kentuckian, "is the whip of necessity, or the spur of ambition. if he had either, he would soon need the snaffle to hold him back." but all dick required, in fact, to prompt him to the most remarkable thing he accomplished before he was twenty-five, was a mere suggestion from charity lomax. the story was never really known to but two persons until after the war, when it came out because it was a good story and there was no particular reason for its concealment. young owens had attended the trial of this slave-stealer, or martyr,--either or both,--and, when it was over, had gone to call on charity lomax, and, while they sat on the veranda after sundown, had told her all about the trial. he was a good talker, as his career in later years disclosed, and described the proceedings very graphically. "i confess," he admitted, "that while my principles were against the prisoner, my sympathies were on his side. it appeared that he was of good family, and that he had an old father and mother, respectable people, dependent upon him for support and comfort in their declining years. he had been led into the matter by pity for a negro whose master ought to have been run out of the county long ago for abusing his slaves. if it had been merely a question of old sam briggs's negro, nobody would have cared anything about it. but father and the rest of them stood on the principle of the thing, and told the judge so, and the fellow was sentenced to three years in the penitentiary." miss lomax had listened with lively interest. "i 've always hated old sam briggs," she said emphatically, "ever since the time he broke a negro's leg with a piece of cordwood. when i hear of a cruel deed it makes the quaker blood that came from my grandmother assert itself. personally i wish that all sam briggs's negroes would run away. as for the young man, i regard him as a hero. he dared something for humanity. i could love a man who would take such chances for the sake of others." "could you love me, charity, if i did something heroic?" "you never will, dick. you 're too lazy for any use. you 'll never do anything harder than playing cards or fox-hunting." "oh, come now, sweetheart! i 've been courting you for a year, and it 's the hardest work imaginable. are you never going to love me?" he pleaded. his hand sought hers, but she drew it back beyond his reach. "i 'll never love you, dick owens, until you have done something. when that time comes, i 'll think about it." "but it takes so long to do anything worth mentioning, and i don't want to wait. one must read two years to become a lawyer, and work five more to make a reputation. we shall both be gray by then." "oh, i don't know," she rejoined. "it does n't require a lifetime for a man to prove that he is a man. this one did something, or at least tried to." "well, i 'm willing to attempt as much as any other man. what do you want me to do, sweetheart? give me a test." "oh, dear me!" said charity, "i don't care what you _do_, so you do _something_. really, come to think of it, why should i care whether you do anything or not?" "i 'm sure i don't know why you should, charity," rejoined dick humbly, "for i 'm aware that i 'm not worthy of it." "except that i do hate," she added, relenting slightly, "to see a really clever man so utterly lazy and good for nothing." "thank you, my dear; a word of praise from you has sharpened my wits already. i have an idea! will you love me if i run a negro off to canada?" "what nonsense!" said charity scornfully. "you must be losing your wits. steal another man's slave, indeed, while your father owns a hundred!" "oh, there 'll be no trouble about that," responded dick lightly; "i 'll run off one of the old man's; we 've got too many anyway. it may not be quite as difficult as the other man found it, but it will be just as unlawful, and will demonstrate what i am capable of." "seeing 's believing," replied charity. "of course, what you are talking about now is merely absurd. i 'm going away for three weeks, to visit my aunt in tennessee. if you 're able to tell me, when i return, that you 've done something to prove your quality, i 'll--well, you may come and tell me about it." ii young owens got up about nine o'clock next morning, and while making his toilet put some questions to his personal attendant, a rather bright looking young mulatto of about his own age. "tom," said dick. "yas, mars dick," responded the servant. "i 'm going on a trip north. would you like to go with me?" now, if there was anything that tom would have liked to make, it was a trip north. it was something he had long contemplated in the abstract, but had never been able to muster up sufficient courage to attempt in the concrete. he was prudent enough, however, to dissemble his feelings. "i would n't min' it, mars dick, ez long ez you 'd take keer er me an' fetch me home all right." tom's eyes belied his words, however, and his young master felt well assured that tom needed only a good opportunity to make him run away. having a comfortable home, and a dismal prospect in case of failure, tom was not likely to take any desperate chances; but young owens was satisfied that in a free state but little persuasion would be required to lead tom astray. with a very logical and characteristic desire to gain his end with the least necessary expenditure of effort, he decided to take tom with him, if his father did not object. colonel owens had left the house when dick went to breakfast, so dick did not see his father till luncheon. "father," he remarked casually to the colonel, over the fried chicken, "i 'm feeling a trifle run down. i imagine my health would be improved somewhat by a little travel and change of scene." "why don't you take a trip north?" suggested his father. the colonel added to paternal affection a considerable respect for his son as the heir of a large estate. he himself had been "raised" in comparative poverty, and had laid the foundations of his fortune by hard work; and while he despised the ladder by which he had climbed, he could not entirely forget it, and unconsciously manifested, in his intercourse with his son, some of the poor man's deference toward the wealthy and well-born. "i think i 'll adopt your suggestion, sir," replied the son, "and run up to new york; and after i 've been there awhile i may go on to boston for a week or so. i 've never been there, you know." "there are some matters you can talk over with my factor in new york," rejoined the colonel, "and while you are up there among the yankees, i hope you 'll keep your eyes and ears open to find out what the rascally abolitionists are saying and doing. they 're becoming altogether too active for our comfort, and entirely too many ungrateful niggers are running away. i hope the conviction of that fellow yesterday may discourage the rest of the breed. i 'd just like to catch any one trying to run off one of my darkeys. he 'd get short shrift; i don't think any court would have a chance to try him." "they are a pestiferous lot," assented dick, "and dangerous to our institutions. but say, father, if i go north i shall want to take tom with me." now, the colonel, while a very indulgent father, had pronounced views on the subject of negroes, having studied them, as he often said, for a great many years, and, as he asserted oftener still, understanding them perfectly. it is scarcely worth while to say, either, that he valued more highly than if he had inherited them the slaves he had toiled and schemed for. "i don't think it safe to take tom up north," he declared, with promptness and decision. "he 's a good enough boy, but too smart to trust among those low-down abolitionists. i strongly suspect him of having learned to read, though i can't imagine how. i saw him with a newspaper the other day, and while he pretended to be looking at a woodcut, i 'm almost sure he was reading the paper. i think it by no means safe to take him." dick did not insist, because he knew it was useless. the colonel would have obliged his son in any other matter, but his negroes were the outward and visible sign of his wealth and station, and therefore sacred to him. "whom do you think it safe to take?" asked dick. "i suppose i 'll have to have a body-servant." "what 's the matter with grandison?" suggested the colonel. "he 's handy enough, and i reckon we can trust him. he 's too fond of good eating, to risk losing his regular meals; besides, he 's sweet on your mother's maid, betty, and i 've promised to let 'em get married before long. i 'll have grandison up, and we 'll talk to him. here, you boy jack," called the colonel to a yellow youth in the next room who was catching flies and pulling their wings off to pass the time, "go down to the barn and tell grandison to come here." "grandison," said the colonel, when the negro stood before him, hat in hand. "yas, marster." "have n't i always treated you right?" "yas, marster." "have n't you always got all you wanted to eat?" "yas, marster." "and as much whiskey and tobacco as was good for you, grandison?" "y-a-s, marster." "i should just like to know, grandison, whether you don't think yourself a great deal better off than those poor free negroes down by the plank road, with no kind master to look after them and no mistress to give them medicine when they 're sick and--and"---- "well, i sh'd jes' reckon i is better off, suh, dan dem low-down free niggers, suh! ef anybody ax 'em who dey b'long ter, dey has ter say nobody, er e'se lie erbout it. anybody ax me who i b'longs ter, i ain' got no 'casion ter be shame' ter tell 'em, no, suh, 'deed i ain', suh!" the colonel was beaming. this was true gratitude, and his feudal heart thrilled at such appreciative homage. what cold-blooded, heartless monsters they were who would break up this blissful relationship of kindly protection on the one hand, of wise subordination and loyal dependence on the other! the colonel always became indignant at the mere thought of such wickedness. "grandison," the colonel continued, "your young master dick is going north for a few weeks, and i am thinking of letting him take you along. i shall send you on this trip, grandison, in order that you may take care of your young master. he will need some one to wait on him, and no one can ever do it so well as one of the boys brought up with him on the old plantation. i am going to trust him in your hands, and i 'm sure you 'll do your duty faithfully, and bring him back home safe and sound--to old kentucky." grandison grinned. "oh yas, marster, i 'll take keer er young mars dick." "i want to warn you, though, grandison," continued the colonel impressively, "against these cussed abolitionists, who try to entice servants from their comfortable homes and their indulgent masters, from the blue skies, the green fields, and the warm sunlight of their southern home, and send them away off yonder to canada, a dreary country, where the woods are full of wildcats and wolves and bears, where the snow lies up to the eaves of the houses for six months of the year, and the cold is so severe that it freezes your breath and curdles your blood; and where, when runaway niggers get sick and can't work, they are turned out to starve and die, unloved and uncared for. i reckon, grandison, that you have too much sense to permit yourself to be led astray by any such foolish and wicked people." "'deed, suh, i would n' low none er dem cussed, low-down abolitioners ter come nigh me, suh. i 'd--i 'd--would i be 'lowed ter hit 'em, suh?" "certainly, grandison," replied the colonel, chuckling, "hit 'em as hard as you can. i reckon they 'd rather like it. begad, i believe they would! it would serve 'em right to be hit by a nigger!" "er ef i did n't hit 'em, suh," continued grandison reflectively, "i 'd tell mars dick, en _he 'd_ fix 'em. he 'd smash de face off'n 'em, suh, i jes' knows he would." "oh yes, grandison, your young master will protect you. you need fear no harm while he is near." "dey won't try ter steal me, will dey, marster?" asked the negro, with sudden alarm. "i don't know, grandison," replied the colonel, lighting a fresh cigar. "they 're a desperate set of lunatics, and there 's no telling what they may resort to. but if you stick close to your young master, and remember always that he is your best friend, and understands your real needs, and has your true interests at heart, and if you will be careful to avoid strangers who try to talk to you, you 'll stand a fair chance of getting back to your home and your friends. and if you please your master dick, he 'll buy you a present, and a string of beads for betty to wear when you and she get married in the fall." "thanky, marster, thanky, suh," replied grandison, oozing gratitude at every pore; "you is a good marster, to be sho', suh; yas, 'deed you is. you kin jes' bet me and mars dick gwine git 'long jes' lack i wuz own boy ter mars dick. en it won't be my fault ef he don' want me fer his boy all de time, w'en we come back home ag'in." "all right, grandison, you may go now. you need n't work any more to-day, and here 's a piece of tobacco for you off my own plug." "thanky, marster, thanky, marster! you is de bes' marster any nigger ever had in dis worl'." and grandison bowed and scraped and disappeared round the corner, his jaws closing around a large section of the colonel's best tobacco. "you may take grandison," said the colonel to his son. "i allow he 's abolitionist-proof." iii richard owens, esq., and servant, from kentucky, registered at the fashionable new york hostelry for southerners in those days, a hotel where an atmosphere congenial to southern institutions was sedulously maintained. but there were negro waiters in the dining-room, and mulatto bell-boys, and dick had no doubt that grandison, with the native gregariousness and garrulousness of his race, would foregather and palaver with them sooner or later, and dick hoped that they would speedily inoculate him with the virus of freedom. for it was not dick's intention to say anything to his servant about his plan to free him, for obvious reasons. to mention one of them, if grandison should go away, and by legal process be recaptured, his young master's part in the matter would doubtless become known, which would be embarrassing to dick, to say the least. if, on the other hand, he should merely give grandison sufficient latitude, he had no doubt he would eventually lose him. for while not exactly skeptical about grandison's perfervid loyalty, dick had been a somewhat keen observer of human nature, in his own indolent way, and based his expectations upon the force of the example and argument that his servant could scarcely fail to encounter. grandison should have a fair chance to become free by his own initiative; if it should become necessary to adopt other measures to get rid of him, it would be time enough to act when the necessity arose; and dick owens was not the youth to take needless trouble. the young master renewed some acquaintances and made others, and spent a week or two very pleasantly in the best society of the metropolis, easily accessible to a wealthy, well-bred young southerner, with proper introductions. young women smiled on him, and young men of convivial habits pressed their hospitalities; but the memory of charity's sweet, strong face and clear blue eyes made him proof against the blandishments of the one sex and the persuasions of the other. meanwhile he kept grandison supplied with pocket-money, and left him mainly to his own devices. every night when dick came in he hoped he might have to wait upon himself, and every morning he looked forward with pleasure to the prospect of making his toilet unaided. his hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment, for every night when he came in grandison was on hand with a bootjack, and a nightcap mixed for his young master as the colonel had taught him to mix it, and every morning grandison appeared with his master's boots blacked and his clothes brushed, and laid his linen out for the day. "grandison," said dick one morning, after finishing his toilet, "this is the chance of your life to go around among your own people and see how they live. have you met any of them?" "yas, suh, i 's seen some of 'em. but i don' keer nuffin fer 'em, suh. dey 're diffe'nt f'm de niggers down ou' way. dey 'lows dey 're free, but dey ain' got sense 'nuff ter know dey ain' half as well off as dey would be down souf, whar dey 'd be 'predated." when two weeks had passed without any apparent effect of evil example upon grandison, dick resolved to go on to boston, where he thought the atmosphere might prove more favorable to his ends. after he had been at the revere house for a day or two without losing grandison, he decided upon slightly different tactics. having ascertained from a city directory the addresses of several well-known abolitionists, he wrote them each a letter something like this:---- dear friend and brother:---- a wicked slaveholder from kentucky, stopping at the revere house, has dared to insult the liberty-loving people of boston by bringing his slave into their midst. shall this be tolerated? or shall steps be taken in the name of liberty to rescue a fellow-man from bondage? for obvious reasons i can only sign myself, a friend of humanity. that his letter might have an opportunity to prove effective, dick made it a point to send grandison away from the hotel on various errands. on one of these occasions dick watched him for quite a distance down the street. grandison had scarcely left the hotel when a long-haired, sharp-featured man came out behind him, followed him, soon overtook him, and kept along beside him until they turned the next corner. dick's hopes were roused by this spectacle, but sank correspondingly when grandison returned to the hotel. as grandison said nothing about the encounter, dick hoped there might be some self-consciousness behind this unexpected reticence, the results of which might develop later on. but grandison was on hand again when his master came back to the hotel at night, and was in attendance again in the morning, with hot water, to assist at his master's toilet. dick sent him on further errands from day to day, and upon one occasion came squarely up to him--inadvertently of course--while grandison was engaged in conversation with a young white man in clerical garb. when grandison saw dick approaching, he edged away from the preacher and hastened toward his master, with a very evident expression of relief upon his countenance. "mars dick," he said, "dese yer abolitioners is jes' pesterin' de life out er me tryin' ter git me ter run away. i don' pay no 'tention ter 'em, but dey riles me so sometimes dat i 'm feared i 'll hit some of 'em some er dese days, an' dat mought git me inter trouble. i ain' said nuffin' ter you 'bout it, mars dick, fer i did n' wanter 'sturb yo' min'; but i don' like it, suh; no, suh, i don'! is we gwine back home 'fo' long, mars dick?" "we 'll be going back soon enough," replied dick somewhat shortly, while he inwardly cursed the stupidity of a slave who could be free and would not, and registered a secret vow that if he were unable to get rid of grandison without assassinating him, and were therefore compelled to take him back to kentucky, he would see that grandison got a taste of an article of slavery that would make him regret his wasted opportunities. meanwhile he determined to tempt his servant yet more strongly. "grandison," he said next morning, "i 'm going away for a day or two, but i shall leave you here. i shall lock up a hundred dollars in this drawer and give you the key. if you need any of it, use it and enjoy yourself,--spend it all if you like,--for this is probably the last chance you 'll have for some time to be in a free state, and you 'd better enjoy your liberty while you may." when he came back a couple of days later and found the faithful grandison at his post, and the hundred dollars intact, dick felt seriously annoyed. his vexation was increased by the fact that he could not express his feelings adequately. he did not even scold grandison; how could he, indeed, find fault with one who so sensibly recognized his true place in the economy of civilization, and kept it with such touching fidelity? "i can't say a thing to him," groaned dick. "he deserves a leather medal, made out of his own hide tanned. i reckon i 'll write to father and let him know what a model servant he has given me." he wrote his father a letter which made the colonel swell with pride and pleasure. "i really think," the colonel observed to one of his friends, "that dick ought to have the nigger interviewed by the boston papers, so that they may see how contented and happy our darkeys really are." dick also wrote a long letter to charity lomax, in which he said, among many other things, that if she knew how hard he was working, and under what difficulties, to accomplish something serious for her sake, she would no longer keep him in suspense, but overwhelm him with love and admiration. having thus exhausted without result the more obvious methods of getting rid of grandison, and diplomacy having also proved a failure, dick was forced to consider more radical measures. of course he might run away himself, and abandon grandison, but this would be merely to leave him in the united states, where he was still a slave, and where, with his notions of loyalty, he would speedily be reclaimed. it was necessary, in order to accomplish the purpose of his trip to the north, to leave grandison permanently in canada, where he would be legally free. "i might extend my trip to canada," he reflected, "but that would be too palpable. i have it! i 'll visit niagara falls on the way home, and lose him on the canada side. when he once realizes that he is actually free, i 'll warrant that he 'll stay." so the next day saw them westward bound, and in due course of time, by the somewhat slow conveyances of the period, they found themselves at niagara. dick walked and drove about the falls for several days, taking grandison along with him on most occasions. one morning they stood on the canadian side, watching the wild whirl of the waters below them. "grandison," said dick, raising his voice above the roar of the cataract, "do you know where you are now?" "i 's wid you, mars dick; dat 's all i keers." "you are now in canada, grandison, where your people go when they run away from their masters. if you wished, grandison, you might walk away from me this very minute, and i could not lay my hand upon you to take you back." grandison looked around uneasily. "let 's go back ober de ribber, mars dick. i 's feared i 'll lose you ovuh heah, an' den i won' hab no marster, an' won't nebber be able to git back home no mo'." discouraged, but not yet hopeless, dick said, a few minutes later,---- "grandison, i 'm going up the road a bit, to the inn over yonder. you stay here until i return. i 'll not be gone a great while." grandison's eyes opened wide and he looked somewhat fearful. "is dey any er dem dadblasted abolitioners roun' heah, mars dick?" "i don't imagine that there are," replied his master, hoping there might be. "but i 'm not afraid of _your_ running away, grandison. i only wish i were," he added to himself. dick walked leisurely down the road to where the whitewashed inn, built of stone, with true british solidity, loomed up through the trees by the roadside. arrived there he ordered a glass of ale and a sandwich, and took a seat at a table by a window, from which he could see grandison in the distance. for a while he hoped that the seed he had sown might have fallen on fertile ground, and that grandison, relieved from the restraining power of a master's eye, and finding himself in a free country, might get up and walk away; but the hope was vain, for grandison remained faithfully at his post, awaiting his master's return. he had seated himself on a broad flat stone, and, turning his eyes away from the grand and awe-inspiring spectacle that lay close at hand, was looking anxiously toward the inn where his master sat cursing his ill-timed fidelity. by and by a girl came into the room to serve his order, and dick very naturally glanced at her; and as she was young and pretty and remained in attendance, it was some minutes before he looked for grandison. when he did so his faithful servant had disappeared. to pay his reckoning and go away without the change was a matter quickly accomplished. retracing his footsteps toward the falls, he saw, to his great disgust, as he approached the spot where he had left grandison, the familiar form of his servant stretched out on the ground, his face to the sun, his mouth open, sleeping the time away, oblivious alike to the grandeur of the scenery, the thunderous roar of the cataract, or the insidious voice of sentiment. "grandison," soliloquized his master, as he stood gazing down at his ebony encumbrance, "i do not deserve to be an american citizen; i ought not to have the advantages i possess over you; and i certainly am not worthy of charity lomax, if i am not smart enough to get rid of you. i have an idea! you shall yet be free, and i will be the instrument of your deliverance. sleep on, faithful and affectionate servitor, and dream of the blue grass and the bright skies of old kentucky, for it is only in your dreams that you will ever see them again!" dick retraced his footsteps towards the inn. the young woman chanced to look out of the window and saw the handsome young gentleman she had waited on a few minutes before, standing in the road a short distance away, apparently engaged in earnest conversation with a colored man employed as hostler for the inn. she thought she saw something pass from the white man to the other, but at that moment her duties called her away from the window, and when she looked out again the young gentleman had disappeared, and the hostler, with two other young men of the neighborhood, one white and one colored, were walking rapidly towards the falls. iv dick made the journey homeward alone, and as rapidly as the conveyances of the day would permit. as he drew near home his conduct in going back without grandison took on a more serious aspect than it had borne at any previous time, and although he had prepared the colonel by a letter sent several days ahead, there was still the prospect of a bad quarter of an hour with him; not, indeed, that his father would upbraid him, but he was likely to make searching inquiries. and notwithstanding the vein of quiet recklessness that had carried dick through his preposterous scheme, he was a very poor liar, having rarely had occasion or inclination to tell anything but the truth. any reluctance to meet his father was more than offset, however, by a stronger force drawing him homeward, for charity lomax must long since have returned from her visit to her aunt in tennessee. dick got off easier than he had expected. he told a straight story, and a truthful one, so far as it went. the colonel raged at first, but rage soon subsided into anger, and anger moderated into annoyance, and annoyance into a sort of garrulous sense of injury. the colonel thought he had been hardly used; he had trusted this negro, and he had broken faith. yet, after all, he did not blame grandison so much as he did the abolitionists, who were undoubtedly at the bottom of it. as for charity lomax, dick told her, privately of course, that he had run his father's man, grandison, off to canada, and left him there. "oh, dick," she had said with shuddering alarm, "what have you done? if they knew it they 'd send you to the penitentiary, like they did that yankee." "but they don't know it," he had replied seriously; adding, with an injured tone, "you don't seem to appreciate my heroism like you did that of the yankee; perhaps it 's because i was n't caught and sent to the penitentiary. i thought you wanted me to do it." "why, dick owens!" she exclaimed. "you know i never dreamed of any such outrageous proceeding. "but i presume i 'll have to marry you," she concluded, after some insistence on dick's part, "if only to take care of you. you are too reckless for anything; and a man who goes chasing all over the north, being entertained by new york and boston society and having negroes to throw away, needs some one to look after him." "it 's a most remarkable thing," replied dick fervently, "that your views correspond exactly with my profoundest convictions. it proves beyond question that we were made for one another." * * * * * they were married three weeks later. as each of them had just returned from a journey, they spent their honeymoon at home. a week after the wedding they were seated, one afternoon, on the piazza of the colonel's house, where dick had taken his bride, when a negro from the yard ran down the lane and threw open the big gate for the colonel's buggy to enter. the colonel was not alone. beside him, ragged and travel-stained, bowed with weariness, and upon his face a haggard look that told of hardship and privation, sat the lost grandison. the colonel alighted at the steps. "take the lines, tom," he said to the man who had opened the gate, "and drive round to the barn. help grandison down,--poor devil, he 's so stiff he can hardly move!--and get a tub of water and wash him and rub him down, and feed him, and give him a big drink of whiskey, and then let him come round and see his young master and his new mistress." the colonel's face wore an expression compounded of joy and indignation,--joy at the restoration of a valuable piece of property; indignation for reasons he proceeded to state. "it 's astounding, the depths of depravity the human heart is capable of! i was coming along the road three miles away, when i heard some one call me from the roadside. i pulled up the mare, and who should come out of the woods but grandison. the poor nigger could hardly crawl along, with the help of a broken limb. i was never more astonished in my life. you could have knocked me down with a feather. he seemed pretty far gone,--he could hardly talk above a whisper,--and i had to give him a mouthful of whiskey to brace him up so he could tell his story. it 's just as i thought from the beginning, dick; grandison had no notion of running away; he knew when he was well off, and where his friends were. all the persuasions of abolition liars and runaway niggers did not move him. but the desperation of those fanatics knew no bounds; their guilty consciences gave them no rest. they got the notion somehow that grandison belonged to a nigger-catcher, and had been brought north as a spy to help capture ungrateful runaway servants. they actually kidnaped him--just think of it!--and gagged him and bound him and threw him rudely into a wagon, and carried him into the gloomy depths of a canadian forest, and locked him in a lonely hut, and fed him on bread and water for three weeks. one of the scoundrels wanted to kill him, and persuaded the others that it ought to be done; but they got to quarreling about how they should do it, and before they had their minds made up grandison escaped, and, keeping his back steadily to the north star, made his way, after suffering incredible hardships, back to the old plantation, back to his master, his friends, and his home. why, it 's as good as one of scott's novels! mr. simms or some other one of our southern authors ought to write it up." "don't you think, sir," suggested dick, who had calmly smoked his cigar throughout the colonel's animated recital, "that that kidnaping yarn sounds a little improbable? is n't there some more likely explanation?" "nonsense, dick; it 's the gospel truth! those infernal abolitionists are capable of anything--everything! just think of their locking the poor, faithful nigger up, beating him, kicking him, depriving him of his liberty, keeping him on bread and water for three long, lonesome weeks, and he all the time pining for the old plantation!" there were almost tears in the colonel's eyes at the picture of grandison's sufferings that he conjured up. dick still professed to be slightly skeptical, and met charity's severely questioning eye with bland unconsciousness. the colonel killed the fatted calf for grandison, and for two or three weeks the returned wanderer's life was a slave's dream of pleasure. his fame spread throughout the county, and the colonel gave him a permanent place among the house servants, where he could always have him conveniently at hand to relate his adventures to admiring visitors. * * * * * about three weeks after grandison's return the colonel's faith in sable humanity was rudely shaken, and its foundations almost broken up. he came near losing his belief in the fidelity of the negro to his master,--the servile virtue most highly prized and most sedulously cultivated by the colonel and his kind. one monday morning grandison was missing. and not only grandison, but his wife, betty the maid; his mother, aunt eunice; his father, uncle ike; his brothers, tom and john, and his little sister elsie, were likewise absent from the plantation; and a hurried search and inquiry in the neighborhood resulted in no information as to their whereabouts. so much valuable property could not be lost without an effort to recover it, and the wholesale nature of the transaction carried consternation to the hearts of those whose ledgers were chiefly bound in black. extremely energetic measures were taken by the colonel and his friends. the fugitives were traced, and followed from point to point, on their northward run through ohio. several times the hunters were close upon their heels, but the magnitude of the escaping party begot unusual vigilance on the part of those who sympathized with the fugitives, and strangely enough, the underground railroad seemed to have had its tracks cleared and signals set for this particular train. once, twice, the colonel thought he had them, but they slipped through his fingers. one last glimpse he caught of his vanishing property, as he stood, accompanied by a united states marshal, on a wharf at a port on the south shore of lake erie. on the stern of a small steamboat which was receding rapidly from the wharf, with her nose pointing toward canada, there stood a group of familiar dark faces, and the look they cast backward was not one of longing for the fleshpots of egypt. the colonel saw grandison point him out to one of the crew of the vessel, who waved his hand derisively toward the colonel. the latter shook his fist impotently--and the incident was closed. uncle wellington's wives i uncle wellington braboy was so deeply absorbed in thought as he walked slowly homeward from the weekly meeting of the union league, that he let his pipe go out, a fact of which he remained oblivious until he had reached the little frame house in the suburbs of patesville, where he lived with aunt milly, his wife. on this particular occasion the club had been addressed by a visiting brother from the north, professor patterson, a tall, well-formed mulatto, who wore a perfectly fitting suit of broadcloth, a shiny silk hat, and linen of dazzling whiteness,--in short, a gentleman of such distinguished appearance that the doors and windows of the offices and stores on front street were filled with curious observers as he passed through that thoroughfare in the early part of the day. this polished stranger was a traveling organizer of masonic lodges, but he also claimed to be a high officer in the union league, and had been invited to lecture before the local chapter of that organization at patesville. the lecture had been largely attended, and uncle* wellington braboy had occupied a seat just in front of the platform. the subject of the lecture was "the mental, moral, physical, political, social, and financial improvement of the negro race in america," a theme much dwelt upon, with slight variations, by colored orators. for to this struggling people, then as now, the problem of their uncertain present and their doubtful future was the chief concern of life. the period was the hopeful one. the federal government retained some vestige of authority in the south, and the newly emancipated race cherished the delusion that under the constitution, that enduring rock on which our liberties are founded, and under the equal laws it purported to guarantee, they would enter upon the era of freedom and opportunity which their northern friends had inaugurated with such solemn sanctions. the speaker pictured in eloquent language the state of ideal equality and happiness enjoyed by colored people at the north: how they sent their children to school with the white children; how they sat by white people in the churches and theatres, ate with them in the public restaurants, and buried their dead in the same cemeteries. the professor waxed eloquent with the development of his theme, and, as a finishing touch to an alluring picture, assured the excited audience that the intermarriage of the races was common, and that he himself had espoused a white woman. uncle wellington braboy was a deeply interested listener. he had heard something of these facts before, but his information had always come in such vague and questionable shape that he had paid little attention to it. he knew that the yankees had freed the slaves, and that runaway negroes had always gone to the north to seek liberty; any such equality, however, as the visiting brother had depicted, was more than uncle wellington had ever conceived as actually existing anywhere in the world. at first he felt inclined to doubt the truth of the speaker's statements; but the cut of his clothes, the eloquence of his language, and the flowing length of his whiskers, were so far superior to anything uncle wellington had ever met among the colored people of his native state, that he felt irresistibly impelled to the conviction that nothing less than the advantages claimed for the north by the visiting brother could have produced such an exquisite flower of civilization. any lingering doubts uncle wellington may have felt were entirely dispelled by the courtly bow and cordial grasp of the hand with which the visiting brother acknowledged the congratulations showered upon him by the audience at the close of his address. the more uncle wellington's mind dwelt upon the professor's speech, the more attractive seemed the picture of northern life presented. uncle wellington possessed in large measure the imaginative faculty so freely bestowed by nature upon the race from which the darker half of his blood was drawn. he had indulged in occasional day-dreams of an ideal state of social equality, but his wildest flights of fancy had never located it nearer than heaven, and he had felt some misgivings about its practical working even there. its desirability he had never doubted, and the speech of the evening before had given a local habitation and a name to the forms his imagination had bodied forth. giving full rein to his fancy, he saw in the north a land flowing with milk and honey,--a land peopled by noble men and beautiful women, among whom colored men and women moved with the ease and grace of acknowledged right. then he placed himself in the foreground of the picture. what a fine figure he would have made in the world if he had been born at the free north! he imagined himself dressed like the professor, and passing the contribution-box in a white church; and most pleasant of his dreams, and the hardest to realize as possible, was that of the gracious white lady he might have called wife. uncle wellington was a mulatto, and his features were those of his white father, though tinged with the hue of his mother's race; and as he lifted the kerosene lamp at evening, and took a long look at his image in the little mirror over the mantelpiece, he said to himself that he was a very good-looking man, and could have adorned a much higher sphere in life than that in which the accident of birth had placed him. he fell asleep and dreamed that he lived in a two-story brick house, with a spacious flower garden in front, the whole inclosed by a high iron fence; that he kept a carriage and servants, and never did a stroke of work. this was the highest style of living in patesville, and he could conceive of nothing finer. uncle wellington slept later than usual the next morning, and the sunlight was pouring in at the open window of the bedroom, when his dreams were interrupted by the voice of his wife, in tones meant to be harsh, but which no ordinary degree of passion could rob of their native unctuousness. "git up f'm dere, you lazy, good-fuh-nuffin' nigger! is you gwine ter sleep all de mawnin'? i 's ti'ed er dis yer runnin' 'roun' all night an' den sleepin' all day. you won't git dat tater patch hoed ovuh ter-day 'less'n you git up f'm dere an' git at it." uncle wellington rolled over, yawned cavernously, stretched himself, and with a muttered protest got out of bed and put on his clothes. aunt milly had prepared a smoking breakfast of hominy and fried bacon, the odor of which was very grateful to his nostrils. "is breakfus' done ready?" he inquired, tentatively, as he came into the kitchen and glanced at the table. "no, it ain't ready, an' 't ain't gwine ter be ready 'tel you tote dat wood an' water in," replied aunt milly severely, as she poured two teacups of boiling water on two tablespoonfuls of ground coffee. uncle wellington went down to the spring and got a pail of water, after which he brought in some oak logs for the fire place and some lightwood for kindling. then he drew a chair towards the table and started to sit down. "wonduh what 's de matter wid you dis mawnin' anyhow," remarked aunt milly. "you must 'a' be'n up ter some devilment las' night, fer yo' recommemb'ance is so po' dat you fus' fergit ter git up, an' den fergit ter wash yo' face an' hands fo' you set down ter de table. i don' 'low nobody ter eat at my table dat a-way." "i don' see no use 'n washin' 'em so much," replied wellington wearily. "dey gits dirty ag'in right off, an' den you got ter wash 'em ovuh ag'in; it 's jes' pilin' up wuk what don' fetch in nuffin'. de dirt don' show nohow, 'n' i don' see no advantage in bein' black, ef you got to keep on washin' yo' face 'n' han's jes' lack w'ite folks." he nevertheless performed his ablutions in a perfunctory way, and resumed his seat at the breakfast-table. "ole 'oman," he asked, after the edge of his appetite had been taken off, "how would you lack ter live at de norf?" "i dunno nuffin' 'bout de norf," replied aunt milly. "it 's hard 'nuff ter git erlong heah, whar we knows all erbout it." "de brother what 'dressed de meetin' las' night say dat de wages at de norf is twicet ez big ez dey is heah." "you could make a sight mo' wages heah ef you 'd 'ten' ter yo' wuk better," replied aunt milly. uncle wellington ignored this personality, and continued, "an' he say de cullud folks got all de privileges er de w'ite folks,--dat dey chillen goes ter school tergedder, dat dey sets on same seats in chu'ch, an' sarves on jury, 'n' rides on de kyars an' steamboats wid de w'ite folks, an' eats at de fus' table." "dat 'u'd suit you," chuckled aunt milly, "an' you 'd stay dere fer de secon' table, too. how dis man know 'bout all dis yer foolis'ness?" she asked incredulously. "he come f'm de norf," said uncle wellington, "an' he 'speunced it all hisse'f." "well, he can't make me b'lieve it," she rejoined, with a shake of her head. "an' you would n' lack ter go up dere an' 'joy all dese privileges?" asked uncle wellington, with some degree of earnestness. the old woman laughed until her sides shook. "who gwine ter take me up dere?" she inquired. "you got de money yo'se'f." "i ain' got no money fer ter was'e," she replied shortly, becoming serious at once; and with that the subject was dropped. uncle wellington pulled a hoe from under the house, and took his way wearily to the potato patch. he did not feel like working, but aunt milly was the undisputed head of the establishment, and he did not dare to openly neglect his work. in fact, he regarded work at any time as a disagreeable necessity to be avoided as much as possible. his wife was cast in a different mould. externally she would have impressed the casual observer as a neat, well-preserved, and good-looking black woman, of middle age, every curve of whose ample figure--and her figure was all curves--was suggestive of repose. so far from being indolent, or even deliberate in her movements, she was the most active and energetic woman in the town. she went through the physical exercises of a prayer-meeting with astonishing vigor. it was exhilarating to see her wash a shirt, and a study to watch her do it up. a quick jerk shook out the dampened garment; one pass of her ample palm spread it over the ironing-board, and a few well-directed strokes with the iron accomplished what would have occupied the ordinary laundress for half an hour. to this uncommon, and in uncle wellington's opinion unnecessary and unnatural activity, his own habits were a steady protest. if aunt milly had been willing to support him in idleness, he would have acquiesced without a murmur in her habits of industry. this she would not do, and, moreover, insisted on his working at least half the time. if she had invested the proceeds of her labor in rich food and fine clothing, he might have endured it better; but to her passion for work was added a most detestable thrift. she absolutely refused to pay for wellington's clothes, and required him to furnish a certain proportion of the family supplies. her savings were carefully put by, and with them she had bought and paid for the modest cottage which she and her husband occupied. under her careful hand it was always neat and clean; in summer the little yard was gay with bright-colored flowers, and woe to the heedless pickaninny who should stray into her yard and pluck a rose or a verbena! in a stout oaken chest under her bed she kept a capacious stocking, into which flowed a steady stream of fractional currency. she carried the key to this chest in her pocket, a proceeding regarded by uncle wellington with no little disfavor. he was of the opinion--an opinion he would not have dared to assert in her presence--that his wife's earnings were his own property; and he looked upon this stocking as a drunkard's wife might regard the saloon which absorbed her husband's wages. uncle wellington hurried over the potato patch on the morning of the conversation above recorded, and as soon as he saw aunt milly go away with a basket of clothes on her head, returned to the house, put on his coat, and went uptown. he directed his steps to a small frame building fronting on the main street of the village, at a point where the street was intersected by one of the several creeks meandering through the town, cooling the air, providing numerous swimming-holes for the amphibious small boy, and furnishing water-power for grist-mills and saw-mills. the rear of the building rested on long brick pillars, built up from the bottom of the steep bank of the creek, while the front was level with the street. this was the office of mr. matthew wright, the sole representative of the colored race at the bar of chinquapin county. mr. wright came of an "old issue" free colored family, in which, though the negro blood was present in an attenuated strain, a line of free ancestry could be traced beyond the revolutionary war. he had enjoyed exceptional opportunities, and enjoyed the distinction of being the first, and for a long time the only colored lawyer in north carolina. his services were frequently called into requisition by impecunious people of his own race; when they had money they went to white lawyers, who, they shrewdly conjectured, would have more influence with judge or jury than a colored lawyer, however able. uncle wellington found mr. wright in his office. having inquired after the health of the lawyer's family and all his relations in detail, uncle wellington asked for a professional opinion. "mistah wright, ef a man's wife got money, whose money is dat befo' de law--his'n er her'n?" the lawyer put on his professional air, and replied:---- "under the common law, which in default of special legislative enactment is the law of north carolina, the personal property of the wife belongs to her husband." "but dat don' jes' tech de p'int, suh. i wuz axin' 'bout money." "you see, uncle wellington, your education has not rendered you familiar with legal phraseology. the term 'personal property' or 'estate' embraces, according to blackstone, all property other than land, and therefore includes money. any money a man's wife has is his, constructively, and will be recognized as his actually, as soon as he can secure possession of it." "dat is ter say, suh--my eddication don' quite 'low me ter understan' dat--dat is ter say"---- "that is to say, it 's yours when you get it. it is n't yours so that the law will help you get it; but on the other hand, when you once lay your hands on it, it is yours so that the law won't take it away from you." uncle wellington nodded to express his full comprehension of the law as expounded by mr. wright, but scratched his head in a way that expressed some disappointment. the law seemed to wobble. instead of enabling him to stand up fearlessly and demand his own, it threw him back upon his own efforts; and the prospect of his being able to overpower or outwit aunt milly by any ordinary means was very poor. he did not leave the office, but hung around awhile as though there were something further he wished to speak about. finally, after some discursive remarks about the crops and politics, he asked, in an offhand, disinterested manner, as though the thought had just occurred to him:---- "mistah wright, w'ile's we 're talkin' 'bout law matters, what do it cos' ter git a defoce?" "that depends upon circumstances. it is n't altogether a matter of expense. have you and aunt milly been having trouble?" "oh no, suh; i was jes' a-wond'rin'." "you see," continued the lawyer, who was fond of talking, and had nothing else to do for the moment, "a divorce is not an easy thing to get in this state under any circumstances. it used to be the law that divorce could be granted only by special act of the legislature; and it is but recently that the subject has been relegated to the jurisdiction of the courts." uncle wellington understood a part of this, but the answer had not been exactly to the point in his mind. "s'pos'n', den, jes' fer de argyment, me an' my ole 'oman sh'd fall out en wanter separate, how could i git a defoce?" "that would depend on what you quarreled about. it 's pretty hard work to answer general questions in a particular way. if you merely wished to separate, it would n't be necessary to get a divorce; but if you should want to marry again, you would have to be divorced, or else you would be guilty of bigamy, and could be sent to the penitentiary. but, by the way, uncle wellington, when were you married?" "i got married 'fo' de wah, when i was livin' down on rockfish creek." "when you were in slavery?" "yas, suh." "did you have your marriage registered after the surrender?" "no, suh; never knowed nuffin' 'bout dat." after the war, in north carolina and other states, the freed people who had sustained to each other the relation of husband and wife as it existed among slaves, were required by law to register their consent to continue in the marriage relation. by this simple expedient their former marriages of convenience received the sanction of law, and their children the seal of legitimacy. in many cases, however, where the parties lived in districts remote from the larger towns, the ceremony was neglected, or never heard of by the freedmen. "well," said the lawyer, "if that is the case, and you and aunt milly should disagree, it would n't be necessary for you to get a divorce, even if you should want to marry again. you were never legally married." "so milly ain't my lawful wife, den?" "she may be your wife in one sense of the word, but not in such a sense as to render you liable to punishment for bigamy if you should marry another woman. but i hope you will never want to do anything of the kind, for you have a very good wife now." uncle wellington went away thoughtfully, but with a feeling of unaccustomed lightness and freedom. he had not felt so free since the memorable day when he had first heard of the emancipation proclamation. on leaving the lawyer's office, he called at the workshop of one of his friends, peter williams, a shoemaker by trade, who had a brother living in ohio. "is you hearn f'm sam lately?" uncle wellington inquired, after the conversation had drifted through the usual generalities. "his mammy got er letter f'm 'im las' week; he 's livin' in de town er groveland now." "how 's he gittin' on?" "he says he gittin' on monst'us well. he 'low ez how he make five dollars a day w'ite-washin', an' have all he kin do." the shoemaker related various details of his brother's prosperity, and uncle wellington returned home in a very thoughtful mood, revolving in his mind a plan of future action. this plan had been vaguely assuming form ever since the professor's lecture, and the events of the morning had brought out the detail in bold relief. two days after the conversation with the shoemaker, aunt milly went, in the afternoon, to visit a sister of hers who lived several miles out in the country. during her absence, which lasted until nightfall, uncle wellington went uptown and purchased a cheap oilcloth valise from a shrewd son of israel, who had penetrated to this locality with a stock of notions and cheap clothing. uncle wellington had his purchase done up in brown paper, and took the parcel under his arm. arrived at home he unwrapped the valise, and thrust into its capacious jaws his best suit of clothes, some underwear, and a few other small articles for personal use and adornment. then he carried the valise out into the yard, and, first looking cautiously around to see if there was any one in sight, concealed it in a clump of bushes in a corner of the yard. it may be inferred from this proceeding that uncle wellington was preparing for a step of some consequence. in fact, he had fully made up his mind to go to the north; but he still lacked the most important requisite for traveling with comfort, namely, the money to pay his expenses. the idea of tramping the distance which separated him from the promised land of liberty and equality had never occurred to him. when a slave, he had several times been importuned by fellow servants to join them in the attempt to escape from bondage, but he had never wanted his freedom badly enough to walk a thousand miles for it; if he could have gone to canada by stage-coach, or by rail, or on horseback, with stops for regular meals, he would probably have undertaken the trip. the funds he now needed for his journey were in aunt milly's chest. he had thought a great deal about his right to this money. it was his wife's savings, and he had never dared to dispute, openly, her right to exercise exclusive control over what she earned; but the lawyer had assured him of his right to the money, of which he was already constructively in possession, and he had therefore determined to possess himself actually of the coveted stocking. it was impracticable for him to get the key of the chest. aunt milly kept it in her pocket by day and under her pillow at night. she was a light sleeper, and, if not awakened by the abstraction of the key, would certainly have been disturbed by the unlocking of the chest. but one alternative remained, and that was to break open the chest in her absence. there was a revival in progress at the colored methodist church. aunt milly was as energetic in her religion as in other respects, and had not missed a single one of the meetings. she returned at nightfall from her visit to the country and prepared a frugal supper. uncle wellington did not eat as heartily as usual. aunt milly perceived his want of appetite, and spoke of it. he explained it by saying that he did not feel very well. "is you gwine ter chu'ch ter-night?" inquired his wife. "i reckon i 'll stay home an' go ter bed," he replied. "i ain't be'n feelin' well dis evenin', an' i 'spec' i better git a good night's res'." "well, you kin stay ef you mineter. good preachin' 'u'd make you feel better, but ef you ain't gwine, don' fergit ter tote in some wood an' lighterd 'fo' you go ter bed. de moon is shinin' bright, an' you can't have no 'scuse 'bout not bein' able ter see." uncle wellington followed her out to the gate, and watched her receding form until it disappeared in the distance. then he re-entered the house with a quick step, and taking a hatchet from a corner of the room, drew the chest from under the bed. as he applied the hatchet to the fastenings, a thought struck him, and by the flickering light of the pine-knot blazing on the hearth, a look of hesitation might have been seen to take the place of the determined expression his face had worn up to that time. he had argued himself into the belief that his present action was lawful and justifiable. though this conviction had not prevented him from trembling in every limb, as though he were committing a mere vulgar theft, it had still nerved him to the deed. now even his moral courage began to weaken. the lawyer had told him that his wife's property was his own; in taking it he was therefore only exercising his lawful right. but at the point of breaking open the chest, it occurred to him that he was taking this money in order to get away from aunt milly, and that he justified his desertion of her by the lawyer's opinion that she was not his lawful wife. if she was not his wife, then he had no right to take the money; if she was his wife, he had no right to desert her, and would certainly have no right to marry another woman. his scheme was about to go to shipwreck on this rock, when another idea occurred to him. "de lawyer say dat in one sense er de word de ole 'oman is my wife, an' in anudder sense er de word she ain't my wife. ef i goes ter de norf an' marry a w'ite 'oman, i ain't commit no brigamy, 'caze in dat sense er de word she ain't my wife; but ef i takes dis money, i ain't stealin' it, 'caze in dat sense er de word she is my wife. dat 'splains all de trouble away." having reached this ingenious conclusion, uncle wellington applied the hatchet vigorously, soon loosened the fastenings of the chest, and with trembling hands extracted from its depths a capacious blue cotton stocking. he emptied the stocking on the table. his first impulse was to take the whole, but again there arose in his mind a doubt--a very obtrusive, unreasonable doubt, but a doubt, nevertheless--of the absolute rectitude of his conduct; and after a moment's hesitation he hurriedly counted the money--it was in bills of small denominations--and found it to be about two hundred and fifty dollars. he then divided it into two piles of one hundred and twenty-five dollars each. he put one pile into his pocket, returned the remainder to the stocking, and replaced it where he had found it. he then closed the chest and shoved it under the bed. after having arranged the fire so that it could safely be left burning, he took a last look around the room, and went out into the moonlight, locking the door behind him, and hanging the key on a nail in the wall, where his wife would be likely to look for it. he then secured his valise from behind the bushes, and left the yard. as he passed by the wood-pile, he said to himself:---- "well, i declar' ef i ain't done fergot ter tote in dat lighterd; i reckon de ole 'oman 'll ha' ter fetch it in herse'f dis time." he hastened through the quiet streets, avoiding the few people who were abroad at that hour, and soon reached the railroad station, from which a north-bound train left at nine o'clock. he went around to the dark side of the train, and climbed into a second-class car, where he shrank into the darkest corner and turned his face away from the dim light of the single dirty lamp. there were no passengers in the car except one or two sleepy negroes, who had got on at some other station, and a white man who had gone into the car to smoke, accompanied by a gigantic bloodhound. finally the train crept out of the station. from the window uncle wellington looked out upon the familiar cabins and turpentine stills, the new barrel factory, the brickyard where he had once worked for some time; and as the train rattled through the outskirts of the town, he saw gleaming in the moonlight the white headstones of the colored cemetery where his only daughter had been buried several years before. presently the conductor came around. uncle wellington had not bought a ticket, and the conductor collected a cash fare. he was not acquainted with uncle wellington, but had just had a drink at the saloon near the depot, and felt at peace with all mankind. "where are you going, uncle?" he inquired carelessly. uncle wellington's face assumed the ashen hue which does duty for pallor in dusky countenances, and his knees began to tremble. controlling his voice as well as he could, he replied that he was going up to jonesboro, the terminus of the railroad, to work for a gentleman at that place. he felt immensely relieved when the conductor pocketed the fare, picked up his lantern, and moved away. it was very unphilosophical and very absurd that a man who was only doing right should feel like a thief, shrink from the sight of other people, and lie instinctively. fine distinctions were not in uncle wellington's line, but he was struck by the unreasonableness of his feelings, and still more by the discomfort they caused him. by and by, however, the motion of the train made him drowsy; his thoughts all ran together in confusion; and he fell asleep with his head on his valise, and one hand in his pocket, clasped tightly around the roll of money. ii the train from pittsburg drew into the union depot at groveland, ohio, one morning in the spring of -, with bell ringing and engine puffing; and from a smoking-car emerged the form of uncle wellington braboy, a little dusty and travel-stained, and with a sleepy look about his eyes. he mingled in the crowd, and, valise in hand, moved toward the main exit from the depot. there were several tracks to be crossed, and more than once a watchman snatched him out of the way of a baggage-truck, or a train backing into the depot. he at length reached the door, beyond which, and as near as the regulations would permit, stood a number of hackmen, vociferously soliciting patronage. one of them, a colored man, soon secured several passengers. as he closed the door after the last one he turned to uncle wellington, who stood near him on the sidewalk, looking about irresolutely. "is you goin' uptown?" asked the hackman, as he prepared to mount the box. "yas, suh." "i 'll take you up fo' a quahtah, ef you want ter git up here an' ride on de box wid me." uncle wellington accepted the offer and mounted the box. the hackman whipped up his horses, the carriage climbed the steep hill leading up to the town, and the passengers inside were soon deposited at their hotels. "whereabouts do you want to go?" asked the hackman of uncle wellington, when the carriage was emptied of its last passengers. "i want ter go ter brer sam williams's," said wellington. "what 's his street an' number?" uncle wellington did not know the street and number, and the hackman had to explain to him the mystery of numbered houses, to which he was a total stranger. "where is he from?" asked the hackman, "and what is his business?" "he is f'm norf ca'lina," replied uncle wellington, "an' makes his livin' w'itewashin'." "i reckon i knows de man," said the hackman. "i 'spec' he 's changed his name. de man i knows is name' johnson. he b'longs ter my chu'ch. i 'm gwine out dat way ter git a passenger fer de ten o'clock train, an i 'll take you by dere." they followed one of the least handsome streets of the city for more than a mile, turned into a cross street, and drew up before a small frame house, from the front of which a sign, painted in white upon a black background, announced to the reading public, in letters inclined to each other at various angles, that whitewashing and kalsomining were "dun" there. a knock at the door brought out a slatternly looking colored woman. she had evidently been disturbed at her toilet, for she held a comb in one hand, and the hair on one side of her head stood out loosely, while on the other side it was braided close to her head. she called her husband, who proved to be the patesville shoemaker's brother. the hackman introduced the traveler, whose name he had learned on the way out, collected his quarter, and drove away. mr. johnson, the shoemaker's brother, welcomed uncle wellington to groveland, and listened with eager delight to the news of the old town, from which he himself had run away many years before, and followed the north star to groveland. he had changed his name from "williams" to "johnson," on account of the fugitive slave law, which, at the time of his escape from bondage, had rendered it advisable for runaway slaves to court obscurity. after the war he had retained the adopted name. mrs. johnson prepared breakfast for her guest, who ate it with an appetite sharpened by his journey. after breakfast he went to bed, and slept until late in the afternoon. after supper mr. johnson took uncle wellington to visit some of the neighbors who had come from north carolina before the war. they all expressed much pleasure at meeting "mr. braboy," a title which at first sounded a little odd to uncle wellington. at home he had been "wellin'ton," "brer wellin'ton," or "uncle wellin'ton;" it was a novel experience to be called "mister," and he set it down, with secret satisfaction, as one of the first fruits of northern liberty. "would you lack ter look 'roun' de town a little?" asked mr. johnson at breakfast next morning. "i ain' got no job dis mawnin', an' i kin show you some er de sights." uncle wellington acquiesced in this arrangement, and they walked up to the corner to the street-car line. in a few moments a car passed. mr. johnson jumped on the moving car, and uncle wellington followed his example, at the risk of life or limb, as it was his first experience of street cars. there was only one vacant seat in the car and that was between two white women in the forward end. mr. johnson motioned to the seat, but wellington shrank from walking between those two rows of white people, to say nothing of sitting between the two women, so he remained standing in the rear part of the car. a moment later, as the car rounded a short curve, he was pitched sidewise into the lap of a stout woman magnificently attired in a ruffled blue calico gown. the lady colored up, and uncle wellington, as he struggled to his feet amid the laughter of the passengers, was absolutely helpless with embarrassment, until the conductor came up behind him and pushed him toward the vacant place. "sit down, will you," he said; and before uncle wellington could collect himself, he was seated between the two white women. everybody in the car seemed to be looking at him. but he came to the conclusion, after he had pulled himself together and reflected a few moments, that he would find this method of locomotion pleasanter when he got used to it, and then he could score one more glorious privilege gained by his change of residence. they got off at the public square, in the heart of the city, where there were flowers and statues, and fountains playing. mr. johnson pointed out the court-house, the post-office, the jail, and other public buildings fronting on the square. they visited the market near by, and from an elevated point, looked down upon the extensive lumber yards and factories that were the chief sources of the city's prosperity. beyond these they could see the fleet of ships that lined the coal and iron ore docks of the harbor. mr. johnson, who was quite a fluent talker, enlarged upon the wealth and prosperity of the city; and wellington, who had never before been in a town of more than three thousand inhabitants, manifested sufficient interest and wonder to satisfy the most exacting _cicerone_. they called at the office of a colored lawyer and member of the legislature, formerly from north carolina, who, scenting a new constituent and a possible client, greeted the stranger warmly, and in flowing speech pointed out the superior advantages of life at the north, citing himself as an illustration of the possibilities of life in a country really free. as they wended their way homeward to dinner uncle wellington, with quickened pulse and rising hopes, felt that this was indeed the promised land, and that it must be flowing with milk and honey. uncle wellington remained at the residence of mr. johnson for several weeks before making any effort to find employment. he spent this period in looking about the city. the most commonplace things possessed for him the charm of novelty, and he had come prepared to admire. shortly after his arrival, he had offered to pay for his board, intimating at the same time that he had plenty of money. mr. johnson declined to accept anything from him for board, and expressed himself as being only too proud to have mr. braboy remain in the house on the footing of an honored guest, until he had settled himself. he lightened in some degree, however, the burden of obligation under which a prolonged stay on these terms would have placed his guest, by soliciting from the latter occasional small loans, until uncle wellington's roll of money began to lose its plumpness, and with an empty pocket staring him in the face, he felt the necessity of finding something to do. during his residence in the city he had met several times his first acquaintance, mr. peterson, the hackman, who from time to time inquired how he was getting along. on one of these occasions wellington mentioned his willingness to accept employment. as good luck would have it, mr. peterson knew of a vacant situation. he had formerly been coachman for a wealthy gentleman residing on oakwood avenue, but had resigned the situation to go into business for himself. his place had been filled by an irishman, who had just been discharged for drunkenness, and the gentleman that very day had sent word to mr. peterson, asking him if he could recommend a competent and trustworthy coachman. "does you know anything erbout hosses?" asked mr. peterson. "yas, indeed, i does," said wellington. "i wuz raise' 'mongs' hosses." "i tol' my ole boss i 'd look out fer a man, an' ef you reckon you kin fill de 'quirements er de situation, i 'll take yo' roun' dere ter-morrer mornin'. you wants ter put on yo' bes' clothes an' slick up, fer dey 're partic'lar people. ef you git de place i 'll expec' you ter pay me fer de time i lose in 'tendin' ter yo' business, fer time is money in dis country, an' folks don't do much fer nuthin'." next morning wellington blacked his shoes carefully, put on a clean collar, and with the aid of mrs. johnson tied his cravat in a jaunty bow which gave him quite a sprightly air and a much younger look than his years warranted. mr. peterson called for him at eight o'clock. after traversing several cross streets they turned into oakwood avenue and walked along the finest part of it for about half a mile. the handsome houses of this famous avenue, the stately trees, the wide-spreading lawns, dotted with flower beds, fountains and statuary, made up a picture so far surpassing anything in wellington's experience as to fill him with an almost oppressive sense of its beauty. "hit looks lack hebben," he said softly. "it 's a pootty fine street," rejoined his companion, with a judicial air, "but i don't like dem big lawns. it 's too much trouble ter keep de grass down. one er dem lawns is big enough to pasture a couple er cows." they went down a street running at right angles to the avenue, and turned into the rear of the corner lot. a large building of pressed brick, trimmed with stone, loomed up before them. "do de gemman lib in dis house?" asked wellington, gazing with awe at the front of the building. "no, dat 's de barn," said mr. peterson with good-natured contempt; and leading the way past a clump of shrubbery to the dwelling-house, he went up the back steps and rang the door-bell. the ring was answered by a buxom irishwoman, of a natural freshness of complexion deepened to a fiery red by the heat of a kitchen range. wellington thought he had seen her before, but his mind had received so many new impressions lately that it was a minute or two before he recognized in her the lady whose lap he had involuntarily occupied for a moment on his first day in groveland. "faith," she exclaimed as she admitted them, "an' it 's mighty glad i am to see ye ag'in, misther payterson! an' how hev ye be'n, misther payterson, sence i see ye lahst?" "middlin' well, mis' flannigan, middlin' well, 'ceptin' a tech er de rheumatiz. s'pose you be'n doin' well as usual?" "oh yis, as well as a dacent woman could do wid a drunken baste about the place like the lahst coachman. o misther payterson, it would make yer heart bleed to see the way the spalpeen cut up a-saturday! but misther todd discharged 'im the same avenin', widout a characther, bad 'cess to 'im, an' we 've had no coachman sence at all, at all. an' it 's sorry i am"---- the lady's flow of eloquence was interrupted at this point by the appearance of mr. todd himself, who had been informed of the men's arrival. he asked some questions in regard to wellington's qualifications and former experience, and in view of his recent arrival in the city was willing to accept mr. peterson's recommendation instead of a reference. he said a few words about the nature of the work, and stated his willingness to pay wellington the wages formerly allowed mr. peterson, thirty dollars a month and board and lodging. this handsome offer was eagerly accepted, and it was agreed that wellington's term of service should begin immediately. mr. peterson, being familiar with the work, and financially interested, conducted the new coachman through the stables and showed him what he would have to do. the silver-mounted harness, the variety of carriages, the names of which he learned for the first time, the arrangements for feeding and watering the horses,--these appointments of a rich man's stable impressed wellington very much, and he wondered that so much luxury should be wasted on mere horses. the room assigned to him, in the second story of the barn, was a finer apartment than he had ever slept in; and the salary attached to the situation was greater than the combined monthly earnings of himself and aunt milly in their southern home. surely, he thought, his lines had fallen in pleasant places. under the stimulus of new surroundings wellington applied himself diligently to work, and, with the occasional advice of mr. peterson, soon mastered the details of his employment. he found the female servants, with whom he took his meals, very amiable ladies. the cook, mrs. katie flannigan, was a widow. her husband, a sailor, had been lost at sea. she was a woman of many words, and when she was not lamenting the late flannigan's loss,--according to her story he had been a model of all the virtues,--she would turn the batteries of her tongue against the former coachman. this gentleman, as wellington gathered from frequent remarks dropped by mrs. flannigan, had paid her attentions clearly susceptible of a serious construction. these attentions had not borne their legitimate fruit, and she was still a widow unconsoled,--hence mrs. flannigan's tears. the housemaid was a plump, good-natured german girl, with a pronounced german accent. the presence on washdays of a bohemian laundress, of recent importation, added another to the variety of ways in which the english tongue was mutilated in mr. todd's kitchen. association with the white women drew out all the native gallantry of the mulatto, and wellington developed quite a helpful turn. his politeness, his willingness to lend a hand in kitchen or laundry, and the fact that he was the only male servant on the place, combined to make him a prime favorite in the servants' quarters. it was the general opinion among wellington's acquaintances that he was a single man. he had come to the city alone, had never been heard to speak of a wife, and to personal questions bearing upon the subject of matrimony had always returned evasive answers. though he had never questioned the correctness of the lawyer's opinion in regard to his slave marriage, his conscience had never been entirely at ease since his departure from the south, and any positive denial of his married condition would have stuck in his throat. the inference naturally drawn from his reticence in regard to the past, coupled with his expressed intention of settling permanently in groveland, was that he belonged in the ranks of the unmarried, and was therefore legitimate game for any widow or old maid who could bring him down. as such game is bagged easiest at short range, he received numerous invitations to tea-parties, where he feasted on unlimited chicken and pound cake. he used to compare these viands with the plain fare often served by aunt milly, and the result of the comparison was another item to the credit of the north upon his mental ledger. several of the colored ladies who smiled upon him were blessed with good looks, and uncle wellington, naturally of a susceptible temperament, as people of lively imagination are apt to be, would probably have fallen a victim to the charms of some woman of his own race, had it not been for a strong counter-attraction in the person of mrs. flannigan. the attentions of the lately discharged coachman had lighted anew the smouldering fires of her widowed heart, and awakened longings which still remained unsatisfied. she was thirty-five years old, and felt the need of some one else to love. she was not a woman of lofty ideals; with her a man was a man---- "for a' that an' a' that;" and, aside from the accident of color, uncle wellington was as personable a man as any of her acquaintance. some people might have objected to his complexion; but then, mrs. flannigan argued, he was at least half white; and, this being the case, there was no good reason why he should be regarded as black. uncle wellington was not slow to perceive mrs. flannigan's charms of person, and appreciated to the full the skill that prepared the choice tidbits reserved for his plate at dinner. the prospect of securing a white wife had been one of the principal inducements offered by a life at the north; but the awe of white people in which he had been reared was still too strong to permit his taking any active steps toward the object of his secret desire, had not the lady herself come to his assistance with a little of the native coquetry of her race. "ah, misther braboy," she said one evening when they sat at the supper table alone,--it was the second girl's afternoon off, and she had not come home to supper,--"it must be an awful lonesome life ye 've been afther l'adin', as a single man, wid no one to cook fer ye, or look afther ye." "it are a kind er lonesome life, mis' flannigan, an' dat 's a fac'. but sence i had de privilege er eatin' yo' cookin' an' 'joyin' yo' society, i ain' felt a bit lonesome." "yer flatthrin' me, misther braboy. an' even if ye mane it"---- "i means eve'y word of it, mis' flannigan." "an' even if ye mane it, misther braboy, the time is liable to come when things 'll be different; for service is uncertain, misther braboy. an' then you 'll wish you had some nice, clean woman, 'at knowed how to cook an' wash an' iron, ter look afther ye, an' make yer life comfortable." uncle wellington sighed, and looked at her languishingly. "it 'u'd all be well ernuff, mis' flannigan, ef i had n' met you; but i don' know whar i 's ter fin' a colored lady w'at 'll begin ter suit me after habbin' libbed in de same house wid you." "colored lady, indade! why, misther braboy, ye don't nade ter demane yerself by marryin' a colored lady--not but they 're as good as anybody else, so long as they behave themselves. there 's many a white woman 'u'd be glad ter git as fine a lookin' man as ye are." "now _you 're_ flattrin' _me_, mis' flannigan," said wellington. but he felt a sudden and substantial increase in courage when she had spoken, and it was with astonishing ease that he found himself saying:---- "dey ain' but one lady, mis' flannigan, dat could injuce me ter want ter change de lonesomeness er my singleness fer de 'sponsibilities er matermony, an' i 'm feared she 'd say no ef i 'd ax her." "ye 'd better ax her, misther braboy, an' not be wastin' time a-wond'rin'. do i know the lady?" "you knows 'er better 'n anybody else, mis' flannigan. _you_ is de only lady i 'd be satisfied ter marry after knowin' you. ef you casts me off i 'll spen' de rest er my days in lonesomeness an' mis'ry." mrs. flannigan affected much surprise and embarrassment at this bold declaration. "oh, misther braboy," she said, covering him with a coy glance, "an' it 's rale 'shamed i am to hev b'en talkin' ter ye ez i hev. it looks as though i 'd b'en doin' the coortin'. i did n't drame that i 'd b'en able ter draw yer affections to mesilf." "i 's loved you ever sence i fell in yo' lap on de street car de fus' day i wuz in groveland," he said, as he moved his chair up closer to hers. one evening in the following week they went out after supper to the residence of rev. cæsar williams, pastor of the colored baptist church, and, after the usual preliminaries, were pronounced man and wife. iii according to all his preconceived notions, this marriage ought to have been the acme of uncle wellington's felicity. but he soon found that it was not without its drawbacks. on the following morning mr. todd was informed of the marriage. he had no special objection to it, or interest in it, except that he was opposed on principle to having husband and wife in his employment at the same time. as a consequence, mrs. braboy, whose place could be more easily filled than that of her husband, received notice that her services would not be required after the end of the month. her husband was retained in his place as coachman. upon the loss of her situation mrs. braboy decided to exercise the married woman's prerogative of letting her husband support her. she rented the upper floor of a small house in an irish neighborhood. the newly wedded pair furnished their rooms on the installment plan and began housekeeping. there was one little circumstance, however, that interfered slightly with their enjoyment of that perfect freedom from care which ought to characterize a honeymoon. the people who owned the house and occupied the lower floor had rented the upper part to mrs. braboy in person, it never occurring to them that her husband could be other than a white man. when it became known that he was colored, the landlord, mr. dennis o'flaherty, felt that he had been imposed upon, and, at the end of the first month, served notice upon his tenants to leave the premises. when mrs. braboy, with characteristic impetuosity, inquired the meaning of this proceeding, she was informed by mr. o'flaherty that he did not care to live in the same house "wid naygurs." mrs. braboy resented the epithet with more warmth than dignity, and for a brief space of time the air was green with choice specimens of brogue, the altercation barely ceasing before it had reached the point of blows. it was quite clear that the braboys could not longer live comfortably in mr. o'flaherty's house, and they soon vacated the premises, first letting the rent get a couple of weeks in arrears as a punishment to the too fastidious landlord. they moved to a small house on hackman street, a favorite locality with colored people. for a while, affairs ran smoothly in the new home. the colored people seemed, at first, well enough disposed toward mrs. braboy, and she made quite a large acquaintance among them. it was difficult, however, for mrs. braboy to divest herself of the consciousness that she was white, and therefore superior to her neighbors. occasional words and acts by which she manifested this feeling were noticed and resented by her keen-eyed and sensitive colored neighbors. the result was a slight coolness between them. that her few white neighbors did not visit her, she naturally and no doubt correctly imputed to disapproval of her matrimonial relations. under these circumstances, mrs. braboy was left a good deal to her own company. owing to lack of opportunity in early life, she was not a woman of many resources, either mental or moral. it is therefore not strange that, in order to relieve her loneliness, she should occasionally have recourse to a glass of beer, and, as the habit grew upon her, to still stronger stimulants. uncle wellington himself was no tee-totaler, and did not interpose any objection so long as she kept her potations within reasonable limits, and was apparently none the worse for them; indeed, he sometimes joined her in a glass. on one of these occasions he drank a little too much, and, while driving the ladies of mr. todd's family to the opera, ran against a lamp-post and overturned the carriage, to the serious discomposure of the ladies' nerves, and at the cost of his situation. a coachman discharged under such circumstances is not in the best position for procuring employment at his calling, and uncle wellington, under the pressure of need, was obliged to seek some other means of livelihood. at the suggestion of his friend mr. johnson, he bought a whitewash brush, a peck of lime, a couple of pails, and a hand-cart, and began work as a whitewasher. his first efforts were very crude, and for a while he lost a customer in every person he worked for. he nevertheless managed to pick up a living during the spring and summer months, and to support his wife and himself in comparative comfort. the approach of winter put an end to the whitewashing season, and left uncle wellington dependent for support upon occasional jobs of unskilled labor. the income derived from these was very uncertain, and mrs. braboy was at length driven, by stress of circumstances, to the washtub, that last refuge of honest, able-bodied poverty, in all countries where the use of clothing is conventional. the last state of uncle wellington was now worse than the first. under the soft firmness of aunt milly's rule, he had not been required to do a great deal of work, prompt and cheerful obedience being chiefly what was expected of him. but matters were very different here. he had not only to bring in the coal and water, but to rub the clothes and turn the wringer, and to humiliate himself before the public by emptying the tubs and hanging out the wash in full view of the neighbors; and he had to deliver the clothes when laundered. at times wellington found himself wondering if his second marriage had been a wise one. other circumstances combined to change in some degree his once rose-colored conception of life at the north. he had believed that all men were equal in this favored locality, but he discovered more degrees of inequality than he had ever perceived at the south. a colored man might be as good as a white man in theory, but neither of them was of any special consequence without money, or talent, or position. uncle wellington found a great many privileges open to him at the north, but he had not been educated to the point where he could appreciate them or take advantage of them; and the enjoyment of many of them was expensive, and, for that reason alone, as far beyond his reach as they had ever been. when he once began to admit even the possibility of a mistake on his part, these considerations presented themselves to his mind with increasing force. on occasions when mrs. braboy would require of him some unusual physical exertion, or when too frequent applications to the bottle had loosened her tongue, uncle wellington's mind would revert, with a remorseful twinge of conscience, to the _dolce far niente_ of his southern home; a film would come over his eyes and brain, and, instead of the red-faced irishwoman opposite him, he could see the black but comely disk of aunt milly's countenance bending over the washtub; the elegant brogue of mrs. braboy would deliquesce into the soft dialect of north carolina; and he would only be aroused from this blissful reverie by a wet shirt or a handful of suds thrown into his face, with which gentle reminder his wife would recall his attention to the duties of the moment. there came a time, one day in spring, when there was no longer any question about it: uncle wellington was desperately homesick. liberty, equality, privileges,--all were but as dust in the balance when weighed against his longing for old scenes and faces. it was the natural reaction in the mind of a middle-aged man who had tried to force the current of a sluggish existence into a new and radically different channel. an active, industrious man, making the change in early life, while there was time to spare for the waste of adaptation, might have found in the new place more favorable conditions than in the old. in wellington age and temperament combined to prevent the success of the experiment; the spirit of enterprise and ambition into which he had been temporarily galvanized could no longer prevail against the inertia of old habits of life and thought. one day when he had been sent to deliver clothes he performed his errand quickly, and boarding a passing street car, paid one of his very few five-cent pieces to ride down to the office of the hon. mr. brown, the colored lawyer whom he had visited when he first came to the city, and who was well known to him by sight and reputation. "mr. brown," he said, "i ain' gitt'n' 'long very well wid my ole 'oman." "what 's the trouble?" asked the lawyer, with business-like curtness, for he did not scent much of a fee. "well, de main trouble is she doan treat me right. an' den she gits drunk, an' wuss'n dat, she lays vi'lent han's on me. i kyars de marks er dat 'oman on my face now." he showed the lawyer a long scratch on the neck. "why don't you defend yourself?" "you don' know mis' braboy, suh; you don' know dat 'oman," he replied, with a shake of the head. "some er dese yer w'ite women is monst'us strong in de wris'." "well, mr. braboy, it 's what you might have expected when you turned your back on your own people and married a white woman. you were n't content with being a slave to the white folks once, but you must try it again. some people never know when they 've got enough. i don't see that there 's any help for you; unless," he added suggestively, "you had a good deal of money." '"pears ter me i heared somebody say sence i be'n up heah, dat it wuz 'gin de law fer w'ite folks an' colored folks ter marry." "that was once the law, though it has always been a dead letter in groveland. in fact, it was the law when you got married, and until i introduced a bill in the legislature last fall to repeal it. but even that law did n't hit cases like yours. it was unlawful to make such a marriage, but it was a good marriage when once made." "i don' jes' git dat th'oo my head," said wellington, scratching that member as though to make a hole for the idea to enter. "it 's quite plain, mr. braboy. it 's unlawful to kill a man, but when he 's killed he 's just as dead as though the law permitted it. i 'm afraid you have n't much of a case, but if you 'll go to work and get twenty-five dollars together, i 'll see what i can do for you. we may be able to pull a case through on the ground of extreme cruelty. i might even start the case if you brought in ten dollars." wellington went away sorrowfully. the laws of ohio were very little more satisfactory than those of north carolina. and as for the ten dollars,--the lawyer might as well have told him to bring in the moon, or a deed for the public square. he felt very, very low as he hurried back home to supper, which he would have to go without if he were not on hand at the usual supper-time. but just when his spirits were lowest, and his outlook for the future most hopeless, a measure of relief was at hand. he noticed, when he reached home, that mrs. braboy was a little preoccupied, and did not abuse him as vigorously as he expected after so long an absence. he also perceived the smell of strange tobacco in the house, of a better grade than he could afford to use. he thought perhaps some one had come in to see about the washing; but he was too glad of a respite from mrs. braboy's rhetoric to imperil it by indiscreet questions. next morning she gave him fifty cents. "braboy," she said, "ye 've be'n helpin' me nicely wid the washin', an' i 'm going ter give ye a holiday. ye can take yer hook an' line an' go fishin' on the breakwater. i 'll fix ye a lunch, an' ye need n't come back till night. an' there 's half a dollar; ye can buy yerself a pipe er terbacky. but be careful an' don't waste it," she added, for fear she was overdoing the thing. uncle wellington was overjoyed at this change of front on the part of mrs. braboy; if she would make it permanent he did not see why they might not live together very comfortably. the day passed pleasantly down on the breakwater. the weather was agreeable, and the fish bit freely. towards evening wellington started home with a bunch of fish that no angler need have been ashamed of. he looked forward to a good warm supper; for even if something should have happened during the day to alter his wife's mood for the worse, any ordinary variation would be more than balanced by the substantial addition of food to their larder. his mouth watered at the thought of the finny beauties sputtering in the frying-pan. he noted, as he approached the house, that there was no smoke coming from the chimney. this only disturbed him in connection with the matter of supper. when he entered the gate he observed further that the window-shades had been taken down. "'spec' de ole 'oman's been house-cleanin'," he said to himself. "i wonder she did n' make me stay an' he'p 'er." he went round to the rear of the house and tried the kitchen door. it was locked. this was somewhat of a surprise, and disturbed still further his expectations in regard to supper. when he had found the key and opened the door, the gravity of his next discovery drove away for the time being all thoughts of eating. the kitchen was empty. stove, table, chairs, wash-tubs, pots and pans, had vanished as if into thin air. "fo' de lawd's sake!" he murmured in open-mouthed astonishment. he passed into the other room,--they had only two,--which had served as bedroom and sitting-room. it was as bare as the first, except that in the middle of the floor were piled uncle wellington's clothes. it was not a large pile, and on the top of it lay a folded piece of yellow wrapping-paper. wellington stood for a moment as if petrified. then he rubbed his eyes and looked around him. "w'at do dis mean?" he said. "is i er-dreamin', er does i see w'at i 'pears ter see?" he glanced down at the bunch of fish which he still held. "heah 's de fish; heah 's de house; heah i is; but whar 's de ole 'oman, an' whar 's de fu'niture? _i_ can't figure out w'at dis yer all means." he picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. it was written on one side. here was the obvious solution of the mystery,--that is, it would have been obvious if he could have read it; but he could not, and so his fancy continued to play upon the subject. perhaps the house had been robbed, or the furniture taken back by the seller, for it had not been entirely paid for. finally he went across the street and called to a boy in a neighbor's yard. "does you read writin', johnnie?" "yes, sir, i 'm in the seventh grade." "read dis yer paper fuh me." the youngster took the note, and with much labor read the following:---- "mr. braboy: "in lavin' ye so suddint i have ter say that my first husban' has turned up unixpected, having been saved onbeknownst ter me from a wathry grave an' all the money wasted i spint fer masses fer ter rist his sole an' i wish i had it back i feel it my dooty ter go an' live wid 'im again. i take the furnacher because i bought it yer close is yors i leave them and wishin' yer the best of luck i remane oncet yer wife but now agin "mrs. katie flannigan. "n.b. i 'm lavin town terday so it won't be no use lookin' fer me." on inquiry uncle wellington learned from the boy that shortly after his departure in the morning a white man had appeared on the scene, followed a little later by a moving-van, into which the furniture had been loaded and carried away. mrs. braboy, clad in her best clothes, had locked the door, and gone away with the strange white man. the news was soon noised about the street. wellington swapped his fish for supper and a bed at a neighbor's, and during the evening learned from several sources that the strange white man had been at his house the afternoon of the day before. his neighbors intimated that they thought mrs. braboy's departure a good riddance of bad rubbish, and wellington did not dispute the proposition. thus ended the second chapter of wellington's matrimonial experiences. his wife's departure had been the one thing needful to convince him, beyond a doubt, that he had been a great fool. remorse and homesickness forced him to the further conclusion that he had been knave as well as fool, and had treated aunt milly shamefully. he was not altogether a bad old man, though very weak and erring, and his better nature now gained the ascendency. of course his disappointment had a great deal to do with his remorse; most people do not perceive the hideousness of sin until they begin to reap its consequences. instead of the beautiful northern life he had dreamed of, he found himself stranded, penniless, in a strange land, among people whose sympathy he had forfeited, with no one to lean upon, and no refuge from the storms of life. his outlook was very dark, and there sprang up within him a wild longing to get back to north carolina,--back to the little whitewashed cabin, shaded with china and mulberry trees; back to the wood-pile and the garden; back to the old cronies with whom he had swapped lies and tobacco for so many years. he longed to kiss the rod of aunt milly's domination. he had purchased his liberty at too great a price. the next day he disappeared from groveland. he had announced his departure only to mr. johnson, who sent his love to his relations in patesville. it would be painful to record in detail the return journey of uncle wellington--mr. braboy no longer--to his native town; how many weary miles he walked; how many times he risked his life on railroad tracks and between freight cars; how he depended for sustenance on the grudging hand of back-door charity. nor would it be profitable or delicate to mention any slight deviations from the path of rectitude, as judged by conventional standards, to which he may occasionally have been driven by a too insistent hunger; or to refer in the remotest degree to a compulsory sojourn of thirty days in a city where he had no references, and could show no visible means of support. true charity will let these purely personal matters remain locked in the bosom of him who suffered them. iv just fifteen months after the date when uncle wellington had left north carolina, a weather-beaten figure entered the town of patesville after nightfall, following the railroad track from the north. few would have recognized in the hungry-looking old brown tramp, clad in dusty rags and limping along with bare feet, the trim-looking middle-aged mulatto who so few months before had taken the train from patesville for the distant north; so, if he had but known it, there was no necessity for him to avoid the main streets and sneak around by unfrequented paths to reach the old place on the other side of the town. he encountered nobody that he knew, and soon the familiar shape of the little cabin rose before him. it stood distinctly outlined against the sky, and the light streaming from the half-opened shutters showed it to be occupied. as he drew nearer, every familiar detail of the place appealed to his memory and to his affections, and his heart went out to the old home and the old wife. as he came nearer still, the odor of fried chicken floated out upon the air and set his mouth to watering, and awakened unspeakable longings in his half-starved stomach. at this moment, however, a fearful thought struck him; suppose the old woman had taken legal advice and married again during his absence? turn about would have been only fair play. he opened the gate softly, and with his heart in his mouth approached the window on tiptoe and looked in. a cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, in front of which sat the familiar form of aunt milly--and another, at the sight of whom uncle wellington's heart sank within him. he knew the other person very well; he had sat there more than once before uncle wellington went away. it was the minister of the church to which his wife belonged. the preacher's former visits, however, had signified nothing more than pastoral courtesy, or appreciation of good eating. his presence now was of serious portent; for wellington recalled, with acute alarm, that the elder's wife had died only a few weeks before his own departure for the north. what was the occasion of his presence this evening? was it merely a pastoral call? or was he courting? or had aunt milly taken legal advice and married the elder? wellington remembered a crack in the wall, at the back of the house, through which he could see and hear, and quietly stationed himself there. "dat chicken smells mighty good, sis' milly," the elder was saying; "i can't fer de life er me see why dat low-down husban' er yo'n could ever run away f'm a cook like you. it 's one er de beatenis' things i ever heared. how he could lib wid you an' not 'preciate you _i_ can't understan', no indeed i can't." aunt milly sighed. "de trouble wid wellin'ton wuz," she replied, "dat he did n' know when he wuz well off. he wuz alluz wishin' fer change, er studyin' 'bout somethin' new." "ez fer me," responded the elder earnestly, "i likes things what has be'n prove' an' tried an' has stood de tes', an' i can't 'magine how anybody could spec' ter fin' a better housekeeper er cook dan you is, sis' milly. i 'm a gittin' mighty lonesome sence my wife died. de good book say it is not good fer man ter lib alone, en it 'pears ter me dat you an' me mought git erlong tergether monst'us well." wellington's heart stood still, while he listened with strained attention. aunt milly sighed. "i ain't denyin', elder, but what i 've be'n kinder lonesome myse'f fer quite a w'ile, an' i doan doubt dat w'at de good book say 'plies ter women as well as ter men." "you kin be sho' it do," averred the elder, with professional authoritativeness; "yas 'm, you kin be cert'n sho'." "but, of co'se," aunt milly went on, "havin' los' my ole man de way i did, it has tuk me some time fer ter git my feelin's straighten' out like dey oughter be." "i kin 'magine yo' feelin's, sis' milly," chimed in the elder sympathetically, "w'en you come home dat night an' foun' yo' chist broke open, an' yo' money gone dat you had wukked an' slaved full f'm mawnin' 'tel night, year in an' year out, an' w'en you foun' dat no-'count nigger gone wid his clo's an' you lef' all alone in de worl' ter scuffle 'long by yo'self." "yas, elder," responded aunt milly, "i wa'n't used right. an' den w'en i heared 'bout his goin' ter de lawyer ter fin' out 'bout a defoce, an' w'en i heared w'at de lawyer said 'bout my not bein' his wife 'less he wanted me, it made me so mad, i made up my min' dat ef he ever put his foot on my do'sill ag'in, i 'd shet de do' in his face an' tell 'im ter go back whar he come f'm." to wellington, on the outside, the cabin had never seemed so comfortable, aunt milly never so desirable, chicken never so appetizing, as at this moment when they seemed slipping away from his grasp forever. "yo' feelin's does you credit, sis' milly," said the elder, taking her hand, which for a moment she did not withdraw. "an' de way fer you ter close yo' do' tightes' ag'inst 'im is ter take me in his place. he ain' got no claim on you no mo'. he tuk his ch'ice 'cordin' ter w'at de lawyer tol' 'im, an' 'termine' dat he wa'n't yo' husban'. ef he wa'n't yo' husban', he had no right ter take yo' money, an' ef he comes back here ag'in you kin hab 'im tuck up an' sent ter de penitenchy fer stealin' it." uncle wellington's knees, already weak from fasting, trembled violently beneath him. the worst that he had feared was now likely to happen. his only hope of safety lay in flight, and yet the scene within so fascinated him that he could not move a step. "it 'u'd serve him right," exclaimed aunt milly indignantly, "ef he wuz sent ter de penitenchy fer life! dey ain't nuthin' too mean ter be done ter 'im. what did i ever do dat he should use me like he did?" the recital of her wrongs had wrought upon aunt milly's feelings so that her voice broke, and she wiped her eyes with her apron. the elder looked serenely confident, and moved his chair nearer hers in order the better to play the role of comforter. wellington, on the outside, felt so mean that the darkness of the night was scarcely sufficient to hide him; it would be no more than right if the earth were to open and swallow him up. "an' yet aftuh all, elder," said milly with a sob, "though i knows you is a better man, an' would treat me right, i wuz so use' ter dat ole nigger, an' libbed wid 'im so long, dat ef he 'd open dat do' dis minute an' walk in, i 'm feared i 'd be foolish ernuff an' weak ernuff to forgive 'im an' take 'im back ag'in." with a bound, uncle wellington was away from the crack in the wall. as he ran round the house he passed the wood-pile and snatched up an armful of pieces. a moment later he threw open the door. "ole 'oman," he exclaimed, "here 's dat wood you tol' me ter fetch in! why, elder," he said to the preacher, who had started from his seat with surprise, "w'at's yo' hurry? won't you stay an' hab some supper wid us?" the bouquet mary myrover's friends were somewhat surprised when she began to teach a colored school. miss myrover's friends are mentioned here, because nowhere more than in a southern town is public opinion a force which cannot be lightly contravened. public opinion, however, did not oppose miss myrover's teaching colored children; in fact, all the colored public schools in town--and there were several--were taught by white teachers, and had been so taught since the state had undertaken to provide free public instruction for all children within its boundaries. previous to that time, there had been a freedman's bureau school and a presbyterian missionary school, but these had been withdrawn when the need for them became less pressing. the colored people of the town had been for some time agitating their right to teach their own schools, but as yet the claim had not been conceded. the reason miss myrover's course created some surprise was not, therefore, the fact that a southern white woman should teach a colored school; it lay in the fact that up to this time no woman of just her quality had taken up such work. most of the teachers of colored schools were not of those who had constituted the aristocracy of the old régime; they might be said rather to represent the new order of things, in which labor was in time to become honorable, and men were, after a somewhat longer time, to depend, for their place in society, upon themselves rather than upon their ancestors. mary myrover belonged to one of the proudest of the old families. her ancestors had been people of distinction in virginia before a collateral branch of the main stock had settled in north carolina. before the war, they had been able to live up to their pedigree; but the war brought sad changes. miss myrover's father--the colonel myrover who led a gallant but desperate charge at vicksburg--had fallen on the battlefield, and his tomb in the white cemetery was a shrine for the family. on the confederate memorial day, no other grave was so profusely decorated with flowers, and, in the oration pronounced, the name of colonel myrover was always used to illustrate the highest type of patriotic devotion and self-sacrifice. miss myrover's brother, too, had fallen in the conflict; but his bones lay in some unknown trench, with those of a thousand others who had fallen on the same field. ay, more, her lover, who had hoped to come home in the full tide of victory and claim his bride as a reward for gallantry, had shared the fate of her father and brother. when the war was over, the remnant of the family found itself involved in the common ruin,--more deeply involved, indeed, than some others; for colonel myrover had believed in the ultimate triumph of his cause, and had invested most of his wealth in confederate bonds, which were now only so much waste paper. there had been a little left. mrs. myrover was thrifty, and had laid by a few hundred dollars, which she kept in the house to meet unforeseen contingencies. there remained, too, their home, with an ample garden and a well-stocked orchard, besides a considerable tract of country land, partly cleared, but productive of very little revenue. with their shrunken resources, miss myrover and her mother were able to hold up their heads without embarrassment for some years after the close of the war. but when things were adjusted to the changed conditions, and the stream of life began to flow more vigorously in the new channels, they saw themselves in danger of dropping behind, unless in some way they could add to their meagre income. miss myrover looked over the field of employment, never very wide for women in the south, and found it occupied. the only available position she could be supposed prepared to fill, and which she could take without distinct loss of caste, was that of a teacher, and there was no vacancy except in one of the colored schools. even teaching was a doubtful experiment; it was not what she would have preferred, but it was the best that could be done. "i don't like it, mary," said her mother. "it 's a long step from owning such people to teaching them. what do they need with education? it will only make them unfit for work." "they 're free now, mother, and perhaps they 'll work better if they 're taught something. besides, it 's only a business arrangement, and does n't involve any closer contact than we have with our servants." "well, i should say not!" sniffed the old lady. "not one of them will ever dare to presume on your position to take any liberties with us. _i_ 'll see to that." miss myrover began her work as a teacher in the autumn, at the opening of the school year. it was a novel experience at first. though there had always been negro servants in the house, and though on the streets colored people were more numerous than those of her own race, and though she was so familiar with their dialect that she might almost be said to speak it, barring certain characteristic grammatical inaccuracies, she had never been brought in personal contact with so many of them at once as when she confronted the fifty or sixty faces--of colors ranging from a white almost as clear as her own to the darkest livery of the sun--which were gathered in the schoolroom on the morning when she began her duties. some of the inherited prejudice of her caste, too, made itself felt, though she tried to repress any outward sign of it; and she could perceive that the children were not altogether responsive; they, likewise, were not entirely free from antagonism. the work was unfamiliar to her. she was not physically very strong, and at the close of the first day went home with a splitting headache. if she could have resigned then and there without causing comment or annoyance to others, she would have felt it a privilege to do so. but a night's rest banished her headache and improved her spirits, and the next morning she went to her work with renewed vigor, fortified by the experience of the first day. miss myrover's second day was more satisfactory. she had some natural talent for organization, though hitherto unaware of it, and in the course of the day she got her classes formed and lessons under way. in a week or two she began to classify her pupils in her own mind, as bright or stupid, mischievous or well behaved, lazy or industrious, as the case might be, and to regulate her discipline accordingly. that she had come of a long line of ancestors who had exercised authority and mastership was perhaps not without its effect upon her character, and enabled her more readily to maintain good order in the school. when she was fairly broken in, she found the work rather to her liking, and derived much pleasure from such success as she achieved as a teacher. it was natural that she should be more attracted to some of her pupils than to others. perhaps her favorite--or, rather, the one she liked best, for she was too fair and just for conscious favoritism--was sophy tucker. just the ground for the teacher's liking for sophy might not at first be apparent. the girl was far from the whitest of miss myrover's pupils; in fact, she was one of the darker ones. she was not the brightest in intellect, though she always tried to learn her lessons. she was not the best dressed, for her mother was a poor widow, who went out washing and scrubbing for a living. perhaps the real tie between them was sophy's intense devotion to the teacher. it had manifested itself almost from the first day of the school, in the rapt look of admiration miss myrover always saw on the little black face turned toward her. in it there was nothing of envy, nothing of regret; nothing but worship for the beautiful white lady--she was not especially handsome, but to sophy her beauty was almost divine--who had come to teach her. if miss myrover dropped a book, sophy was the first to spring and pick it up; if she wished a chair moved, sophy seemed to anticipate her wish; and so of all the numberless little services that can be rendered in a schoolroom. miss myrover was fond of flowers, and liked to have them about her. the children soon learned of this taste of hers, and kept the vases on her desk filled with blossoms during their season. sophy was perhaps the most active in providing them. if she could not get garden flowers, she would make excursions to the woods in the early morning, and bring in great dew-laden bunches of bay, or jasmine, or some other fragrant forest flower which she knew the teacher loved. "when i die, sophy," miss myrover said to the child one day, "i want to be covered with roses. and when they bury me, i 'm sure i shall rest better if my grave is banked with flowers, and roses are planted at my head and at my feet." miss myrover was at first amused at sophy's devotion; but when she grew more accustomed to it, she found it rather to her liking. it had a sort of flavor of the old régime, and she felt, when she bestowed her kindly notice upon her little black attendant, some of the feudal condescension of the mistress toward the slave. she was kind to sophy, and permitted her to play the rôle she had assumed, which caused sometimes a little jealousy among the other girls. once she gave sophy a yellow ribbon which she took from her own hair. the child carried it home, and cherished it as a priceless treasure, to be worn only on the greatest occasions. sophy had a rival in her attachment to the teacher, but the rivalry was altogether friendly. miss myrover had a little dog, a white spaniel, answering to the name of prince. prince was a dog of high degree, and would have very little to do with the children of the school; he made an exception, however, in the case of sophy, whose devotion for his mistress he seemed to comprehend. he was a clever dog, and could fetch and carry, sit up on his haunches, extend his paw to shake hands, and possessed several other canine accomplishments. he was very fond of his mistress, and always, unless shut up at home, accompanied her to school, where he spent most of his time lying under the teacher's desk, or, in cold weather, by the stove, except when he would go out now and then and chase an imaginary rabbit round the yard, presumably for exercise. at school sophy and prince vied with each other in their attentions to miss myrover. but when school was over, prince went away with her, and sophy stayed behind; for miss myrover was white and sophy was black, which they both understood perfectly well. miss myrover taught the colored children, but she could not be seen with them in public. if they occasionally met her on the street, they did not expect her to speak to them, unless she happened to be alone and no other white person was in sight. if any of the children felt slighted, she was not aware of it, for she intended no slight; she had not been brought up to speak to negroes on the street, and she could not act differently from other people. and though she was a woman of sentiment and capable of deep feeling, her training had been such that she hardly expected to find in those of darker hue than herself the same susceptibility--varying in degree, perhaps, but yet the same in kind--that gave to her own life the alternations of feeling that made it most worth living. once miss myrover wished to carry home a parcel of books. she had the bundle in her hand when sophy came up. "lemme tote yo' bundle fer yer, miss ma'y?" she asked eagerly. "i 'm gwine yo' way." "thank you, sophy," was the reply. "i 'll be glad if you will." sophy followed the teacher at a respectful distance. when they reached miss myrover's home, sophy carried the bundle to the doorstep, where miss myrover took it and thanked her. mrs. myrover came out on the piazza as sophy was moving away. she said, in the child's hearing, and perhaps with the intention that she should hear: "mary, i wish you would n't let those little darkeys follow you to the house. i don't want them in the yard. i should think you 'd have enough of them all day." "very well, mother," replied her daughter. "i won't bring any more of them. the child was only doing me a favor." mrs. myrover was an invalid, and opposition or irritation of any kind brought on nervous paroxysms that made her miserable, and made life a burden to the rest of the household, so that mary seldom crossed her whims. she did not bring sophy to the house again, nor did sophy again offer her services as porter. one day in spring sophy brought her teacher a bouquet of yellow roses. "dey come off'n my own bush, miss ma'y," she said proudly, "an' i didn' let nobody e'se pull 'em, but saved 'em all fer you, 'cause i know you likes roses so much. i 'm gwine bring 'em all ter you as long as dey las'." "thank you, sophy," said the teacher; "you are a very good girl." for another year mary myrover taught the colored school, and did excellent service. the children made rapid progress under her tuition, and learned to love her well; for they saw and appreciated, as well as children could, her fidelity to a trust that she might have slighted, as some others did, without much fear of criticism. toward the end of her second year she sickened, and after a brief illness died. old mrs. myrover was inconsolable. she ascribed her daughter's death to her labors as teacher of negro children. just how the color of the pupils had produced the fatal effects she did not stop to explain. but she was too old, and had suffered too deeply from the war, in body and mind and estate, ever to reconcile herself to the changed order of things following the return of peace; and, with an unsound yet perfectly explainable logic, she visited some of her displeasure upon those who had profited most, though passively, by her losses. "i always feared something would happen to mary," she said. "it seemed unnatural for her to be wearing herself out teaching little negroes who ought to have been working for her. but the world has hardly been a fit place to live in since the war, and when i follow her, as i must before long, i shall not be sorry to go." she gave strict orders that no colored people should be admitted to the house. some of her friends heard of this, and remonstrated. they knew the teacher was loved by the pupils, and felt that sincere respect from the humble would be a worthy tribute to the proudest. but mrs. myrover was obdurate. "they had my daughter when she was alive," she said, "and they 've killed her. but she 's mine now, and i won't have them come near her. i don't want one of them at the funeral or anywhere around." for a month before miss myrover's death sophy had been watching her rosebush--the one that bore the yellow roses--for the first buds of spring, and, when these appeared, had awaited impatiently their gradual unfolding. but not until her teacher's death had they become full-blown roses. when miss myrover died, sophy determined to pluck the roses and lay them on her coffin. perhaps, she thought, they might even put them in her hand or on her breast. for sophy remembered miss myrover's thanks and praise when she had brought her the yellow roses the spring before. on the morning of the day set for the funeral, sophy washed her face until it shone, combed and brushed her hair with painful conscientiousness, put on her best frock, plucked her yellow roses, and, tying them with the treasured ribbon her teacher had given her, set out for miss myrover's home. she went round to the side gate--the house stood on a corner--and stole up the path to the kitchen. a colored woman, whom she did not know, came to the door. "wat yer want, chile?" she inquired. "kin i see miss ma'y?" asked sophy timidly. "i don't know, honey. ole miss myrover say she don't want no cullud folks roun' de house endyoin' dis fun'al. i 'll look an' see if she 's roun' de front room, whar de co'pse is. you sed down heah an' keep still, an' ef she 's upstairs maybe i kin git yer in dere a minute. ef i can't, i kin put yo' bokay 'mongs' de res', whar she won't know nuthin' erbout it." a moment after she had gone, there was a step in the hall, and old mrs. myrover came into the kitchen. "dinah!" she said in a peevish tone; "dinah!" receiving no answer, mrs. myrover peered around the kitchen, and caught sight of sophy. "what are you doing here?" she demanded. "i-i 'm-m waitin' ter see de cook, ma'am," stammered sophy. "the cook is n't here now. i don't know where she is. besides, my daughter is to be buried to-day, and i won't have any one visiting the servants until the funeral is over. come back some other day, or see the cook at her own home in the evening." she stood waiting for the child to go, and under the keen glance of her eyes sophy, feeling as though she had been caught in some disgraceful act, hurried down the walk and out of the gate, with her bouquet in her hand. "dinah," said mrs. myrover, when the cook came back, "i don't want any strange people admitted here to-day. the house will be full of our friends, and we have no room for others." "yas 'm," said the cook. she understood perfectly what her mistress meant; and what the cook thought about her mistress was a matter of no consequence. the funeral services were held at st. paul's episcopal church, where the myrovers had always worshiped. quite a number of miss myrover's pupils went to the church to attend the services. the building was not a large one. there was a small gallery at the rear, to which colored people were admitted, if they chose to come, at ordinary services; and those who wished to be present at the funeral supposed that the usual custom would prevail. they were therefore surprised, when they went to the side entrance, by which colored people gained access to the gallery stairs, to be met by an usher who barred their passage. "i 'm sorry," he said, "but i have had orders to admit no one until the friends of the family have all been seated. if you wish to wait until the white people have all gone in, and there 's any room left, you may be able to get into the back part of the gallery. of course i can't tell yet whether there 'll be any room or not." now the statement of the usher was a very reasonable one; but, strange to say, none of the colored people chose to remain except sophy. she still hoped to use her floral offering for its destined end, in some way, though she did not know just how. she waited in the yard until the church was filled with white people, and a number who could not gain admittance were standing about the doors. then she went round to the side of the church, and, depositing her bouquet carefully on an old mossy gravestone, climbed up on the projecting sill of a window near the chancel. the window was of stained glass, of somewhat ancient make. the church was old, had indeed been built in colonial times, and the stained glass had been brought from england. the design of the window showed jesus blessing little children. time had dealt gently with the window, but just at the feet of the figure of jesus a small triangular piece of glass had been broken out. to this aperture sophy applied her eyes, and through it saw and heard what she could of the services within. before the chancel, on trestles draped in black, stood the sombre casket in which lay all that was mortal of her dear teacher. the top of the casket was covered with flowers; and lying stretched out underneath it she saw miss myrover's little white dog, prince. he had followed the body to the church, and, slipping in unnoticed among the mourners, had taken his place, from which no one had the heart to remove him. the white-robed rector read the solemn service for the dead, and then delivered a brief address, in which he dwelt upon the uncertainty of life, and, to the believer, the certain blessedness of eternity. he spoke of miss myrover's kindly spirit, and, as an illustration of her love and self-sacrifice for others, referred to her labors as a teacher of the poor ignorant negroes who had been placed in their midst by an all-wise providence, and whom it was their duty to guide and direct in the station in which god had put them. then the organ pealed, a prayer was said, and the long cortege moved from the church to the cemetery, about half a mile away, where the body was to be interred. when the services were over, sophy sprang down from her perch, and, taking her flowers, followed the procession. she did not walk with the rest, but at a proper and respectful distance from the last mourner. no one noticed the little black girl with the bunch of yellow flowers, or thought of her as interested in the funeral. the cortege reached the cemetery and filed slowly through the gate; but sophy stood outside, looking at a small sign in white letters on a black background:---- "_notice_. this cemetery is for white people only. others please keep out." sophy, thanks to miss myrover's painstaking instruction, could read this sign very distinctly. in fact, she had often read it before. for sophy was a child who loved beauty, in a blind, groping sort of way, and had sometimes stood by the fence of the cemetery and looked through at the green mounds and shaded walks and blooming flowers within, and wished that she might walk among them. she knew, too, that the little sign on the gate, though so courteously worded, was no mere formality; for she had heard how a colored man, who had wandered into the cemetery on a hot night and fallen asleep on the flat top of a tomb, had been arrested as a vagrant and fined five dollars, which he had worked out on the streets, with a ball-and-chain attachment, at twenty-five cents a day. since that time the cemetery gate had been locked at night. so sophy stayed outside, and looked through the fence. her poor bouquet had begun to droop by this time, and the yellow ribbon had lost some of its freshness. sophy could see the rector standing by the grave, the mourners gathered round; she could faintly distinguish the solemn words with which ashes were committed to ashes, and dust to dust. she heard the hollow thud of the earth falling on the coffin; and she leaned against the iron fence, sobbing softly, until the grave was filled and rounded off, and the wreaths and other floral pieces were disposed upon it. when the mourners began to move toward the gate, sophy walked slowly down the street, in a direction opposite to that taken by most of the people who came out. when they had all gone away, and the sexton had come out and locked the gate behind him, sophy crept back. her roses were faded now, and from some of them the petals had fallen. she stood there irresolute, loath to leave with her heart's desire unsatisfied, when, as her eyes sought again the teacher's last resting-place, she saw lying beside the new-made grave what looked like a small bundle of white wool. sophy's eyes lighted up with a sudden glow. "prince! here, prince!" she called. the little dog rose, and trotted down to the gate. sophy pushed the poor bouquet between the iron bars. "take that ter miss ma'y, prince," she said, "that 's a good doggie." the dog wagged his tail intelligently, took the bouquet carefully in his mouth, carried it to his mistress's grave, and laid it among the other flowers. the bunch of roses was so small that from where she stood sophy could see only a dash of yellow against the white background of the mass of flowers. when prince had performed his mission he turned his eyes toward sophy inquiringly, and when she gave him a nod of approval lay down and resumed his watch by the graveside. sophy looked at him a moment with a feeling very much like envy, and then turned and moved slowly away. the web of circumstance i within a low clapboarded hut, with an open front, a forge was glowing. in front a blacksmith was shoeing a horse, a sleek, well-kept animal with the signs of good blood and breeding. a young mulatto stood by and handed the blacksmith such tools as he needed from time to time. a group of negroes were sitting around, some in the shadow of the shop, one in the full glare of the sunlight. a gentleman was seated in a buggy a few yards away, in the shade of a spreading elm. the horse had loosened a shoe, and colonel thornton, who was a lover of fine horseflesh, and careful of it, had stopped at ben davis's blacksmith shop, as soon as he discovered the loose shoe, to have it fastened on. "all right, kunnel," the blacksmith called out. "tom," he said, addressing the young man, "he'p me hitch up." colonel thornton alighted from the buggy, looked at the shoe, signified his approval of the job, and stood looking on while the blacksmith and his assistant harnessed the horse to the buggy. "dat 's a mighty fine whip yer got dere, kunnel," said ben, while the young man was tightening the straps of the harness on the opposite side of the horse. "i wush i had one like it. where kin yer git dem whips?" "my brother brought me this from new york," said the colonel. "you can't buy them down here." the whip in question was a handsome one. the handle was wrapped with interlacing threads of variegated colors, forming an elaborate pattern, the lash being dark green. an octagonal ornament of glass was set in the end of the handle. "it cert'n'y is fine," said ben; "i wish i had one like it." he looked at the whip longingly as colonel thornton drove away. "'pears ter me ben gittin' mighty blooded," said one of the bystanders, "drivin' a hoss an' buggy, an' wantin' a whip like colonel thornton's." "what 's de reason i can't hab a hoss an' buggy an' a whip like kunnel tho'nton's, ef i pay fer 'em?" asked ben. "we colored folks never had no chance ter git nothin' befo' de wah, but ef eve'y nigger in dis town had a tuck keer er his money sence de wah, like i has, an' bought as much lan' as i has, de niggers might 'a' got half de lan' by dis time," he went on, giving a finishing blow to a horseshoe, and throwing it on the ground to cool. carried away by his own eloquence, he did not notice the approach of two white men who came up the street from behind him. "an' ef you niggers," he continued, raking the coals together over a fresh bar of iron, "would stop wastin' yo' money on 'scursions to put money in w'ite folks' pockets, an' stop buildin' fine chu'ches, an' buil' houses fer yo'se'ves, you 'd git along much faster." "you 're talkin' sense, ben," said one of the white men. "yo'r people will never be respected till they 've got property." the conversation took another turn. the white men transacted their business and went away. the whistle of a neighboring steam sawmill blew a raucous blast for the hour of noon, and the loafers shuffled away in different directions. "you kin go ter dinner, tom," said the blacksmith. "an' stop at de gate w'en yer go by my house, and tell nancy i 'll be dere in 'bout twenty minutes. i got ter finish dis yer plough p'int fus'." the young man walked away. one would have supposed, from the rapidity with which he walked, that he was very hungry. a quarter of an hour later the blacksmith dropped his hammer, pulled off his leather apron, shut the front door of the shop, and went home to dinner. he came into the house out of the fervent heat, and, throwing off his straw hat, wiped his brow vigorously with a red cotton handkerchief. "dem collards smells good," he said, sniffing the odor that came in through the kitchen door, as his good-looking yellow wife opened it to enter the room where he was. "i 've got a monst'us good appetite ter-day. i feels good, too. i paid majah ransom de intrus' on de mortgage dis mawnin' an' a hund'ed dollahs besides, an' i spec's ter hab de balance ready by de fust of nex' jiniwary; an' den we won't owe nobody a cent. i tell yer dere ain' nothin' like propputy ter make a pusson feel like a man. but w'at 's de matter wid yer, nancy? is sump'n' skeered yer?" the woman did seem excited and ill at ease. there was a heaving of the full bust, a quickened breathing, that betokened suppressed excitement. "i-i-jes' seen a rattlesnake out in de gyahden," she stammered. the blacksmith ran to the door. "which way? whar wuz he?" he cried. he heard a rustling in the bushes at one side of the garden, and the sound of a breaking twig, and, seizing a hoe which stood by the door, he sprang toward the point from which the sound came. "no, no," said the woman hurriedly, "it wuz over here," and she directed her husband's attention to the other side of the garden. the blacksmith, with the uplifted hoe, its sharp blade gleaming in the sunlight, peered cautiously among the collards and tomato plants, listening all the while for the ominous rattle, but found nothing. "i reckon he 's got away," he said, as he set the hoe up again by the door. "whar 's de chillen?" he asked with some anxiety. "is dey playin' in de woods?" "no," answered his wife, "dey 've gone ter de spring." the spring was on the opposite side of the garden from that on which the snake was said to have been seen, so the blacksmith sat down and fanned himself with a palm-leaf fan until the dinner was served. "yer ain't quite on time ter-day, nancy," he said, glancing up at the clock on the mantel, after the edge of his appetite had been taken off. "got ter make time ef yer wanter make money. did n't tom tell yer i 'd be heah in twenty minutes?" "no," she said; "i seen him goin' pas'; he did n' say nothin'." "i dunno w'at 's de matter wid dat boy," mused the blacksmith over his apple dumpling. "he 's gittin' mighty keerless heah lately; mus' hab sump'n' on 'is min',--some gal, i reckon." the children had come in while he was speaking,--a slender, shapely boy, yellow like his mother, a girl several years younger, dark like her father: both bright-looking children and neatly dressed. "i seen cousin tom down by de spring," said the little girl, as she lifted off the pail of water that had been balanced on her head. "he come out er de woods jest ez we wuz fillin' our buckets." "yas," insisted the blacksmith, "he 's got some gal on his min'." ii the case of the state of north carolina _vs_. ben davis was called. the accused was led into court, and took his seat in the prisoner's dock. "prisoner at the bar, stand up." the prisoner, pale and anxious, stood up. the clerk read the indictment, in which it was charged that the defendant by force and arms had entered the barn of one g.w. thornton, and feloniously taken therefrom one whip, of the value of fifteen dollars. "are you guilty or not guilty?" asked the judge. "not guilty, yo' honah; not guilty, jedge. i never tuck de whip." the state's attorney opened the case. he was young and zealous. recently elected to the office, this was his first batch of cases, and he was anxious to make as good a record as possible. he had no doubt of the prisoner's guilt. there had been a great deal of petty thieving in the county, and several gentlemen had suggested to him the necessity for greater severity in punishing it. the jury were all white men. the prosecuting attorney stated the case. "we expect to show, gentlemen of the jury, the facts set out in the indictment,--not altogether by direct proof, but by a chain of circumstantial evidence which is stronger even than the testimony of eyewitnesses. men might lie, but circumstances cannot. we expect to show that the defendant is a man of dangerous character, a surly, impudent fellow; a man whose views of property are prejudicial to the welfare of society, and who has been heard to assert that half the property which is owned in this county has been stolen, and that, if justice were done, the white people ought to divide up the land with the negroes; in other words, a negro nihilist, a communist, a secret devotee of tom paine and voltaire, a pupil of the anarchist propaganda, which, if not checked by the stern hand of the law, will fasten its insidious fangs on our social system, and drag it down to ruin." "we object, may it please your honor," said the defendant's attorney. "the prosecutor should defer his argument until the testimony is in." "confine yourself to the facts, major," said the court mildly. the prisoner sat with half-open mouth, overwhelmed by this flood of eloquence. he had never heard of tom paine or voltaire. he had no conception of what a nihilist or an anarchist might be, and could not have told the difference between a propaganda and a potato. "we expect to show, may it please the court, that the prisoner had been employed by colonel thornton to shoe a horse; that the horse was taken to the prisoner's blacksmith shop by a servant of colonel thornton's; that, this servant expressing a desire to go somewhere on an errand before the horse had been shod, the prisoner volunteered to return the horse to colonel thornton's stable; that he did so, and the following morning the whip in question was missing; that, from circumstances, suspicion naturally fell upon the prisoner, and a search was made of his shop, where the whip was found secreted; that the prisoner denied that the whip was there, but when confronted with the evidence of his crime, showed by his confusion that he was guilty beyond a peradventure." the prisoner looked more anxious; so much eloquence could not but be effective with the jury. the attorney for the defendant answered briefly, denying the defendant's guilt, dwelling upon his previous good character for honesty, and begging the jury not to pre-judge the case, but to remember that the law is merciful, and that the benefit of the doubt should be given to the prisoner. the prisoner glanced nervously at the jury. there was nothing in their faces to indicate the effect upon them of the opening statements. it seemed to the disinterested listeners as if the defendant's attorney had little confidence in his client's cause. colonel thornton took the stand and testified to his ownership of the whip, the place where it was kept, its value, and the fact that it had disappeared. the whip was produced in court and identified by the witness. he also testified to the conversation at the blacksmith shop in the course of which the prisoner had expressed a desire to possess a similar whip. the cross-examination was brief, and no attempt was made to shake the colonel's testimony. the next witness was the constable who had gone with a warrant to search ben's shop. he testified to the circumstances under which the whip was found. "he wuz brazen as a mule at fust, an' wanted ter git mad about it. but when we begun ter turn over that pile er truck in the cawner, he kinder begun ter trimble; when the whip-handle stuck out, his eyes commenced ter grow big, an' when we hauled the whip out he turned pale ez ashes, an' begun to swear he did n' take the whip an' did n' know how it got thar." "you may cross-examine," said the prosecuting attorney triumphantly. the prisoner felt the weight of the testimony, and glanced furtively at the jury, and then appealingly at his lawyer. "you say that ben denied that he had stolen the whip," said the prisoner's attorney, on cross-examination. "did it not occur to you that what you took for brazen impudence might have been but the evidence of conscious innocence?" the witness grinned incredulously, revealing thereby a few blackened fragments of teeth. "i 've tuck up more 'n a hundred niggers fer stealin', kurnel, an' i never seed one yit that did n' 'ny it ter the las'." "answer my question. might not the witness's indignation have been a manifestation of conscious innocence? yes or no?" "yes, it mought, an' the moon mought fall--but it don't." further cross-examination did not weaken the witness's testimony, which was very damaging, and every one in the court room felt instinctively that a strong defense would be required to break down the state's case. "the state rests," said the prosecuting attorney, with a ring in his voice which spoke of certain victory. there was a temporary lull in the proceedings, during which a bailiff passed a pitcher of water and a glass along the line of jury-men. the defense was then begun. the law in its wisdom did not permit the defendant to testify in his own behalf. there were no witnesses to the facts, but several were called to testify to ben's good character. the colored witnesses made him out possessed of all the virtues. one or two white men testified that they had never known anything against his reputation for honesty. the defendant rested his case, and the state called its witnesses in rebuttal. they were entirely on the point of character. one testified that he had heard the prisoner say that, if the negroes had their rights, they would own at least half the property. another testified that he had heard the defendant say that the negroes spent too much money on churches, and that they cared a good deal more for god than god had ever seemed to care for them. ben davis listened to this testimony with half-open mouth and staring eyes. now and then he would lean forward and speak perhaps a word, when his attorney would shake a warning finger at him, and he would fall back helplessly, as if abandoning himself to fate; but for a moment only, when he would resume his puzzled look. the arguments followed. the prosecuting attorney briefly summed up the evidence, and characterized it as almost a mathematical proof of the prisoner's guilt. he reserved his eloquence for the closing argument. the defendant's attorney had a headache, and secretly believed his client guilty. his address sounded more like an appeal for mercy than a demand for justice. then the state's attorney delivered the maiden argument of his office, the speech that made his reputation as an orator, and opened up to him a successful political career. the judge's charge to the jury was a plain, simple statement of the law as applied to circumstantial evidence, and the mere statement of the law foreshadowed the verdict. the eyes of the prisoner were glued to the jury-box, and he looked more and more like a hunted animal. in the rear of the crowd of blacks who filled the back part of the room, partly concealed by the projecting angle of the fireplace, stood tom, the blacksmith's assistant. if the face is the mirror of the soul, then this man's soul, taken off its guard in this moment of excitement, was full of lust and envy and all evil passions. the jury filed out of their box, and into the jury room behind the judge's stand. there was a moment of relaxation in the court room. the lawyers fell into conversation across the table. the judge beckoned to colonel thornton, who stepped forward, and they conversed together a few moments. the prisoner was all eyes and ears in this moment of waiting, and from an involuntary gesture on the part of the judge he divined that they were speaking of him. it is a pity he could not hear what was said. "how do you feel about the case, colonel?" asked the judge. "let him off easy," replied colonel thornton. "he 's the best blacksmith in the county." the business of the court seemed to have halted by tacit consent, in anticipation of a quick verdict. the suspense did not last long. scarcely ten minutes had elapsed when there was a rap on the door, the officer opened it, and the jury came out. the prisoner, his soul in his eyes, sought their faces, but met no reassuring glance; they were all looking away from him. "gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?" "we have," responded the foreman. the clerk of the court stepped forward and took the fateful slip from the foreman's hand. the clerk read the verdict: "we, the jury impaneled and sworn to try the issues in this cause, do find the prisoner guilty as charged in the indictment." there was a moment of breathless silence. then a wild burst of grief from the prisoner's wife, to which his two children, not understanding it all, but vaguely conscious of some calamity, added their voices in two long, discordant wails, which would have been ludicrous had they not been heartrending. the face of the young man in the back of the room expressed relief and badly concealed satisfaction. the prisoner fell back upon the seat from which he had half risen in his anxiety, and his dark face assumed an ashen hue. what he thought could only be surmised. perhaps, knowing his innocence, he had not believed conviction possible; perhaps, conscious of guilt, he dreaded the punishment, the extent of which was optional with the judge, within very wide limits. only one other person present knew whether or not he was guilty, and that other had slunk furtively from the court room. some of the spectators wondered why there should be so much ado about convicting a negro of stealing a buggy-whip. they had forgotten their own interest of the moment before. they did not realize out of what trifles grow the tragedies of life. it was four o'clock in the afternoon, the hour for adjournment, when the verdict was returned. the judge nodded to the bailiff. "oyez, oyez! this court is now adjourned until ten o'clock to-morrow morning," cried the bailiff in a singsong voice. the judge left the bench, the jury filed out of the box, and a buzz of conversation filled the court room. "brace up, ben, brace up, my boy," said the defendant's lawyer, half apologetically. "i did what i could for you, but you can never tell what a jury will do. you won't be sentenced till to-morrow morning. in the meantime i 'll speak to the judge and try to get him to be easy with you. he may let you off with a light fine." the negro pulled himself together, and by an effort listened. "thanky, majah," was all he said. he seemed to be thinking of something far away. he barely spoke to his wife when she frantically threw herself on him, and clung to his neck, as he passed through the side room on his way to jail. he kissed his children mechanically, and did not reply to the soothing remarks made by the jailer. iii there was a good deal of excitement in town the next morning. two white men stood by the post office talking. "did yer hear the news?" "no, what wuz it?" "ben davis tried ter break jail las' night." "you don't say so! what a fool! he ain't be'n sentenced yit." "well, now," said the other, "i 've knowed ben a long time, an' he wuz a right good nigger. i kinder found it hard ter b'lieve he did steal that whip. but what 's a man's feelin's ag'in' the proof?" they spoke on awhile, using the past tense as if they were speaking of a dead man. "ef i know jedge hart, ben 'll wish he had slep' las' night, 'stidder tryin' ter break out'n jail." at ten o'clock the prisoner was brought into court. he walked with shambling gait, bent at the shoulders, hopelessly, with downcast eyes, and took his seat with several other prisoners who had been brought in for sentence. his wife, accompanied by the children, waited behind him, and a number of his friends were gathered in the court room. the first prisoner sentenced was a young white man, convicted several days before of manslaughter. the deed was done in the heat of passion, under circumstances of great provocation, during a quarrel about a woman. the prisoner was admonished of the sanctity of human life, and sentenced to one year in the penitentiary. the next case was that of a young clerk, eighteen or nineteen years of age, who had committed a forgery in order to procure the means to buy lottery tickets. he was well connected, and the case would not have been prosecuted if the judge had not refused to allow it to be nolled, and, once brought to trial, a conviction could not have been avoided. "you are a young man," said the judge gravely, yet not unkindly, "and your life is yet before you. i regret that you should have been led into evil courses by the lust for speculation, so dangerous in its tendencies, so fruitful of crime and misery. i am led to believe that you are sincerely penitent, and that, after such punishment as the law cannot remit without bringing itself into contempt, you will see the error of your ways and follow the strict path of rectitude. your fault has entailed distress not only upon yourself, but upon your relatives, people of good name and good family, who suffer as keenly from your disgrace as you yourself. partly out of consideration for their feelings, and partly because i feel that, under the circumstances, the law will be satisfied by the penalty i shall inflict, i sentence you to imprisonment in the county jail for six months, and a fine of one hundred dollars and the costs of this action." "the jedge talks well, don't he?" whispered one spectator to another. "yes, and kinder likes ter hear hisse'f talk," answered the other. "ben davis, stand up," ordered the judge. he might have said "ben davis, wake up," for the jailer had to touch the prisoner on the shoulder to rouse him from his stupor. he stood up, and something of the hunted look came again into his eyes, which shifted under the stern glance of the judge. "ben davis, you have been convicted of larceny, after a fair trial before twelve good men of this county. under the testimony, there can be no doubt of your guilt. the case is an aggravated one. you are not an ignorant, shiftless fellow, but a man of more than ordinary intelligence among your people, and one who ought to know better. you have not even the poor excuse of having stolen to satisfy hunger or a physical appetite. your conduct is wholly without excuse, and i can only regard your crime as the result of a tendency to offenses of this nature, a tendency which is only too common among your people; a tendency which is a menace to civilization, a menace to society itself, for society rests upon the sacred right of property. your opinions, too, have been given a wrong turn; you have been heard to utter sentiments which, if disseminated among an ignorant people, would breed discontent, and give rise to strained relations between them and their best friends, their old masters, who understand their real nature and their real needs, and to whose justice and enlightened guidance they can safely trust. have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon you?" "nothin', suh, cep'n dat i did n' take de whip." "the law, largely, i think, in view of the peculiar circumstances of your unfortunate race, has vested a large discretion in courts as to the extent of the punishment for offenses of this kind. taking your case as a whole, i am convinced that it is one which, for the sake of the example, deserves a severe punishment. nevertheless, i do not feel disposed to give you the full extent of the law, which would be twenty years in the penitentiary,[ ] but, considering the fact that you have a family, and have heretofore borne a good reputation in the community, i will impose upon you the light sentence of imprisonment for five years in the penitentiary at hard labor. and i hope that this will be a warning to you and others who may be similarly disposed, and that after your sentence has expired you may lead the life of a law-abiding citizen." [footnote : there are no degrees of larceny in north carolina, and the penalty for any offense lies in the discretion of the judge, to the limit of twenty years.] "o ben! o my husband! o god!" moaned the poor wife, and tried to press forward to her husband's side. "keep back, nancy, keep back," said the jailer. "you can see him in jail." several people were looking at ben's face. there was one flash of despair, and then nothing but a stony blank, behind which he masked his real feelings, whatever they were. human character is a compound of tendencies inherited and habits acquired. in the anxiety, the fear of disgrace, spoke the nineteenth century civilization with which ben davis had been more or less closely in touch during twenty years of slavery and fifteen years of freedom. in the stolidity with which he received this sentence for a crime which he had not committed, spoke who knows what trait of inherited savagery? for stoicism is a savage virtue. iv one morning in june, five years later, a black man limped slowly along the old lumberton plank road; a tall man, whose bowed shoulders made him seem shorter than he was, and a face from which it was difficult to guess his years, for in it the wrinkles and flabbiness of age were found side by side with firm white teeth, and eyes not sunken,--eyes bloodshot, and burning with something, either fever or passion. though he limped painfully with one foot, the other hit the ground impatiently, like the good horse in a poorly matched team. as he walked along, he was talking to himself:---- "i wonder what dey 'll do w'en i git back? i wonder how nancy 's s'ported the fambly all dese years? tuck in washin', i s'ppose,--she was a monst'us good washer an' ironer. i wonder ef de chillun 'll be too proud ter reco'nize deir daddy come back f'um de penetenchy? i 'spec' billy must be a big boy by dis time. he won' b'lieve his daddy ever stole anything. i 'm gwine ter slip roun' an' s'prise 'em." five minutes later a face peered cautiously into the window of what had once been ben davis's cabin,--at first an eager face, its coarseness lit up with the fire of hope; a moment later a puzzled face; then an anxious, fearful face as the man stepped away from the window and rapped at the door. "is mis' davis home?" he asked of the woman who opened the door. "mis' davis don' live here. you er mistook in de house." "whose house is dis?" "it b'longs ter my husban', mr. smith,--primus smith." "'scuse me, but i knowed de house some years ago w'en i wuz here oncet on a visit, an' it b'longed ter a man name' ben davis." "ben davis--ben davis?--oh yes, i 'member now. dat wuz de gen'man w'at wuz sent ter de penitenchy fer sump'n er nuther,--sheep-stealin', i b'lieve. primus," she called, "w'at wuz ben davis, w'at useter own dis yer house, sent ter de penitenchy fer?" "hoss-stealin'," came back the reply in sleepy accents, from the man seated by the fireplace. the traveler went on to the next house. a neat-looking yellow woman came to the door when he rattled the gate, and stood looking suspiciously at him. "w'at you want?" she asked. "please, ma'am, will you tell me whether a man name' ben davis useter live in dis neighborhood?" "useter live in de nex' house; wuz sent ter de penitenchy fer killin' a man." "kin yer tell me w'at went wid mis' davis?" "umph! i 's a 'spectable 'oman, i is, en don' mix wid dem kind er people. she wuz 'n' no better 'n her husban'. she tuk up wid a man dat useter wuk fer ben, an' dey 're livin' down by de ole wagon-ya'd, where no 'spectable 'oman ever puts her foot." "an' de chillen?" "de gal 's dead. wuz 'n' no better 'n she oughter be'n. she fell in de crick an' got drown'; some folks say she wuz 'n' sober w'en it happen'. de boy tuck atter his pappy. he wuz 'rested las' week fer shootin' a w'ite man, an' wuz lynch' de same night. dey wa'n't none of 'em no 'count after deir pappy went ter de penitenchy." "what went wid de proputty?" "hit wuz sol' fer de mortgage, er de taxes, er de lawyer, er sump'n,--i don' know w'at. a w'ite man got it." the man with the bundle went on until he came to a creek that crossed the road. he descended the sloping bank, and, sitting on a stone in the shade of a water-oak, took off his coarse brogans, unwound the rags that served him in lieu of stockings, and laved in the cool water the feet that were chafed with many a weary mile of travel. after five years of unrequited toil, and unspeakable hardship in convict camps,--five years of slaving by the side of human brutes, and of nightly herding with them in vermin-haunted huts,--ben davis had become like them. for a while he had received occasional letters from home, but in the shifting life of the convict camp they had long since ceased to reach him, if indeed they had been written. for a year or two, the consciousness of his innocence had helped to make him resist the debasing influences that surrounded him. the hope of shortening his sentence by good behavior, too, had worked a similar end. but the transfer from one contractor to another, each interested in keeping as long as possible a good worker, had speedily dissipated any such hope. when hope took flight, its place was not long vacant. despair followed, and black hatred of all mankind, hatred especially of the man to whom he attributed all his misfortunes. one who is suffering unjustly is not apt to indulge in fine abstractions, nor to balance probabilities. by long brooding over his wrongs, his mind became, if not unsettled, at least warped, and he imagined that colonel thornton had deliberately set a trap into which he had fallen. the colonel, he convinced himself, had disapproved of his prosperity, and had schemed to destroy it. he reasoned himself into the belief that he represented in his person the accumulated wrongs of a whole race, and colonel thornton the race who had oppressed them. a burning desire for revenge sprang up in him, and he nursed it until his sentence expired and he was set at liberty. what he had learned since reaching home had changed his desire into a deadly purpose. when he had again bandaged his feet and slipped them into his shoes, he looked around him, and selected a stout sapling from among the undergrowth that covered the bank of the stream. taking from his pocket a huge clasp-knife, he cut off the length of an ordinary walking stick and trimmed it. the result was an ugly-looking bludgeon, a dangerous weapon when in the grasp of a strong man. with the stick in his hand, he went on down the road until he approached a large white house standing some distance back from the street. the grounds were filled with a profusion of shrubbery. the negro entered the gate and secreted himself in the bushes, at a point where he could hear any one that might approach. it was near midday, and he had not eaten. he had walked all night, and had not slept. the hope of meeting his loved ones had been meat and drink and rest for him. but as he sat waiting, outraged nature asserted itself, and he fell asleep, with his head on the rising root of a tree, and his face upturned. and as he slept, he dreamed of his childhood; of an old black mammy taking care of him in the daytime, and of a younger face, with soft eyes, which bent over him sometimes at night, and a pair of arms which clasped him closely. he dreamed of his past,--of his young wife, of his bright children. somehow his dreams all ran to pleasant themes for a while. then they changed again. he dreamed that he was in the convict camp, and, by an easy transition, that he was in hell, consumed with hunger, burning with thirst. suddenly the grinning devil who stood over him with a barbed whip faded away, and a little white angel came and handed him a drink of water. as he raised it to his lips the glass slipped, and he struggled back to consciousness. "poo' man! poo' man sick, an' sleepy. dolly b'ing powers to cover poo' man up. poo' man mus' be hungry. wen dolly get him covered up, she go b'ing poo' man some cake." a sweet little child, as beautiful as a cherub escaped from paradise, was standing over him. at first he scarcely comprehended the words the baby babbled out. but as they became clear to him, a novel feeling crept slowly over his heart. it had been so long since he had heard anything but curses and stern words of command, or the ribald songs of obscene merriment, that the clear tones of this voice from heaven cooled his calloused heart as the water of the brook had soothed his blistered feet. it was so strange, so unwonted a thing, that he lay there with half-closed eyes while the child brought leaves and flowers and laid them on his face and on his breast, and arranged them with little caressing taps. she moved away, and plucked a flower. and then she spied another farther on, and then another, and, as she gathered them, kept increasing the distance between herself and the man lying there, until she was several rods away. ben davis watched her through eyes over which had come an unfamiliar softness. under the lingering spell of his dream, her golden hair, which fell in rippling curls, seemed like a halo of purity and innocence and peace, irradiating the atmosphere around her. it is true the thought occurred to ben, vaguely, that through harm to her he might inflict the greatest punishment upon her father; but the idea came like a dark shape that faded away and vanished into nothingness as soon as it came within the nimbus that surrounded the child's person. the child was moving on to pluck still another flower, when there came a sound of hoof-beats, and ben was aware that a horseman, visible through the shrubbery, was coming along the curved path that led from the gate to the house. it must be the man he was waiting for, and now was the time to wreak his vengeance. he sprang to his feet, grasped his club, and stood for a moment irresolute. but either the instinct of the convict, beaten, driven, and debased, or the influence of the child, which was still strong upon him, impelled him, after the first momentary pause, to flee as though seeking safety. his flight led him toward the little girl, whom he must pass in order to make his escape, and as colonel thornton turned the corner of the path he saw a desperate-looking negro, clad in filthy rags, and carrying in his hand a murderous bludgeon, running toward the child, who, startled by the sound of footsteps, had turned and was looking toward the approaching man with wondering eyes. a sickening fear came over the father's heart, and drawing the ever-ready revolver, which according to the southern custom he carried always upon his person, he fired with unerring aim. ben davis ran a few yards farther, faltered, threw out his hands, and fell dead at the child's feet. * * * * * some time, we are told, when the cycle of years has rolled around, there is to be another golden age, when all men will dwell together in love and harmony, and when peace and righteousness shall prevail for a thousand years. god speed the day, and let not the shining thread of hope become so enmeshed in the web of circumstance that we lose sight of it; but give us here and there, and now and then, some little foretaste of this golden age, that we may the more patiently and hopefully await its coming! appendix three essays on the color line: what is a white man? ( ) the future american ( ) the disfranchisement of the negro ( ) what is a white man? the fiat having gone forth from the wise men of the south that the "all-pervading, all-conquering anglo-saxon race" must continue forever to exercise exclusive control and direction of the government of this so-called republic, it becomes important to every citizen who values his birthright to know who are included in this grandiloquent term. it is of course perfectly obvious that the writer or speaker who used this expression--perhaps mr. grady of georgia--did not say what he meant. it is not probable that he meant to exclude from full citizenship the celts and teutons and gauls and slavs who make up so large a proportion of our population; he hardly meant to exclude the jews, for even the most ardent fire-eater would hardly venture to advocate the disfranchisement of the thrifty race whose mortgages cover so large a portion of southern soil. what the eloquent gentleman really meant by this high-sounding phrase was simply the white race; and the substance of the argument of that school of southern writers to which he belongs, is simply that for the good of the country the negro should have no voice in directing the government or public policy of the southern states or of the nation. but it is evident that where the intermingling of the races has made such progress as it has in this country, the line which separates the races must in many instances have been practically obliterated. and there has arisen in the united states a very large class of the population who are certainly not negroes in an ethnological sense, and whose children will be no nearer negroes than themselves. in view, therefore, of the very positive ground taken by the white leaders of the south, where most of these people reside, it becomes in the highest degree important to them to know what race they belong to. it ought to be also a matter of serious concern to the southern white people; for if their zeal for good government is so great that they contemplate the practical overthrow of the constitution and laws of the united states to secure it, they ought at least to be sure that no man entitled to it by their own argument, is robbed of a right so precious as that of free citizenship; the "all-pervading, all conquering anglo-saxon" ought to set as high a value on american citizenship as the all-conquering roman placed upon the franchise of his state two thousand years ago. this discussion would of course be of little interest to the genuine negro, who is entirely outside of the charmed circle, and must content himself with the acquisition of wealth, the pursuit of learning and such other privileges as his "best friends" may find it consistent with the welfare of the nation to allow him; but to every other good citizen the inquiry ought to be a momentous one. what is a white man? in spite of the virulence and universality of race prejudice in the united states, the human intellect long ago revolted at the manifest absurdity of classifying men fifteen-sixteenths white as black men; and hence there grew up a number of laws in different states of the union defining the limit which separated the white and colored races, which was, when these laws took their rise and is now to a large extent, the line which separated freedom and opportunity from slavery or hopeless degradation. some of these laws are of legislative origin; others are judge-made laws, brought out by the exigencies of special cases which came before the courts for determination. some day they will, perhaps, become mere curiosities of jurisprudence; the "black laws" will be bracketed with the "blue laws," and will be at best but landmarks by which to measure the progress of the nation. but to-day these laws are in active operation, and they are, therefore, worthy of attention; for every good citizen ought to know the law, and, if possible, to respect it; and if not worthy of respect, it should be changed by the authority which enacted it. whether any of the laws referred to here have been in any manner changed by very recent legislation the writer cannot say, but they are certainly embodied in the latest editions of the revised statutes of the states referred to. the colored people were divided, in most of the southern states, into two classes, designated by law as negroes and mulattoes respectively. the term negro was used in its ethnological sense, and needed no definition; but the term "mulatto" was held by legislative enactment to embrace all persons of color not negroes. the words "quadroon" and "mestizo" are employed in some of the law books, tho not defined; but the term "octoroon," as indicating a person having one-eighth of negro blood, is not used at all, so far as the writer has been able to observe. the states vary slightly in regard to what constitutes a mulatto or person of color, and as to what proportion of white blood should be sufficient to remove the disability of color. as a general rule, less than one-fourth of negro blood left the individual white--in theory; race questions being, however, regulated very differently in practice. in missouri, by the code of , still in operation, so far as not inconsistent with the federal constitution and laws, "any person other than a negro, any one of whose grandmothers or grandfathers is or shall have been a negro, tho all of his or her progenitors except those descended from the negro may have been white persons, shall be deemed a mulatto." thus the color-line is drawn at one-fourth of negro blood, and persons with only one-eighth are white. by the mississippi code of , the color-line is drawn at one-fourth of negro blood, all persons having less being theoretically white. under the _code noir_ of louisiana, the descendant of a white and a quadroon is white, thus drawing the line at one-eighth of negro blood. the code of abolished all distinctions of color; as to whether they have been re-enacted since the republican party went out of power in that state the writer is not informed. jumping to the extreme north, persons are white within the meaning of the constitution of michigan who have less than one-fourth of negro blood. in ohio the rule, as established by numerous decisions of the supreme court, was that a preponderance of white blood constituted a person a white man in the eye of the law, and entitled him to the exercise of all the civil rights of a white man. by a retrogressive step the color-line was extended in in the case of marriage, which by statute was forbidden between a person of pure white blood and one having a visible admixture of african blood. but by act of legislature, passed in the spring of , all laws establishing or permitting distinctions of color were repealed. in many parts of the state these laws were always ignored, and they would doubtless have been repealed long ago but for the sentiment of the southern counties, separated only by the width of the ohio river from a former slave-holding state. there was a bill introduced in the legislature during the last session to re-enact the "black laws," but it was hopelessly defeated; the member who introduced it evidently mistook his latitude; he ought to be a member of the georgia legislature. but the state which, for several reasons, one might expect to have the strictest laws in regard to the relations of the races, has really the loosest. two extracts from decisions of the supreme court of south carolina will make clear the law of that state in regard to the color line. the definition of the term mulatto, as understood in this state, seems to be vague, signifying generally a person of mixed white or european and negro parentage, in whatever proportions the blood of the two races may be mingled in the individual. but it is not invariably applicable to every admixture of african blood with the european, nor is one having all the features of a white to be ranked with the degraded class designated by the laws of this state as persons of color, because of some remote taint of the negro race. the line of distinction, however, is not ascertained by any rule of law.... juries would probably be justified in holding a person to be white in whom the admixture of african blood did not exceed the proportion of one-eighth. but it is in all cases a question for the jury, to be determined by them upon the evidence of features and complexion afforded by inspection, the evidence of reputation as to parentage, and the evidence of the rank and station in society occupied by the party. the only rule which can be laid down by the courts is that where there is a distinct and visible admixture of negro blood, the individual is to be denominated a mulatto or person of color. in a later case the court held: "the question whether persons are colored or white, where color or feature are doubtful, is for the jury to decide by reputation, by reception into society, and by their exercise of the privileges of the white man, as well as by admixture of blood." it is an interesting question why such should have been, and should still be, for that matter, the law of south carolina, and why there should exist in that state a condition of public opinion which would accept such a law. perhaps it may be attributed to the fact that the colored population of south carolina always outnumbered the white population, and the eagerness of the latter to recruit their ranks was sufficient to overcome in some measure their prejudice against the negro blood. it is certainly true that the color-line is, in practice as in law, more loosely drawn in south carolina than in any other southern state, and that no inconsiderable element of the population of that state consists of these legal white persons, who were either born in the state, or, attracted thither by this feature of the laws, have come in from surrounding states, and, forsaking home and kindred, have taken their social position as white people. a reasonable degree of reticence in regard to one's antecedents is, however, usual in such cases. before the war the color-line, as fixed by law, regulated in theory the civil and political status of persons of color. what that status was, was expressed in the dred scott decision. but since the war, or rather since the enfranchisement of the colored people, these laws have been mainly confined--in theory, be it always remembered--to the regulation of the intercourse of the races in schools and in the marriage relation. the extension of the color-line to places of public entertainment and resort, to inns and public highways, is in most states entirely a matter of custom. a colored man can sue in the courts of any southern state for the violation of his common-law rights, and recover damages of say fifty cents without costs. a colored minister who sued a baltimore steamboat company a few weeks ago for refusing him first-class accommodation, he having paid first-class fare, did not even meet with that measure of success; the learned judge, a federal judge by the way, held that the plaintiff's rights had been invaded, and that he had suffered humiliation at the hands of the defendant company, but that "the humiliation was not sufficient to entitle him to damages." and the learned judge dismissed the action without costs to either party. having thus ascertained what constitutes a white man, the good citizen may be curious to know what steps have been taken to preserve the purity of the white race. nature, by some unaccountable oversight having to some extent neglected a matter so important to the future prosperity and progress of mankind. the marriage laws referred to here are in active operation, and cases under them are by no means infrequent. indeed, instead of being behind the age, the marriage laws in the southern states are in advance of public opinion; for very rarely will a southern community stop to figure on the pedigree of the contracting parties to a marriage where one is white and the other is known to have any strain of negro blood. in virginia, under the title "offenses against morality," the law provides that "any white person who shall intermarry with a negro shall be confined in jail not more than one year and fined not exceeding one hundred dollars." in a marginal note on the statute-book, attention is called to the fact that "a similar penalty is not imposed on the negro"--a stretch of magnanimity to which the laws of other states are strangers. a person who performs the ceremony of marriage in such a case is fined two hundred dollars, one-half of which goes to the informer. in maryland, a minister who performs the ceremony of marriage between a negro and a white person is liable to a fine of one hundred dollars. in mississippi, code of , it is provided that "the marriage of a white person to a negro or mulatto or person who shall have one-fourth or more of negro blood, shall be unlawful"; and as this prohibition does not seem sufficiently emphatic, it is further declared to be "incestuous and void," and is punished by the same penalty prescribed for marriage within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity. but it is georgia, the _alma genetrix_ of the chain-gang, which merits the questionable distinction of having the harshest set of color laws. by the law of georgia the term "person of color" is defined to mean "all such as have an admixture of negro blood, and the term 'negro,' includes mulattoes." this definition is perhaps restricted somewhat by another provision, by which "all negroes, mestizoes, and their descendants, having one-eighth of negro or mulatto blood in their veins, shall be known in this state as persons of color." a colored minister is permitted to perform the ceremony of marriage between colored persons only, tho white ministers are not forbidden to join persons of color in wedlock. it is further provided that "the marriage relation between white persons and persons of african descent is forever prohibited, and such marriages shall be null and void." this is a very sweeping provision; it will be noticed that the term "persons of color," previously defined, is not employed, the expression "persons of african descent" being used instead. a court which was so inclined would find no difficulty in extending this provision of the law to the remotest strain of african blood. the marriage relation is forever prohibited. forever is a long time. there is a colored woman in georgia said to be worth $ , --an immense fortune in the poverty stricken south. with a few hundred such women in that state, possessing a fair degree of good looks, the color-line would shrivel up like a scroll in the heat of competition for their hands in marriage. the penalty for the violation of the law against intermarriage is the same sought to be imposed by the defunct glenn bill for violation of its provisions; i.e., a fine not to exceed one thousand dollars, and imprisonment not to exceed six months, or twelve months in the chain-gang. whatever the wisdom or justice of these laws, there is one objection to them which is not given sufficient prominence in the consideration of the subject, even where it is discussed at all; they make mixed blood a _prima-facie_ proof of illegitimacy. it is a fact that at present, in the united states, a colored man or woman whose complexion is white or nearly white is presumed, in the absence of any knowledge of his or her antecedents, to be the offspring of a union not sanctified by law. and by a curious but not uncommon process, such persons are not held in the same low estimation as white people in the same position. the sins of their fathers are not visited upon the children, in that regard at least; and their mothers' lapses from virtue are regarded either as misfortunes or as faults excusable under the circumstances. but in spite of all this, illegitimacy is not a desirable distinction, and is likely to become less so as these people of mixed blood advance in wealth and social standing. this presumption of illegitimacy was once, perhaps, true of the majority of such persons; but the times have changed. more than half of the colored people of the united states are of mixed blood; they marry and are given in marriage, and they beget children of complexions similar to their own. whether or not, therefore, laws which stamp these children as illegitimate, and which by indirection establish a lower standard of morality for a large part of the population than the remaining part is judged by, are wise laws; and whether or not the purity of the white race could not be as well preserved by the exercise of virtue, and the operation of those natural laws which are so often quoted by southern writers as the justification of all sorts of southern "policies"--are questions which the good citizen may at least turn over in his mind occasionally, pending the settlement of other complications which have grown out of the presence of the negro on this continent. _independent_, may , the future american what the race is likely to become in the process of time the future american race is a popular theme for essayists, and has been much discussed. most expressions upon the subject, however, have been characterized by a conscious or unconscious evasion of some of the main elements of the problem involved in the formation of a future american race, or, to put it perhaps more correctly, a future ethnic type that shall inhabit the northern part of the western continent. some of these obvious omissions will be touched upon in these articles; and if the writer has any preconceived opinions that would affect his judgment, they are at least not the hackneyed prejudices of the past--if they lead to false conclusions, they at least furnish a new point of view, from which, taken with other widely differing views, the judicious reader may establish a parallax that will enable him to approximate the truth. the popular theory is that the future american race will consist of a harmonious fusion of the various european elements which now make up our heterogeneous population. the result is to be something infinitely superior to the best of the component elements. this perfection of type--no good american could for a moment doubt that it will be as perfect as everything else american--is to be brought about by a combination of all the best characteristics of the different european races, and the elimination, by some strange alchemy, of all their undesirable traits--for even a good american will admit that european races, now and then, have some undesirable traits when they first come over. it is a beautiful, a hopeful, and to the eye of faith, a thrilling prospect. the defect of the argument, however, lies in the incompleteness of the premises, and its obliviousness of certain facts of human nature and human history. before putting forward any theory upon the subject, it may be well enough to remark that recent scientific research has swept away many hoary anthropological fallacies. it has been demonstrated that the shape or size of the head has little or nothing to do with the civilization or average intelligence of a race; that language, so recently lauded as an infallible test of racial origin is of absolutely no value in this connection, its distribution being dependent upon other conditions than race. even color, upon which the social structure of the united states is so largely based, has been proved no test of race. the conception of a pure aryan, indo-european race has been abandoned in scientific circles, and the secret of the progress of europe has been found in racial heterogeneity, rather than in racial purity. the theory that the jews are a pure race has been exploded, and their peculiar type explained upon a different and much more satisfactory hypothesis. to illustrate the change of opinion and the growth of liberality in scientific circles, imagine the reception which would have been accorded to this proposition, if laid down by an american writer fifty or sixty years ago: "the european races, as a whole, show signs of a secondary or derived origin; certain characteristics, especially the texture of the hair, lead us to class them as intermediate between the extreme primary types of the asiatic and negro races respectively." this is put forward by the author, not as a mere hypothesis, but as a proposition fairly susceptible of proof, and is supported by an elaborate argument based upon microscopical comparisons, to which numerous authorities are cited. if this fact be borne in mind it will simplify in some degree our conception of a future american ethnic type. by modern research the unity of the human race has been proved (if it needed any proof to the careful or fair-minded observer), and the differentiation of races by selection and environment has been so stated as to prove itself. greater emphasis has been placed upon environment as a factor in ethnic development, and what has been called "the vulgar theory of race," as accounting for progress and culture, has been relegated to the limbo of exploded dogmas. one of the most perspicuous and forceful presentations of these modern conclusions of anthropology is found in the volume above quoted, a book which owes its origin to a boston scholar. proceeding then upon the firm basis laid down by science and the historic parallel, it ought to be quite clear that the future american race--the future american ethnic type--will be formed of a mingling, in a yet to be ascertained proportion, of the various racial varieties which make up the present population of the united states; or, to extend the area a little farther, of the various peoples of the northern hemisphere of the western continent; for, if certain recent tendencies are an index of the future it is not safe to fix the boundaries of the future united states anywhere short of the arctic ocean on the north and the isthmus of panama on the south. but, even with the continuance of the present political divisions, conditions of trade and ease of travel are likely to gradually assimilate to one type all the countries of the hemisphere. assuming that the country is so well settled that no great disturbance of ratios is likely to result from immigration, or any serious conflict of races, we may safely build our theory of a future american race upon the present population of the country. i use the word "race" here in its popular sense--that of a people who look substantially alike, and are moulded by the same culture and dominated by the same ideals. by the eleventh census, the ratios of which will probably not be changed materially by the census now under way, the total population of the united states was about , , , of which about seven million were black and colored, and something over , were of indian blood. it is then in the three broad types--white, black and indian--that the future american race will find the material for its formation. any dream of a pure white race, of the anglo-saxon type, for the united states, may as well be abandoned as impossible, even if desirable. that such future race will be predominantly white may well be granted--unless climate in the course of time should modify existing types; that it will call itself white is reasonably sure; that it will conform closely to the white type is likely; but that it will have absorbed and assimilated the blood of the other two races mentioned is as certain as the operation of any law well can be that deals with so uncertain a quantity as the human race. there are no natural obstacles to such an amalgamation. the unity of the race is not only conceded but demonstrated by actual crossing. any theory of sterility due to race crossing may as well be abandoned; it is founded mainly on prejudice and cannot be proved by the facts. if it come from northern or european sources, it is likely to be weakened by lack of knowledge; if from southern sources, it is sure to be colored by prejudices. my own observation is that in a majority of cases people of mixed blood are very prolific and very long-lived. the admixture of races in the united states has never taken place under conditions likely to produce the best results but there have nevertheless been enough conspicuous instances to the contrary in this country, to say nothing of a long and honorable list in other lands, to disprove the theory that people of mixed blood, other things being equal, are less virile, prolific or able than those of purer strains. but whether this be true or not is apart from this argument. admitting that races may mix, and that they are thrown together under conditions which permit their admixture, the controlling motive will be not abstract considerations with regard to a remote posterity, but present interest and inclination. the indian element in the united states proper is so small proportionally--about one in three hundred--and the conditions for its amalgamation so favorable, that it would of itself require scarcely any consideration in this argument. there is no prejudice against the indian blood, in solution. a half or quarter-breed, removed from the tribal environment, is freely received among white people. after the second or third remove he may even boast of his indian descent; it gives him a sort of distinction, and involves no social disability. the distribution of the indian race, however, tends to make the question largely a local one, and the survival of tribal relation may postpone the results for some little time. it will be, however, the fault of the united states indian himself if he be not speedily amalgamated with the white population. the indian element, however, looms up larger when we include mexico and central america in our fields of discussion. by the census of mexico just completed, over eighty per cent of the population is composed of mixed and indian races. the remainder is presumably of pure spanish, or european blood, with a dash of negro along the coast. the population is something over twelve millions, thus adding nine millions of indians and mestizos to be taken into account. add several millions of similar descent in central america, a million in porto rico, who are said to have an aboriginal strain, and it may safely be figured that the indian element will be quite considerable in the future american race. its amalgamation will involve no great difficulty, however; it has been going on peacefully in the countries south of us for several centuries, and is likely to continue along similar lines. the peculiar disposition of the american to overlook mixed blood in a foreigner will simplify the gradual absorption of these southern races. the real problem, then, the only hard problem in connection with the future american race, lies in the negro element of our population. as i have said before, i believe it is destined to play its part in the formation of this new type. the process by which this will take place will be no sudden and wholesale amalgamation--a thing certainly not to be expected, and hardly to be desired. if it were held desirable, and one could imagine a government sufficiently autocratic to enforce its behests, it would be no great task to mix the races mechanically, leaving to time merely the fixing of the resultant type. let us for curiosity outline the process. to start with, the negroes are already considerably mixed--many of them in large proportion, and most of them in some degree--and the white people, as i shall endeavor to show later on, are many of them slightly mixed with the negro. but we will assume, for the sake of the argument, that the two races are absolutely pure. we will assume, too, that the laws of the whole country were as favorable to this amalgamation as the laws of most southern states are at present against it; i.e., that it were made a misdemeanor for two white or two colored persons to marry, so long as it was possible to obtain a mate of the other race--this would be even more favorable than the southern rule, which makes no such exception. taking the population as one-eighth negro, this eighth, married to an equal number of whites, would give in the next generation a population of which one-fourth would be mulattoes. mating these in turn with white persons, the next generation would be composed one-half of quadroons, or persons one-fourth negro. in the third generation, applying the same rule, the entire population would be composed of octoroons, or persons only one-eighth negro, who would probably call themselves white, if by this time there remained any particular advantage in being so considered. thus in three generations the pure whites would be entirely eliminated, and there would be no perceptible trace of the blacks left. the mechanical mixture would be complete; as it would probably be put, the white race would have absorbed the black. there would be no inferior race to domineer over; there would be no superior race to oppress those who differed from them in racial externals. the inevitable social struggle, which in one form or another, seems to be one of the conditions of progress, would proceed along other lines than those of race. if now and then, for a few generations, an occasional trace of the black ancestor should crop out, no one would care, for all would be tarred with the same stick. this is already the case in south america, parts of mexico and to a large extent in the west indies. from a negroid nation, which ours is already, we would have become a composite and homogeneous people, and the elements of racial discord which have troubled our civil life so gravely and still threaten our free institutions, would have been entirely eliminated. but this will never happen. the same result will be brought about slowly and obscurely, and, if the processes of nature are not too violently interrupted by the hand of man, in such a manner as to produce the best results with the least disturbance of natural laws. in another article i shall endeavor to show that this process has been taking place with greater rapidity than is generally supposed, and that the results have been such as to encourage the belief that the formation of a uniform type out of our present racial elements will take place within a measurably near period. _boston evening transcript_, august , a stream of dark blood in the veins of the southern whites i have said that the formation of the new american race type will take place slowly and obscurely for some time to come, after the manner of all healthy changes in nature. i may go further and say that this process has already been going on ever since the various races in the western world have been brought into juxtaposition. slavery was a rich soil for the production of a mixed race, and one need only read the literature and laws of the past two generations to see how steadily, albeit slowly and insidiously, the stream of dark blood has insinuated itself into the veins of the dominant, or, as a southern critic recently described it in a paragraph that came under my eye, the "domineering" race. the creole stories of mr. cable and other writers were not mere figments of the imagination; the beautiful octoroon was a corporeal fact; it is more than likely that she had brothers of the same complexion, though curiously enough the male octoroon has cut no figure in fiction, except in the case of the melancholy honoré grandissime, f.m.c; and that she and her brothers often crossed the invisible but rigid color line was an historical fact that only an ostrich-like prejudice could deny. grace king's "story of new orleans" makes the significant statement that the quadroon women of that city preferred white fathers for their children, in order that these latter might become white and thereby be qualified to enter the world of opportunity. more than one of the best families of louisiana has a dark ancestral strain. a conspicuous american family of southwestern extraction, which recently contributed a party to a brilliant international marriage, is known, by the well-informed, to be just exactly five generations removed from a negro ancestor. one member of this family, a distinguished society leader, has been known, upon occasion, when some question of the rights or privileges of the colored race came up, to show a very noble sympathy for her distant kinsmen. if american prejudice permitted her and others to speak freely of her pedigree, what a tower of strength her name and influence would be to a despised and struggling race! a distinguished american man of letters, now resident in europe, who spent many years in north carolina, has said to the writer that he had noted, in the course of a long life, at least a thousand instances of white persons known or suspected to possess a strain of negro blood. an amusing instance of this sort occurred a year or two ago. it was announced through the newspapers, whose omniscience of course no one would question, that a certain great merchant of chicago was a mulatto. this gentleman had a large dry goods trade in the south, notably in texas. shortly after the publication of the item reflecting on the immaculateness of the merchant's descent, there appeared in the texas newspapers, among the advertising matter, a statement from the chicago merchant characterizing the rumor as a malicious falsehood, concocted by his rivals in business, and incidentally calling attention to the excellent bargains offered to retailers and jobbers at his great emporium. a counter-illustration is found in the case of a certain bishop, recently elected, of the african methodist episcopal church, who is accused of being a white man. a colored editor who possesses the saving grace of humor, along with other talents of a high order, gravely observed, in discussing this rumor, that "the poor man could not help it, even if he were white, and that a fact for which he was in no wise responsible should not be allowed to stand in the way of his advancement." during a residence in north carolina in my youth and early manhood i noted many curious phases of the race problem. i have in mind a family of three sisters so aggressively white that the old popular southern legend that they were the unacknowledged children of white parents was current concerning them. there was absolutely not the slightest earmark of the negro about them. it may be stated here, as another race fallacy, that the "telltale dark mark at the root of the nails," supposed to be an infallible test of negro blood, is a delusion and a snare, and of no value whatever as a test of race. it belongs with the grewsome superstition that a woman apparently white may give birth to a coal-black child by a white father. another instance that came under my eye was that of a very beautiful girl with soft, wavy brown hair, who is now living in a far western state as the wife of a white husband. a typical case was that of a family in which the tradition of negro origin had persisted long after all trace of it had disappeared. the family took its origin from a white ancestress, and had consequently been free for several generations. the father of the first colored child, counting the family in the female line--the only way it could be counted--was a mulatto. a second infusion of white blood, this time on the paternal side, resulted in offspring not distinguishable from pure white. one child of this generation emigrated to what was then the far west, married a white woman and reared a large family, whose descendants, now in the fourth or fifth remove from the negro, are in all probability wholly unaware of their origin. a sister of this pioneer emigrant remained in the place of her birth and formed an irregular union with a white man of means, with whom she lived for many years and for whom she bore a large number of children, who became about evenly divided between white and colored, fixing their status by the marriages they made. one of the daughters, for instance, married a white man and reared in a neighboring county a family of white children, who, in all probability, were as active as any one else in the recent ferocious red-shirt campaign to disfranchise the negroes. in this same town there was stationed once, before the war, at the federal arsenal there located, an officer who fell in love with a "white negro" girl, as our southern friends impartially dub them. this officer subsequently left the army, and carried away with him to the north the whole family of his inamorata. he married the woman, and their descendants, who live in a large western city, are not known at all as persons of color, and show no trace of their dark origin. two notable bishops of the roman catholic communion in the united states are known to be the sons of a slave mother and a white father, who, departing from the usual american rule, gave his sons freedom, education and a chance in life, instead of sending them to the auction block. colonel t.w. higginson, in his _cheerful yesterdays_, relates the story of a white colored woman whom he assisted in her escape from slavery or its consequences, who married a white man in the vicinity of boston and lost her identity with the colored race. how many others there must be who know of similar instances! grace king, in her "story of new orleans," to which i have referred, in speaking of a louisiana law which required the public records, when dealing with persons of color, always to specify the fact of color, in order, so far had the admixture of races gone, to distinguish them from whites, says: "but the officers of the law could be bribed, and the qualification once dropped acted, inversely, as a patent of pure blood." a certain well-known shakspearean actress has a strain of negro blood, and a popular leading man under a well-known manager is similarly gifted. it would be interesting to give their names, but would probably only injure them. if they could themselves speak of their origin, without any unpleasant consequences, it would be a handsome thing for the colored race. that they do not is no reproach to them; they are white to all intents and purposes, even by the curious laws of the curious states from which they derived their origin, and are in all conscience entitled to any advantage accompanying this status. anyone at all familiar with the hopes and aspirations of the colored race, as expressed, for instance, in their prolific newspaper literature, must have perceived the wonderful inspiration which they have drawn from the career of a few distinguished europeans of partial negro ancestry, who have felt no call, by way of social prejudice, to deny or conceal their origin, or to refuse their sympathy to those who need it so much. pushkin, the russian shakspeare, had a black ancestor. one of the chief editors of the london _times_, who died a few years ago, was a west indian colored man, who had no interest in concealing the fact. one of the generals of the british army is similarly favored, although the fact is not often referred to. general alfred dodds, the ranking general of the french army, now in command in china, is a quadroon. the poet, robert browning, was of west indian origin, and some of his intimate personal friends maintained and proved to their own satisfaction that he was partly of negro descent. mr. browning always said that he did not know; that there was no family tradition to that effect; but if it could be demonstrated he would admit it freely enough, if it would reflect any credit upon a race who needed it so badly. the most conspicuous of the eurafricans (to coin a word) were the dumas family, who were distinguished for three generations. the mulatto, general dumas, won distinction in the wars under the revolution. his son, the famous alexandre dumas _père_, has delighted several generations with his novels, and founded a school of fiction. his son, alexandre _fils_, novelist and dramatist, was as supreme in his own line as his father had been in his. old alexandre gives his pedigree in detail in his memoirs; and the negro origin of the family is set out in every encyclopaedia. nevertheless, in a literary magazine of recent date, published in new york, it was gravely stated by a writer that "there was a rumor, probably not well founded, that the author of monte-cristo had a very distant strain of negro blood." if this had been written with reference to some living american of obscure origin, its point might be appreciated; but such extreme delicacy in stating so widely known a fact appeals to one's sense of humor. these european gentlemen could be outspoken about their origin, because it carried with it no social stigma or disability whatever. when such a state of public opinion exists in the united states, there may be a surprising revision of pedigrees! a little incident that occurred not long ago near boston will illustrate the complexity of these race relations. three light-colored men, brothers, by the name, we will say, of green, living in a boston suburb, married respectively a white, a brown and a black woman. the children with the white mother became known as white, and associated with white people. the others were frankly colored. by a not unlikely coincidence, in the course of time the children of the three families found themselves in the same public school. curiously enough, one afternoon the three sets of green children--the white greens, the brown greens and the black greens--were detained after school, and were all directed to report to a certain schoolroom, where they were assigned certain tasks at the blackboards about the large room. still more curiously, most of the teachers of the school happened to have business in this particular room on that particular afternoon, and all of them seemed greatly interested in the green children. "well, well, did you ever! just think of it! and they are all first cousins!" was remarked audibly. the children were small, but they lived in boston, and were, of course, as became boston children, preternaturally intelligent for their years. they reported to their parents the incident and a number of remarks of a similar tenor to the one above quoted. the result was a complaint to the school authorities, and a reprimand to several teachers. a curious feature of the affair lay in the source from which the complaint emanated. one might suppose it to have come from the white greens; but no, they were willing that the incident should pass unnoticed and be promptly forgotten; publicity would only advertise a fact which would work to their social injury. the dark greens rather enjoyed the affair; they had nothing to lose; they had no objections to being known as the cousins of the others, and experienced a certain not unnatural pleasure in their discomfiture. the complaint came from the brown greens. the reader can figure out the psychology of it for himself. a more certain proof of the fact that negro blood is widely distributed among the white people may be found in the laws and judicial decisions of the various states. laws, as a rule, are not made until demanded by a sufficient number of specific cases to call for a general rule; and judicial decisions of course are never announced except as the result of litigation over contested facts. there is no better index of the character and genius of a people than their laws. in north carolina, marriage between white persons and free persons of color was lawful until . by the missouri code of , the color line was drawn at one-fourth of negro blood, and persons of only one-eighth were legally white. the same rule was laid down by the mississippi code of . under the old code noir of louisiana, the descendant of a white and a quadroon was white. under these laws many persons currently known as "colored," or, more recently as "negro," would be legally white if they chose to claim and exercise the privilege. in ohio, before the civil war, a person more than half-white was legally entitled to all the rights of a white man. in south carolina, the line of cleavage was left somewhat indefinite; the color line was drawn tentatively at one-fourth of negro blood, but this was not held conclusive. "the term 'mulatto'," said the supreme court of that state in a reported case, "is not invariably applicable to every admixture of african blood with the european, nor is one having all the features of a white to be ranked with the degraded class designated by the laws of the state as persons of color, because of some remote taint of the negro race.... the question whether persons are colored or white, where color or feature is doubtful, is for the jury to determine by reputation, by reception into society, and by their exercises of the privileges of a white man, as well as by admixture of blood." it is well known that this liberality of view grew out of widespread conditions in the state, which these decisions in their turn tended to emphasize. they were probably due to the large preponderance of colored people in the state, which rendered the whites the more willing to augment their own number. there are many interesting color-line decisions in the reports of the southern courts, which space will not permit the mention of. in another article i shall consider certain conditions which retard the development of the future american race type which i have suggested, as well as certain other tendencies which are likely to promote it. _boston evening transcript_, august , a complete race-amalgamation likely to occur i have endeavored in two former letters to set out the reasons why it seems likely that the future american ethnic type will be formed by a fusion of all the various races now peopling this continent, and to show that this process has been under way, slowly but surely, like all evolutionary movements, for several hundred years. i wish now to consider some of the conditions which will retard this fusion, as well as certain other facts which tend to promote it. the indian phase of the problem, so far at least as the united states is concerned, has been practically disposed of in what has already been said. the absorption of the indians will be delayed so long as the tribal relations continue, and so long as the indians are treated as wards of the government, instead of being given their rights once for all, and placed upon the footing of other citizens. it is presumed that this will come about as the wilder indians are educated and by the development of the country brought into closer contact with civilization, which must happen before a very great while. as has been stated, there is no very strong prejudice against the indian blood; a well-stocked farm or a comfortable fortune will secure a white husband for a comely indian girl any day, with some latitude, and there is no evidence of any such strong race instinct or organization as will make the indians of the future wish to perpetuate themselves as a small and insignificant class in a great population, thus emphasizing distinctions which would be overlooked in the case of the individual. the indian will fade into the white population as soon as he chooses, and in the united states proper the slender indian strain will ere long leave no trace discoverable by anyone but the anthropological expert. in new mexico and central america, on the contrary, the chances seem to be that the indian will first absorb the non-indigenous elements, unless, which is not unlikely, european immigration shall increase the white contingent. the negro element remains, then, the only one which seems likely to present any difficulty of assimilation. the main obstacle that retards the absorption of the negro into the general population is the apparently intense prejudice against color which prevails in the united states. this prejudice loses much of its importance, however, when it is borne in mind that it is almost purely local and does not exist in quite the same form anywhere else in the world, except among the boers of south africa, where it prevails in an even more aggravated form; and, as i shall endeavor to show, this prejudice in the united states is more apparent than real, and is a caste prejudice which is merely accentuated by differences of race. at present, however, i wish to consider it merely as a deterrent to amalgamation. this prejudice finds forcible expression in the laws which prevail in all the southern states, without exception, forbidding the intermarriage of white persons and persons of color--these last being generally defined within certain degrees. while it is evident that such laws alone will not prevent the intermingling of races, which goes merrily on in spite of them, it is equally apparent that this placing of mixed marriages beyond the pale of the law is a powerful deterrent to any honest or dignified amalgamation. add to this legal restriction, which is enforced by severe penalties, the social odium accruing to the white party to such a union, and it may safely be predicted that so long as present conditions prevail in the south, there will be little marrying or giving in marriage between persons of different race. so ferocious is this sentiment against intermarriage, that in a recent missouri case, where a colored man ran away with and married a young white woman, the man was pursued by a "posse"--a word which is rapidly being debased from its proper meaning by its use in the attempt to dignify the character of lawless southern mobs--and shot to death; the woman was tried and convicted of the "crime" of "miscegenation"--another honest word which the south degrades along with the negro. another obstacle to race fusion lies in the drastic and increasing proscriptive legislation by which the south attempts to keep the white and colored races apart in every place where their joint presence might be taken to imply equality; or, to put it more directly, the persistent effort to degrade the negro to a distinctly and permanently inferior caste. this is undertaken by means of separate schools, separate railroad and street cars, political disfranchisement, debasing and abhorrent prison systems, and an unflagging campaign of calumny, by which the vices and shortcomings of the negroes are grossly magnified and their virtues practically lost sight of. the popular argument that the negro ought to develop his own civilization, and has no right to share in that of the white race, unless by favor, comes with poor grace from those who are forcing their civilization upon others at the cannon's mouth; it is, moreover, uncandid and unfair. the white people of the present generation did not make their civilization; they inherited it ready-made, and much of the wealth which is so strong a factor in their power was created by the unpaid labor of the colored people. the present generation has, however, brought to a high state of development one distinctively american institution, for which it is entitled to such credit as it may wish to claim; i refer to the custom of lynching, with its attendant horrors. the principal deterrent to race admixture, however, is the low industrial and social efficiency of the colored race. if it be conceded that these are the result of environment, then their cause is not far to seek, and the cure is also in sight. their poverty, their ignorance and their servile estate render them as yet largely ineligible for social fusion with a race whose pride is fed not only by the record of its achievements but by a constant comparison with a less developed and less fortunate race, which it has held so long in subjection. the forces that tend to the future absorption of the black race are, however, vastly stronger than those arrayed against it. as experience has demonstrated, slavery was favorable to the mixing of races. the growth, under healthy civil conditions, of a large and self-respecting colored citizenship would doubtless tend to lessen the clandestine association of the two races; but the effort to degrade the negro may result, if successful, in a partial restoration of the old status. but, assuming that the present anti-negro legislation is but a temporary reaction, then the steady progress of the colored race in wealth and culture and social efficiency will, in the course of time, materially soften the asperities of racial prejudice and permit them to approach the whites more closely, until, in time, the prejudice against intermarriage shall have been overcome by other considerations. it is safe to say that the possession of a million dollars, with the ability to use it to the best advantage, would throw such a golden glow over a dark complexion as to override anything but a very obdurate prejudice. mr. spahr, in his well-studied and impartial book on _america's working people_, states as his conclusion, after a careful study of conditions in the south, that the most advanced third of the negroes of that section has already, in one generation of limited opportunity, passed in the race of life the least advanced third of the whites. to pass the next third will prove a more difficult task, no doubt, but the negroes will have the impetus of their forward movement to push them ahead. the outbreaks of race prejudice in recent years are the surest evidence of the negro's progress. no effort is required to keep down a race which manifests no desire nor ability to rise; but with each new forward movement of the colored race it is brought into contact with the whites at some fresh point, which evokes a new manifestation of prejudice until custom has adjusted things to the new condition. when all negroes were poor and ignorant they could be denied their rights with impunity. as they grow in knowledge and in wealth they become more self-assertive, and make it correspondingly troublesome for those who would ignore their claims. it is much easier, by a supreme effort, as recently attempted with temporary success in north carolina, to knock the race down and rob it of its rights once for all, than to repeat the process from day to day and with each individual; it saves wear and tear on the conscience, and makes it easy to maintain a superiority which it might in the course of a short time require some little effort to keep up. this very proscription, however, political and civil at the south, social all over the country, varying somewhat in degree, will, unless very soon relaxed, prove a powerful factor in the mixture of the races. if it is only by becoming white that colored people and their children are to enjoy the rights and dignities of citizenship, they will have every incentive to "lighten the breed," to use a current phrase, that they may claim the white man's privileges as soon as possible. that this motive is already at work may be seen in the enormous extent to which certain "face bleachers" and "hair straighteners" are advertised in the newspapers printed for circulation among the colored people. the most powerful factor in achieving any result is the wish to bring it about. the only thing that ever succeeded in keeping two races separated when living on the same soil--the only true ground of caste--is religion, and as has been alluded to in the case of the jews, this is only superficially successful. the colored people are the same as the whites in religion; they have the same standards and mediums of culture, the same ideals, and the presence of the successful white race as a constant incentive to their ambition. the ultimate result is not difficult to foresee. the races will be quite as effectively amalgamated by lightening the negroes as they would be by darkening the whites. it is only a social fiction, indeed, which makes of a person seven-eighths white a negro; he is really much more a white man. the hope of the negro, so far as the field of moral sympathy and support in his aspirations is concerned, lies, as always, chiefly in the north. there the forces which tend to his elevation are, in the main, allowed their natural operation. the exaggerated zeal with which the south is rushing to degrade the negro is likely to result, as in the case of slavery, in making more friends for him at the north; and if the north shall not see fit to interfere forcibly with southern legislation, it may at least feel disposed to emphasize, by its own liberality, its disapproval of southern injustice and barbarity. an interesting instance of the difference between the north and the south in regard to colored people, may be found in two cases which only last year came up for trial in two adjoining border states. a colored man living in maryland went over to washington and married a white woman. the marriage was legal in washington. when they returned to their maryland home they were arrested for the crime of "miscegenation"--perhaps it is only a misdemeanor in maryland--and sentenced to fine and imprisonment, the penalty of extra-judicial death not extending so far north. the same month a couple, one white and one colored, were arrested in new jersey for living in adultery. they were found guilty by the court, but punishment was withheld upon a promise that they would marry immediately; or, as some cynic would undoubtedly say, the punishment was commuted from imprisonment to matrimony. the adding to our territories of large areas populated by dark races, some of them already liberally dowered with negro blood, will enhance the relative importance of the non-caucasian elements of the population, and largely increase the flow of dark blood toward the white race, until the time shall come when distinctions of color shall lose their importance, which will be but the prelude to a complete racial fusion. the formation of this future american race is not a pressing problem. because of the conditions under which it must take place, it is likely to be extremely slow--much slower, indeed, in our temperate climate and highly organized society, than in the american tropics and sub-tropics, where it is already well under way, if not a _fait accompli_. that it must come in the united states, sooner or later, seems to be a foregone conclusion, as the result of natural law--_lex dura, sed tamen lex_--a hard pill, but one which must be swallowed. there can manifestly be no such thing as a peaceful and progressive civilization in a nation divided by two warring races, and homogeneity of type, at least in externals, is a necessary condition of harmonious social progress. if this, then, must come, the development and progress of all the constituent elements of the future american race is of the utmost importance as bearing upon the quality of the resultant type. the white race is still susceptible of some improvement; and if, in time, the more objectionable negro traits are eliminated, and his better qualities correspondingly developed, his part in the future american race may well be an important and valuable one. _boston evening transcript_, september , the disfranchisement of the negro the right of american citizens of african descent, commonly called negroes, to vote upon the same terms as other citizens of the united states, is plainly declared and firmly fixed by the constitution. no such person is called upon to present reasons why he should possess this right: that question is foreclosed by the constitution. the object of the elective franchise is to give representation. so long as the constitution retains its present form, any state constitution, or statute, which seeks, by juggling the ballot, to deny the colored race fair representation, is a clear violation of the fundamental law of the land, and a corresponding injustice to those thus deprived of this right. for thirty-five years this has been the law. as long as it was measurably respected, the colored people made rapid strides in education, wealth, character and self-respect. this the census proves, all statements to the contrary notwithstanding. a generation has grown to manhood and womanhood under the great, inspiring freedom conferred by the constitution and protected by the right of suffrage--protected in large degree by the mere naked right, even when its exercise was hindered or denied by unlawful means. they have developed, in every southern community, good citizens, who, if sustained and encouraged by just laws and liberal institutions, would greatly augment their number with the passing years, and soon wipe out the reproach of ignorance, unthrift, low morals and social inefficiency, thrown at them indiscriminately and therefore unjustly, and made the excuse for the equally undiscriminating contempt of their persons and their rights. they have reduced their illiteracy nearly per cent. excluded from the institutions of higher learning in their own states, their young men hold their own, and occasionally carry away honors, in the universities of the north. they have accumulated three hundred million dollars worth of real and personal property. individuals among them have acquired substantial wealth, and several have attained to something like national distinction in art, letters and educational leadership. they are numerously represented in the learned professions. heavily handicapped, they have made such rapid progress that the suspicion is justified that their advancement, rather than any stagnation or retrogression, is the true secret of the virulent southern hostility to their rights, which has so influenced northern opinion that it stands mute, and leaves the colored people, upon whom the north conferred liberty, to the tender mercies of those who have always denied their fitness for it. it may be said, in passing, that the word "negro," where used in this paper, is used solely for convenience. by the census of there were , , colored people in the country who were half, or more than half, white, and logically there must be, as in fact there are, so many who share the white blood in some degree, as to justify the assertion that the race problem in the united states concerns the welfare and the status of a mixed race. their rights are not one whit the more sacred because of this fact; but in an argument where injustice is sought to be excused because of fundamental differences of race, it is well enough to bear in mind that the race whose rights and liberties are endangered all over this country by disfranchisement at the south, are the colored people who live in the united states to-day, and not the lowbrowed, man-eating savage whom the southern white likes to set upon a block and contrast with shakespeare and newton and washington and lincoln. despite and in defiance of the federal constitution, to-day in the six southern states of mississippi, louisiana, alabama, north carolina, south carolina and virginia, containing an aggregate colored population of about , , , these have been, to all intents and purposes, denied, so far as the states can effect it, the right to vote. this disfranchisement is accomplished by various methods, devised with much transparent ingenuity, the effort being in each instance to violate the spirit of the federal constitution by disfranchising the negro, while seeming to respect its letter by avoiding the mention of race or color. these restrictions fall into three groups. the first comprises a property qualification--the ownership of $ worth or more of real or personal property (alabama, louisiana, virginia and south carolina); the payment of a poll tax (mississippi, north carolina, virginia); an educational qualification--the ability to read and write (alabama, louisiana, north carolina). thus far, those who believe in a restricted suffrage everywhere, could perhaps find no reasonable fault with any one of these qualifications, applied either separately or together. but the negro has made such progress that these restrictions alone would perhaps not deprive him of effective representation. hence the second group. this comprises an "understanding" clause--the applicant must be able "to read, or understand when read to him, any clause in the constitution" (mississippi), or to read and explain, or to understand and explain when read to him, any section of the constitution (virginia); an employment qualification--the voter must be regularly employed in some lawful occupation (alabama); a character qualification--the voter must be a person of good character and who "understands the duties and obligations of citizens under a republican [!] form of government" (alabama). the qualifications under the first group it will be seen, are capable of exact demonstration; those under the second group are left to the discretion and judgment of the registering officer--for in most instances these are all requirements for registration, which must precede voting. but the first group, by its own force, and the second group, under imaginable conditions, might exclude not only the negro vote, but a large part of the white vote. hence, the third group, which comprises: a military service qualification--any man who went to war, willingly or unwillingly, in a good cause or a bad, is entitled to register (ala., va.); a prescriptive qualification, under which are included all male persons who were entitled to vote on january , , at which date the negro had not yet been given the right to vote; a hereditary qualification (the so-called "grandfather" clause), whereby any son (va.), or descendant (ala.), of a soldier, and (n.c.) the descendant of any person who had the right to vote on january , , inherits that right. if the voter wish to take advantage of these last provisions, which are in the nature of exceptions to a general rule, he must register within a stated time, whereupon he becomes a member of a privileged class of permanently enrolled voters not subject to any of the other restrictions. it will be seen that these restrictions are variously combined in the different states, and it is apparent that if combined to their declared end, practically every negro may, under color of law, be denied the right to vote, and practically every white man accorded that right. the effectiveness of these provisions to exclude the negro vote is proved by the alabama registration under the new state constitution. out of a total, by the census of , of , negro "males of voting age," less than , are registered; in montgomery county alone, the seat of the state capital, where there are , negro males of voting age, only have been allowed to register, while in several counties not one single negro is permitted to exercise the franchise. these methods of disfranchisement have stood such tests as the united states courts, including the supreme court, have thus far seen fit to apply, in such cases as have been before them for adjudication. these include a case based upon the "understanding" clause of the mississippi constitution, in which the supreme court held, in effect, that since there was no ambiguity in the language employed and the negro was not directly named, the court would not go behind the wording of the constitution to find a meaning which discriminated against the colored voter; and the recent case of jackson vs. giles, brought by a colored citizen of montgomery, alabama, in which the supreme court confesses itself impotent to provide a remedy for what, by inference, it acknowledges may be a "great political wrong," carefully avoiding, however, to state that it is a wrong, although the vital prayer of the petition was for a decision upon this very point. now, what is the effect of this wholesale disfranchisement of colored men, upon their citizenship? the value of food to the human organism is not measured by the pains of an occasional surfeit, but by the effect of its entire deprivation. whether a class of citizens should vote, even if not always wisely--what class does?--may best be determined by considering their condition when they are without the right to vote. the colored people are left, in the states where they have been disfranchised, absolutely without representation, direct or indirect, in any law-making body, in any court of justice, in any branch of government--for the feeble remnant of voters left by law is so inconsiderable as to be without a shadow of power. constituting one-eighth of the population of the whole country, two-fifths of the whole southern people, and a majority in several states, they are not able, because disfranchised where most numerous, to send one representative to the congress, which, by the decision in the alabama case, is held by the supreme court to be the only body, outside of the state itself, competent to give relief from a great political wrong. by former decisions of the same tribunal, even congress is impotent to protect their civil rights, the fourteenth amendment having long since, by the consent of the same court, been in many respects as completely nullified as the fifteenth amendment is now sought to be. they have no direct representation in any southern legislature, and no voice in determining the choice of white men who might be friendly to their rights. nor are they able to influence the election of judges or other public officials, to whom are entrusted the protection of their lives, their liberties and their property. no judge is rendered careful, no sheriff diligent, for fear that he may offend a black constituency; the contrary is most lamentably true; day after day the catalogue of lynchings and anti-negro riots upon every imaginable pretext, grows longer and more appalling. the country stands face to face with the revival of slavery; at the moment of this writing a federal grand jury in alabama is uncovering a system of peonage established under cover of law. under the southern program it is sought to exclude colored men from every grade of the public service; not only from the higher administrative functions, to which few of them would in any event, for a long time aspire, but from the lowest as well. a negro may not be a constable or a policeman. he is subjected by law to many degrading discriminations. he is required to be separated from white people on railroads and street cars, and, by custom, debarred from inns and places of public entertainment. his equal right to a free public education is constantly threatened and is nowhere equitably recognized. in georgia, as has been shown by dr. du bois, where the law provides for a pro rata distribution of the public school fund between the races, and where the colored school population is per cent, of the total, the amount of the fund devoted to their schools is only per cent. in new orleans, with an immense colored population, many of whom are persons of means and culture, all colored public schools above the fifth grade have been abolished. the negro is subjected to taxation without representation, which the forefathers of this republic made the basis of a bloody revolution. flushed with their local success, and encouraged by the timidity of the courts and the indifference of public opinion, the southern whites have carried their campaign into the national government, with an ominous degree of success. if they shall have their way, no negro can fill any federal office, or occupy, in the public service, any position that is not menial. this is not an inference, but the openly, passionately avowed sentiment of the white south. the right to employment in the public service is an exceedingly valuable one, for which white men have struggled and fought. a vast army of men are employed in the administration of public affairs. many avenues of employment are closed to colored men by popular prejudice. if their right to public employment is recognized, and the way to it open through the civil service, or the appointing power, or the suffrages of the people, it will prove, as it has already, a strong incentive to effort and a powerful lever for advancement. its value to the negro, like that of the right to vote, may be judged by the eagerness of the whites to deprive him of it. not only is the negro taxed without representation in the states referred to, but he pays, through the tariff and internal revenue, a tax to a national government whose supreme judicial tribunal declares that it cannot, through the executive arm, enforce its own decrees, and, therefore, refuses to pass upon a question, squarely before it, involving a basic right of citizenship. for the decision of the supreme court in the giles case, if it foreshadows the attitude which the court will take upon other cases to the same general end which will soon come before it, is scarcely less than a reaffirmation of the dred scott decision; it certainly amounts to this--that in spite of the fifteenth amendment, colored men in the united states have no political rights which the states are bound to respect. to say this much is to say that all privileges and immunities which negroes henceforth enjoy, must be by favor of the whites; they are not _rights_. the whites have so declared; they proclaim that the country is theirs, that the negro should be thankful that he has so much, when so much more might be withheld from him. he stands upon a lower footing than any alien; he has no government to which he may look for protection. moreover, the white south sends to congress, on a basis including the negro population, a delegation nearly twice as large as it is justly entitled to, and one which may always safely be relied upon to oppose in congress every measure which seeks to protect the equality, or to enlarge the rights of colored citizens. the grossness of this injustice is all the more apparent since the supreme court, in the alabama case referred to, has declared the legislative and political department of the government to be the only power which can right a political wrong. under this decision still further attacks upon the liberties of the citizen may be confidently expected. armed with the negro's sole weapon of defense, the white south stands ready to smite down his rights. the ballot was first given to the negro to defend him against this very thing. he needs it now far more than then, and for even stronger reasons. the , , free colored people of to day have vastly more to defend than the , , hapless blacks who had just emerged from slavery. if there be those who maintain that it was a mistake to give the negro the ballot at the time and in the manner in which it was given, let them take to heart this reflection: that to deprive him of it to-day, or to so restrict it as to leave him utterly defenseless against the present relentless attitude of the south toward his rights, will prove to be a mistake so much greater than the first, as to be no less than a crime, from which not alone the southern negro must suffer, but for which the nation will as surely pay the penalty as it paid for the crime of slavery. contempt for law is death to a republic, and this one has developed alarming symptoms of the disease. and now, having thus robbed the negro of every political and civil _right_, the white south, in palliation of its course, makes a great show of magnanimity in leaving him, as the sole remnant of what he acquired through the civil war, a very inadequate public school education, which, by the present program, is to be directed mainly towards making him a better agricultural laborer. even this is put forward as a favor, although the negro's property is taxed to pay for it, and his labor as well. for it is a well settled principle of political economy, that land and machinery of themselves produce nothing, and that labor indirectly pays its fair proportion of the tax upon the public's wealth. the white south seems to stand to the negro at present as one, who, having been reluctantly compelled to release another from bondage, sees him stumbling forward and upward, neglected by his friends and scarcely yet conscious of his own strength; seizes him, binds him, and having bereft him of speech, of sight and of manhood, "yokes him with the mule" and exclaims, with a show of virtue which ought to deceive no one: "behold how good a friend i am of yours! have i not left you a stomach and a pair of arms, and will i not generously permit you to work for me with the one, that you may thereby gain enough to fill the other? a brain you do not need. we will relieve you of any responsibility that might seem to demand such an organ." the argument of peace-loving northern white men and negro opportunists that the political power of the negro having long ago been suppressed by unlawful means, his right to vote is a mere paper right, of no real value, and therefore to be lightly yielded for the sake of a hypothetical harmony, is fatally short-sighted. it is precisely the attitude and essentially the argument which would have surrendered to the south in the sixties, and would have left this country to rot in slavery for another generation. white men do not thus argue concerning their own rights. they know too well the value of ideals. southern white men see too clearly the latent power of these unexercised rights. if the political power of the negro was a nullity because of his ignorance and lack of leadership, why were they not content to leave it so, with the pleasing assurance that if it ever became effective, it would be because the negroes had grown fit for its exercise? on the contrary, they have not rested until the possibility of its revival was apparently headed off by new state constitutions. nor are they satisfied with this. there is no doubt that an effort will be made to secure the repeal of the fifteenth amendment, and thus forestall the development of the wealthy and educated negro, whom the south seems to anticipate as a greater menace than the ignorant ex-slave. however improbable this repeal may seem, it is not a subject to be lightly dismissed; for it is within the power of the white people of the nation to do whatever they wish in the premises--they did it once; they can do it again. the negro and his friends should see to it that the white majority shall never wish to do anything to his hurt. there still stands, before the negro-hating whites of the south, the specter of a supreme court which will interpret the constitution to mean what it says, and what those who enacted it meant, and what the nation, which ratified it, understood, and which will find power, in a nation which goes beyond seas to administer the affairs of distant peoples, to enforce its own fundamental laws; the specter, too, of an aroused public opinion which will compel congress and the courts to preserve the liberties of the republic, which are the liberties of the people. to wilfully neglect the suffrage, to hold it lightly, is to tamper with a sacred right; to yield it for anything else whatever is simply suicidal. dropping the element of race, disfranchisement is no more than to say to the poor and poorly taught, that they must relinquish the right to defend themselves against oppression until they shall have become rich and learned, in competition with those already thus favored and possessing the ballot in addition. this is not the philosophy of history. the growth of liberty has been the constant struggle of the poor against the privileged classes; and the goal of that struggle has ever been the equality of all men before the law. the negro who would yield this right, deserves to be a slave; he has the servile spirit. the rich and the educated can, by virtue of their influence, command many votes; can find other means of protection; the poor man has but one, he should guard it as a sacred treasure. long ago, by fair treatment, the white leaders of the south might have bound the negro to themselves with hoops of steel. they have not chosen to take this course, but by assuming from the beginning an attitude hostile to his rights, have never gained his confidence, and now seek by foul means to destroy where they have never sought by fair means to control. i have spoken of the effect of disfranchisement upon the colored race; it is to the race as a whole, that the argument of the problem is generally directed. but the unit of society in a republic is the individual, and not the race, the failure to recognize this fact being the fundamental error which has beclouded the whole discussion. the effect of disfranchisement upon the individual is scarcely less disastrous. i do not speak of the moral effect of injustice upon those who suffer from it; i refer rather to the practical consequences which may be appreciated by any mind. no country is free in which the way upward is not open for every man to try, and for every properly qualified man to attain whatever of good the community life may offer. such a condition does not exist, at the south, even in theory, for any man of color. in no career can such a man compete with white men upon equal terms. he must not only meet the prejudice of the individual, not only the united prejudice of the white community; but lest some one should wish to treat him fairly, he is met at every turn with some legal prohibition which says, "thou shalt not," or "thus far shalt thou go and no farther." but the negro race is viable; it adapts itself readily to circumstances; and being thus adaptable, there is always the temptation to "crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, where thrift may follow fawning." he who can most skillfully balance himself upon the advancing or receding wave of white opinion concerning his race, is surest of such measure of prosperity as is permitted to men of dark skins. there are negro teachers in the south--the privilege of teaching in their own schools is the one respectable branch of the public service still left open to them--who, for a grudging appropriation from a southern legislature, will decry their own race, approve their own degradation, and laud their oppressors. deprived of the right to vote, and, therefore, of any power to demand what is their due, they feel impelled to buy the tolerance of the whites at any sacrifice. if to live is the first duty of man, as perhaps it is the first instinct, then those who thus stoop to conquer may be right. but is it needful to stoop so low, and if so, where lies the ultimate responsibility for this abasement? i shall say nothing about the moral effect of disfranchisement upon the white people, or upon the state itself. what slavery made of the southern whites is a matter of history. the abolition of slavery gave the south an opportunity to emerge from barbarism. present conditions indicate that the spirit which dominated slavery still curses the fair section over which that institution spread its blight. and now, is the situation remediless? if not so, where lies the remedy? first let us take up those remedies suggested by the men who approve of disfranchisement, though they may sometimes deplore the method, or regret the necessity. time, we are told, heals all diseases, rights all wrongs, and is the only cure for this one. it is a cowardly argument. these people are entitled to their rights to-day, while they are yet alive to enjoy them; and it is poor statesmanship and worse morals to nurse a present evil and thrust it forward upon a future generation for correction. the nation can no more honestly do this than it could thrust back upon a past generation the responsibility for slavery. it had to meet that responsibility; it ought to meet this one. education has been put forward as the great corrective--preferably industrial education. the intellect of the whites is to be educated to the point where they will so appreciate the blessings of liberty and equality, as of their own motion to enlarge and defend the negro's rights. the negroes, on the other hand, are to be so trained as to make them, not equal with the whites in any way--god save the mark!--this would be unthinkable!--but so useful to the community that the whites will protect them rather than lose their valuable services. some few enthusiasts go so far as to maintain that by virtue of education the negro will, in time, become strong enough to protect himself against any aggression of the whites; this, it may be said, is a strictly northern view. it is not quite clearly apparent how education alone, in the ordinary meaning of the word, is to solve, in any appreciable time, the problem of the relations of southern white and black people. the need of education of all kinds for both races is wofully apparent. but men and nations have been free without being learned, and there have been educated slaves. liberty has been known to languish where culture had reached a very high development. nations do not first become rich and learned and then free, but the lesson of history has been that they first become free and then rich and learned, and oftentimes fall back into slavery again because of too great wealth, and the resulting luxury and carelessness of civic virtues. the process of education has been going on rapidly in the southern states since the civil war, and yet, if we take superficial indications, the rights of the negroes are at a lower ebb than at any time during the thirty-five years of their freedom, and the race prejudice more intense and uncompromising. it is not apparent that educated southerners are less rancorous than others in their speech concerning the negro, or less hostile in their attitude toward his rights. it is their voice alone that we have heard in this discussion; and if, as they state, they are liberal in their views as compared with the more ignorant whites, then god save the negro! i was told, in so many words, two years ago, by the superintendent of public schools of a southern city that "there was no place in the modern world for the negro, except under the ground." if gentlemen holding such opinions are to instruct the white youth of the south, would it be at all surprising if these, later on, should devote a portion of their leisure to the improvement of civilization by putting under the ground as many of this superfluous race as possible? the sole excuse made in the south for the prevalent injustice to the negro is the difference in race, and the inequalities and antipathies resulting therefrom. it has nowhere been declared as a part of the southern program that the negro, when educated, is to be given a fair representation in government or an equal opportunity in life; the contrary has been strenuously asserted; education can never make of him anything but a negro, and, therefore, essentially inferior, and not to be safely trusted with any degree of power. a system of education which would tend to soften the asperities and lessen the inequalities between the races would be of inestimable value. an education which by a rigid separation of the races from the kindergarten to the university, fosters this racial antipathy, and is directed toward emphasizing the superiority of one class and the inferiority of another, might easily have disastrous, rather than beneficial results. it would render the oppressing class more powerful to injure, the oppressed quicker to perceive and keener to resent the injury, without proportionate power of defense. the same assimilative education which is given at the north to all children alike, whereby native and foreign, black and white, are taught side by side in every grade of instruction, and are compelled by the exigencies of discipline to keep their prejudices in abeyance, and are given the opportunity to learn and appreciate one another's good qualities, and to establish friendly relations which may exist throughout life, is absent from the southern system of education, both of the past and as proposed for the future. education is in a broad sense a remedy for all social ills; but the disease we have to deal with now is not only constitutional but acute. a wise physician does not simply give a tonic for a diseased limb, or a high fever; the patient might be dead before the constitutional remedy could become effective. the evils of slavery, its injury to whites and blacks, and to the body politic, were clearly perceived and acknowledged by the educated leaders of the south as far back as the revolutionary war and the constitutional convention, and yet they made no effort to abolish it. their remedy was the same--time, education, social and economic development;--and yet a bloody war was necessary to destroy slavery and put its spirit temporarily to sleep. when the south and its friends are ready to propose a system of education which will recognize and teach the equality of all men before the law, the potency of education alone to settle the race problem will be more clearly apparent. at present even good northern men, who wish to educate the negroes, feel impelled to buy this privilege from the none too eager white south, by conceding away the civil and political rights of those whom they would benefit. they have, indeed, gone farther than the southerners themselves in approving the disfranchisement of the colored race. most southern men, now that they have carried their point and disfranchised the negro, are willing to admit, in the language of a recent number of the charleston _evening post_, that "the attitude of the southern white man toward the negro is incompatible with the fundamental ideas of the republic." it remained for our clevelands and abbotts and parkhursts to assure them that their unlawful course was right and justifiable, and for the most distinguished negro leader to declare that "every revised constitution throughout the southern states has put a premium upon intelligence, ownership of property, thrift and character." so does every penitentiary sentence put a premium upon good conduct; but it is poor consolation to the one unjustly condemned, to be told that he may shorten his sentence somewhat by good behavior. dr. booker t. washington, whose language is quoted above, has, by his eminent services in the cause of education, won deserved renown. if he has seemed, at times, to those jealous of the best things for their race, to decry the higher education, it can easily be borne in mind that his career is bound up in the success of an industrial school; hence any undue stress which he may put upon that branch of education may safely be ascribed to the natural zeal of the promoter, without detracting in any degree from the essential value of his teachings in favor of manual training, thrift and character-building. but mr. washington's prominence as an educational leader, among a race whose prominent leaders are so few, has at times forced him, perhaps reluctantly, to express himself in regard to the political condition of his people, and here his utterances have not always been so wise nor so happy. he has declared himself in favor of a restricted suffrage, which at present means, for his own people, nothing less than complete loss of representation--indeed it is only in that connection that the question has been seriously mooted; and he has advised them to go slow in seeking to enforce their civil and political rights, which, in effect, means silent submission to injustice. southern white men may applaud this advice as wise, because it fits in with their purposes; but senator mcenery of louisiana, in a recent article in the _independent_, voices the southern white opinion of such acquiescence when he says: "what other race would have submitted so many years to slavery without complaint? _what other race would have submitted so quietly to disfranchisement?_ these facts stamp his [the negro's] inferiority to the white race." the time to philosophize about the good there is in evil, is not while its correction is still possible, but, if at all, after all hope of correction is past. until then it calls for nothing but rigorous condemnation. to try to read any good thing into these fraudulent southern constitutions, or to accept them as an accomplished fact, is to condone a crime against one's race. those who commit crime should bear the odium. it is not a pleasing spectacle to see the robbed applaud the robber. silence were better. it has become fashionable to question the wisdom of the fifteenth amendment. i believe it to have been an act of the highest statesmanship, based upon the fundamental idea of this republic, entirely justified by conditions; experimental in its nature, perhaps, as every new thing must be, but just in principle; a choice between methods, of which it seemed to the great statesmen of that epoch the wisest and the best, and essentially the most just, bearing in mind the interests of the freedmen and the nation, as well as the feelings of the southern whites; never fairly tried, and therefore, not yet to be justly condemned. not one of those who condemn it, has been able, even in the light of subsequent events, to suggest a better method by which the liberty and civil rights of the freedmen and their descendants could have been protected. its abandonment, as i have shown, leaves this liberty and these rights frankly without any guaranteed protection. all the education which philanthropy or the state could offer as a _substitute_ for equality of rights, would be a poor exchange; there is no defensible reason why they should not go hand in hand, each encouraging and strengthening the other. the education which one can demand as a right is likely to do more good than the education for which one must sue as a favor. the chief argument against negro suffrage, the insistently proclaimed argument, worn threadbare in congress, on the platform, in the pulpit, in the press, in poetry, in fiction, in impassioned rhetoric, is the reconstruction period. and yet the evils of that period were due far more to the venality and indifference of white men than to the incapacity of black voters. the revised southern constitutions adopted under reconstruction reveal a higher statesmanship than any which preceded or have followed them, and prove that the freed voters could as easily have been led into the paths of civic righteousness as into those of misgovernment. certain it is that under reconstruction the civil and political rights of all men were more secure in those states than they have ever been since. we will hear less of the evils of reconstruction, now that the bugaboo has served its purpose by disfranchising the negro. it will be laid aside for a time while the nation discusses the political corruption of great cities; the scandalous conditions in rhode island; the evils attending reconstruction in the philippines, and the scandals in the postoffice department--for none of which, by the way, is the negro charged with any responsibility, and for none of which is the restriction of the suffrage a remedy seriously proposed. rhode island is indeed the only northern state which has a property qualification for the franchise! there are three tribunals to which the colored people may justly appeal for the protection of their rights: the united states courts, congress and public opinion. at present all three seem mainly indifferent to any question of human rights under the constitution. indeed, congress and the courts merely follow public opinion, seldom lead it. congress never enacts a measure which is believed to oppose public opinion;--your congressman keeps his ear to the ground. the high, serene atmosphere of the courts is not impervious to its voice; they rarely enforce a law contrary to public opinion, even the supreme court being able, as charles sumner once put it, to find a reason for every decision it may wish to render; or, as experience has shown, a method to evade any question which it cannot decently decide in accordance with public opinion. the art of straddling is not confined to the political arena. the southern situation has been well described by a colored editor in richmond: "when we seek relief at the hands of congress, we are informed that our plea involves a legal question, and we are referred to the courts. when we appeal to the courts, we are gravely told that the question is a political one, and that we must go to congress. when congress enacts remedial legislation, our enemies take it to the supreme court, which promptly declares it unconstitutional." the negro might chase his rights round and round this circle until the end of time, without finding any relief. yet the constitution is clear and unequivocal in its terms, and no supreme court can indefinitely continue to construe it as meaning anything but what it says. this court should be bombarded with suits until it makes some definite pronouncement, one way or the other, on the broad question of the constitutionality of the disfranchising constitutions of the southern states. the negro and his friends will then have a clean-cut issue to take to the forum of public opinion, and a distinct ground upon which to demand legislation for the enforcement of the federal constitution. the case from alabama was carried to the supreme court expressly to determine the constitutionality of the alabama constitution. the court declared itself without jurisdiction, and in the same breath went into the merits of the case far enough to deny relief, without passing upon the real issue. had it said, as it might with absolute justice and perfect propriety, that the alabama constitution is a bold and impudent violation of the fifteenth amendment, the purpose of the lawsuit would have been accomplished and a righteous cause vastly strengthened. but public opinion cannot remain permanently indifferent to so vital a question. the agitation is already on. it is at present largely academic, but is slowly and resistlessly, forcing itself into politics, which is the medium through which republics settle such questions. it cannot much longer be contemptuously or indifferently elbowed aside. the south itself seems bent upon forcing the question to an issue, as, by its arrogant assumptions, it brought on the civil war. from that section, too, there come now and then, side by side with tales of southern outrage, excusing voices, which at the same time are accusing voices; which admit that the white south is dealing with the negro unjustly and unwisely; that the golden rule has been forgotten; that the interests of white men alone have been taken into account, and that their true interests as well are being sacrificed. there is a silent white south, uneasy in conscience, darkened in counsel, groping for the light, and willing to do the right. they are as yet a feeble folk, their voices scarcely audible above the clamor of the mob. may their convictions ripen into wisdom, and may their numbers and their courage increase! if the class of southern white men of whom judge jones of alabama, is so noble a representative, are supported and encouraged by a righteous public opinion at the north, they may, in time, become the dominant white south, and we may then look for wisdom and justice in the place where, so far as the negro is concerned, they now seem well-nigh strangers. but even these gentlemen will do well to bear in mind that so long as they discriminate in any way against the negro's equality of right, so long do they set class against class and open the door to every sort of discrimination, there can be no middle ground between justice and injustice, between the citizen and the serf. it is not likely that the north, upon the sober second thought, will permit the dearly-bought results of the civil war to be nullified by any change in the constitution. so long as the fifteenth amendment stands, the _rights_ of colored citizens are ultimately secure. there were would-be despots in england after the granting of magna charta; but it outlived them all, and the liberties of the english people are secure. there was slavery in this land after the declaration of independence, yet the faces of those who love liberty have ever turned to that immortal document. so will the constitution and its principles outlive the prejudices which would seek to overthrow it. what colored men of the south can do to secure their citizenship to-day, or in the immediate future, is not very clear. their utterances on political questions, unless they be to concede away the political rights of their race, or to soothe the consciences of white men by suggesting that the problem is insoluble except by some slow remedial process which will become effectual only in the distant future, are received with scant respect--could scarcely, indeed, be otherwise received, without a voting constituency to back them up,--and must be cautiously made, lest they meet an actively hostile reception. but there are many colored men at the north, where their civil and political rights in the main are respected. there every honest man has a vote, which he may freely cast, and which is reasonably sure to be fairly counted. when this race develops a sufficient power of combination, under adequate leadership,--and there are signs already that this time is near at hand,--the northern vote can be wielded irresistibly for the defense of the rights of their southern brethren. in the meantime the northern colored men have the right of free speech, and they should never cease to demand their rights, to clamor for them, to guard them jealously, and insistently to invoke law and public sentiment to maintain them. he who would be free must learn to protect his freedom. eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. he who would be respected must respect himself. the best friend of the negro is he who would rather see, within the borders of this republic one million free citizens of that race, equal before the law, than ten million cringing serfs existing by a contemptuous sufferance. a race that is willing to survive upon any other terms is scarcely worthy of consideration. the direct remedy for the disfranchisement of the negro lies through political action. one scarcely sees the philosophy of distinguishing between a civil and a political right. but the supreme court has recognized this distinction and has designated congress as the power to right a political wrong. the fifteenth amendment gives congress power to enforce its provisions. the power would seem to be inherent in government itself; but anticipating that the enforcement of the amendment might involve difficulty, they made the supererogatory declaration. moreover, they went further, and passed laws by which they provided for such enforcement. these the supreme court has so far declared insufficient. it is for congress to make more laws. it is for colored men and for white men who are not content to see the blood-bought results of the civil war nullified, to urge and direct public opinion to the point where it will demand stringent legislation to enforce the fourteenth and fifteenth amendments. this demand will rest in law, in morals and in true statesmanship; no difficulties attending it could be worse than the present ignoble attitude of the nation toward its own laws and its own ideals--without courage to enforce them, without conscience to change them, the united states presents the spectacle of a nation drifting aimlessly, so far as this vital, national problem is concerned, upon the sea of irresolution, toward the maelstrom of anarchy. the right of congress, under the fourteenth amendment, to reduce southern representation can hardly be disputed. but congress has a simpler and more direct method to accomplish the same end. it is the sole judge of the qualifications of its own members, and the sole judge of whether any member presenting his credentials has met those qualifications. it can refuse to seat any member who comes from a district where voters have been disfranchised; it can judge for itself whether this has been done, and there is no appeal from its decision. if, when it has passed a law, any court shall refuse to obey its behests, it can impeach the judges. if any president refuse to lend the executive arm of the government to the enforcement of the law, it can impeach the president. no such extreme measures are likely to be necessary for the enforcement of the fourteenth and fifteenth amendments--and the thirteenth, which is also threatened--but they are mentioned as showing that congress is supreme; and congress proceeds, the house directly, the senate indirectly, from the people and is governed by public opinion. if the reduction of southern representation were to be regarded in the light of a bargain by which the fifteenth amendment was surrendered, then it might prove fatal to liberty. if it be inflicted as a punishment and a warning, to be followed by more drastic measures if not sufficient, it would serve a useful purpose. the fifteenth amendment declares that the right to vote _shall not_ be denied or abridged on account of color; and any measure adopted by congress should look to that end. only as the power to injure the negro in congress is reduced thereby, would a reduction of representation protect the negro; without other measures it would still leave him in the hands of the southern whites, who could safely be trusted to make him pay for their humiliation. finally, there is, somewhere in the universe a "power that works for righteousness," and that leads men to do justice to one another. to this power, working upon the hearts and consciences of men, the negro can always appeal. he has the right upon his side, and in the end the right will prevail. the negro will, in time, attain to full manhood and citizenship throughout the united states. no better guaranty of this is needed than a comparison of his present with his past. toward this he must do his part, as lies within his power and his opportunity. but it will be, after all, largely a white man's conflict, fought out in the forum of the public conscience. the negro, though eager enough when opportunity offered, had comparatively little to do with the abolition of slavery, which was a vastly more formidable task than will be the enforcement of the fifteenth amendment. _the negro problem_, proofreading team. the autobiography of an ex-colored man james weldon johnson preface to the original edition of this vivid and startlingly new picture of conditions brought about by the race question in the united states makes no special plea for the negro, but shows in a dispassionate, though sympathetic, manner conditions as they actually exist between the whites and blacks to-day. special pleas have already been made for and against the negro in hundreds of books, but in these books either his virtues or his vices have been exaggerated. this is because writers, in nearly every instance, have treated the colored american as a whole; each has taken some one group of the race to prove his case. not before has a composite and proportionate presentation of the entire race, embracing all of its various groups and elements, showing their relations with each other and to the whites, been made. it is very likely that the negroes of the united states have a fairly correct idea of what the white people of the country think of them, for that opinion has for a long time been and is still being constantly stated; but they are themselves more or less a sphinx to the whites. it is curiously interesting and even vitally important to know what are the thoughts of ten millions of them concerning the people among whom they live. in these pages it is as though a veil had been drawn aside: the reader is given a view of the inner life of the negro in america, is initiated into the "freemasonry," as it were, of the race. these pages also reveal the unsuspected fact that prejudice against the negro is exerting a pressure which, in new york and other large cities where the opportunity is open, is actually and constantly forcing an unascertainable number of fair-complexioned colored people over into the white race. in this book the reader is given a glimpse behind the scenes of this race-drama which is being here enacted,--he is taken upon an elevation where he can catch a bird's-eye view of the conflict which is being waged. the publishers i i know that in writing the following pages i am divulging the great secret of my life, the secret which for some years i have guarded far more carefully than any of my earthly possessions; and it is a curious study to me to analyze the motives which prompt me to do it. i feel that i am led by the same impulse which forces the un-found-out criminal to take somebody into his confidence, although he knows that the act is likely, even almost certain, to lead to his undoing. i know that i am playing with fire, and i feel the thrill which accompanies that most fascinating pastime; and, back of it all, i think i find a sort of savage and diabolical desire to gather up all the little tragedies of my life, and turn them into a practical joke on society. and, too, i suffer a vague feeling of unsatisfaction, of regret, of almost remorse, from which i am seeking relief, and of which i shall speak in the last paragraph of this account. i was born in a little town of georgia a few years after the close of the civil war. i shall not mention the name of the town, because there are people still living there who could be connected with this narrative. i have only a faint recollection of the place of my birth. at times i can close my eyes and call up in a dreamlike way things that seem to have happened ages ago in some other world. i can see in this half vision a little house--i am quite sure it was not a large one--i can remember that flowers grew in the front yard, and that around each bed of flowers was a hedge of vari-colored glass bottles stuck in the ground neck down. i remember that once, while playing around in the sand, i became curious to know whether or not the bottles grew as the flowers did, and i proceeded to dig them up to find out; the investigation brought me a terrific spanking, which indelibly fixed the incident in my mind. i can remember, too, that behind the house was a shed under which stood two or three wooden wash-tubs. these tubs were the earliest aversion of my life, for regularly on certain evenings i was plunged into one of them and scrubbed until my skin ached. i can remember to this day the pain caused by the strong, rank soap's getting into my eyes. back from the house a vegetable garden ran, perhaps seventy-five or one hundred feet; but to my childish fancy it was an endless territory. i can still recall the thrill of joy, excitement, and wonder it gave me to go on an exploring expedition through it, to find the blackberries, both ripe and green, that grew along the edge of the fence. i remember with what pleasure i used to arrive at, and stand before, a little enclosure in which stood a patient cow chewing her cud, how i would occasionally offer her through the bars a piece of my bread and molasses, and how i would jerk back my hand in half fright if she made any motion to accept my offer. i have a dim recollection of several people who moved in and about this little house, but i have a distinct mental image of only two: one, my mother; and the other, a tall man with a small, dark mustache. i remember that his shoes or boots were always shiny, and that he wore a gold chain and a great gold watch with which he was always willing to let me play. my admiration was almost equally divided between the watch and chain and the shoes. he used to come to the house evenings, perhaps two or three times a week; and it became my appointed duty whenever he came to bring him a pair of slippers and to put the shiny shoes in a particular corner; he often gave me in return for this service a bright coin, which my mother taught me to promptly drop in a little tin bank. i remember distinctly the last time this tall man came to the little house in georgia; that evening before i went to bed he took me up in his arms and squeezed me very tightly; my mother stood behind his chair wiping tears from her eyes. i remember how i sat upon his knee and watched him laboriously drill a hole through a ten-dollar gold piece, and then tie the coin around my neck with a string. i have worn that gold piece around my neck the greater part of my life, and still possess it, but more than once i have wished that some other way had been found of attaching it to me besides putting a hole through it. on the day after the coin was put around my neck my mother and i started on what seemed to me an endless journey. i knelt on the seat and watched through the train window the corn and cotton fields pass swiftly by until i fell asleep. when i fully awoke, we were being driven through the streets of a large city--savannah. i sat up and blinked at the bright lights. at savannah we boarded a steamer which finally landed us in new york. from new york we went to a town in connecticut, which became the home of my boyhood. my mother and i lived together in a little cottage which seemed to me to be fitted up almost luxuriously; there were horse-hair-covered chairs in the parlor, and a little square piano; there was a stairway with red carpet on it leading to a half second story; there were pictures on the walls, and a few books in a glass-doored case. my mother dressed me very neatly, and i developed that pride which well-dressed boys generally have. she was careful about my associates, and i myself was quite particular. as i look back now i can see that i was a perfect little aristocrat. my mother rarely went to anyone's house, but she did sewing, and there were a great many ladies coming to our cottage. if i was around they would generally call me, and ask me my name and age and tell my mother what a pretty boy i was. some of them would pat me on the head and kiss me. my mother was kept very busy with her sewing; sometimes she would have another woman helping her. i think she must have derived a fair income from her work. i know, too, that at least once each month she received a letter; i used to watch for the postman, get the letter, and run to her with it; whether she was busy or not, she would take it and instantly thrust it into her bosom. i never saw her read one of these letters. i knew later that they contained money and what was to her more than money. as busy as she generally was, she found time, however, to teach me my letters and figures and how to spell a number of easy words. always on sunday evenings she opened the little square piano and picked out hymns. i can recall now that whenever she played hymns from the book her _tempo_ was always decidedly _largo_. sometimes on other evenings, when she was not sewing, she would play simple accompaniments to some old southern songs which she sang. in these songs she was freer, because she played them by ear. those evenings on which she opened the little piano were the happiest hours of my childhood. whenever she started toward the instrument, i used to follow her with all the interest and irrepressible joy that a pampered pet dog shows when a package is opened in which he knows there is a sweet bit for him. i used to stand by her side and often interrupt and annoy her by chiming in with strange harmonies which i found on either the high keys of the treble or the low keys of the bass. i remember that i had a particular fondness for the black keys. always on such evenings, when the music was over, my mother would sit with me in her arms, often for a very long time. she would hold me close, softly crooning some old melody without words, all the while gently stroking her face against my head; many and many a night i thus fell asleep. i can see her now, her great dark eyes looking into the fire, to where? no one knew but her. the memory of that picture has more than once kept me from straying too far from the place of purity and safety in which her arms held me. at a very early age i began to thump on the piano alone, and it was not long before i was able to pick out a few tunes. when i was seven years old, i could play by ear all of the hymns and songs that my mother knew. i had also learned the names of the notes in both clefs, but i preferred not to be hampered by notes. about this time several ladies for whom my mother sewed heard me play and they persuaded her that i should at once be put under a teacher; so arrangements were made for me to study the piano with a lady who was a fairly good musician; at the same time arrangements were made for me to study my books with this lady's daughter. my music teacher had no small difficulty at first in pinning me down to the notes. if she played my lesson over for me, i invariably attempted to reproduce the required sounds without the slightest recourse to the written characters. her daughter, my other teacher, also had her worries. she found that, in reading, whenever i came to words that were difficult or unfamiliar, i was prone to bring my imagination to the rescue and read from the picture. she has laughingly told me, since then, that i would sometimes substitute whole sentences and even paragraphs from what meaning i thought the illustrations conveyed. she said she not only was sometimes amused at the fresh treatment i would give an author's subject, but, when i gave some new and sudden turn to the plot of the story, often grew interested and even excited in listening to hear what kind of a denouement i would bring about. but i am sure this was not due to dullness, for i made rapid progress in both my music and my books. and so for a couple of years my life was divided between my music and my school books. music took up the greater part of my time. i had no playmates, but amused myself with games--some of them my own invention--which could be played alone. i knew a few boys whom i had met at the church which i attended with my mother, but i had formed no close friendships with any of them. then, when i was nine years old, my mother decided to enter me in the public school, so all at once i found myself thrown among a crowd of boys of all sizes and kinds; some of them seemed to me like savages. i shall never forget the bewilderment, the pain, the heart-sickness, of that first day at school. i seemed to be the only stranger in the place; every other boy seemed to know every other boy. i was fortunate enough, however, to be assigned to a teacher who knew me; my mother made her dresses. she was one of the ladies who used to pat me on the head and kiss me. she had the tact to address a few words directly to me; this gave me a certain sort of standing in the class and put me somewhat at ease. within a few days i had made one staunch friend and was on fairly good terms with most of the boys. i was shy of the girls, and remained so; even now a word or look from a pretty woman sets me all a-tremble. this friend i bound to me with hooks of steel in a very simple way. he was a big awkward boy with a face full of freckles and a head full of very red hair. he was perhaps fourteen years of age; that is, four or five years older than any other boy in the class. this seniority was due to the fact that he had spent twice the required amount of time in several of the preceding classes. i had not been at school many hours before i felt that "red head"--as i involuntarily called him--and i were to be friends. i do not doubt that this feeling was strengthened by the fact that i had been quick enough to see that a big, strong boy was a friend to be desired at a public school; and, perhaps, in spite of his dullness, "red head" had been able to discern that i could be of service to him. at any rate there was a simultaneous mutual attraction. the teacher had strung the class promiscuously around the walls of the room for a sort of trial heat for places of rank; when the line was straightened out, i found that by skillful maneuvering i had placed myself third and had piloted "red head" to the place next to me. the teacher began by giving us to spell the words corresponding to our order in the line. "spell _first_." "spell _second_." "spell _third_." i rattled off: "t-h-i-r-d, third," in a way which said: "why don't you give us something hard?" as the words went down the line, i could see how lucky i had been to get a good place together with an easy word. as young as i was, i felt impressed with the unfairness of the whole proceeding when i saw the tailenders going down before _twelfth_ and _twentieth_, and i felt sorry for those who had to spell such words in order to hold a low position. "spell _fourth_." "red head," with his hands clutched tightly behind his back, began bravely: "f-o-r-t-h." like a flash a score of hands went up, and the teacher began saying: "no snapping of fingers, no snapping of fingers." this was the first word missed, and it seemed to me that some of the scholars were about to lose their senses; some were dancing up and down on one foot with a hand above their heads, the fingers working furiously, and joy beaming all over their faces; others stood still, their hands raised not so high, their fingers working less rapidly, and their faces expressing not quite so much happiness; there were still others who did not move or raise their hands, but stood with great wrinkles on their foreheads, looking very thoughtful. the whole thing was new to me, and i did not raise my hand, but slyly whispered the letter "u" to "red head" several times. "second chance," said the teacher. the hands went down and the class became quiet. "red head," his face now red, after looking beseechingly at the ceiling, then pitiably at the floor, began very haltingly: "f-u--" immediately an impulse to raise hands went through the class, but the teacher checked it, and poor "red head," though he knew that each letter he added only took him farther out of the way, went doggedly on and finished: "--r-t-h." the hand-raising was now repeated with more hubbub and excitement than at first. those who before had not moved a finger were now waving their hands above their heads. "red head" felt that he was lost. he looked very big and foolish, and some of the scholars began to snicker. his helpless condition went straight to my heart, and gripped my sympathies. i felt that if he failed, it would in some way be my failure. i raised my hand, and, under cover of the excitement and the teacher's attempts to regain order, i hurriedly shot up into his ear twice, quite distinctly: "f-o-u-r-t-h, f-o-u-r-t-h." the teacher tapped on her desk and said: "third and last chance." the hands came down, the silence became oppressive. "red head" began: "f--" since that day i have waited anxiously for many a turn of the wheel of fortune, but never under greater tension than when i watched for the order in which those letters would fall from "red's" lips--"o-u-r-t-h." a sigh of relief and disappointment went up from the class. afterwards, through all our school days, "red head" shared my wit and quickness and i benefited by his strength and dogged faithfulness. there were some black and brown boys and girls in the school, and several of them were in my class. one of the boys strongly attracted my attention from the first day i saw him. his face was as black as night, but shone as though it were polished; he had sparkling eyes, and when he opened his mouth, he displayed glistening white teeth. it struck me at once as appropriate to call him "shiny face," or "shiny eyes," or "shiny teeth," and i spoke of him often by one of these names to the other boys. these terms were finally merged into "shiny," and to that name he answered good-naturedly during the balance of his public school days. "shiny" was considered without question to be the best speller, the best reader, the best penman--in a word, the best scholar, in the class. he was very quick to catch anything, but, nevertheless, studied hard; thus he possessed two powers very rarely combined in one boy. i saw him year after year, on up into the high school, win the majority of the prizes for punctuality, deportment, essay writing, and declamation. yet it did not take me long to discover that, in spite of his standing as a scholar, he was in some way looked down upon. the other black boys and girls were still more looked down upon. some of the boys often spoke of them as "niggers." sometimes on the way home from school a crowd would walk behind them repeating: "_nigger, nigger, never die, black face and shiny eye_." on one such afternoon one of the black boys turned suddenly on his tormentors and hurled a slate; it struck one of the white boys in the mouth, cutting a slight gash in his lip. at sight of the blood the boy who had thrown the slate ran, and his companions quickly followed. we ran after them pelting them with stones until they separated in several directions. i was very much wrought up over the affair, and went home and told my mother how one of the "niggers" had struck a boy with a slate. i shall never forget how she turned on me. "don't you ever use that word again," she said, "and don't you ever bother the colored children at school. you ought to be ashamed of yourself." i did hang my head in shame, not because she had convinced me that i had done wrong, but because i was hurt by the first sharp word she had ever given me. my school days ran along very pleasantly. i stood well in my studies, not always so well with regard to my behavior. i was never guilty of any serious misconduct, but my love of fun sometimes got me into trouble. i remember, however, that my sense of humor was so sly that most of the trouble usually fell on the head of the other fellow. my ability to play on the piano at school exercises was looked upon as little short of marvelous in a boy of my age. i was not chummy with many of my mates, but, on the whole, was about as popular as it is good for a boy to be. one day near the end of my second term at school the principal came into our room and, after talking to the teacher, for some reason said: "i wish all of the white scholars to stand for a moment." i rose with the others. the teacher looked at me and, calling my name, said: "you sit down for the present, and rise with the others." i did not quite understand her, and questioned: "ma'm?" she repeated, with a softer tone in her voice: "you sit down now, and rise with the others." i sat down dazed. i saw and heard nothing. when the others were asked to rise, i did not know it. when school was dismissed, i went out in a kind of stupor. a few of the white boys jeered me, saying: "oh, you're a nigger too." i heard some black children say: "we knew he was colored." "shiny" said to them: "come along, don't tease him," and thereby won my undying gratitude. i hurried on as fast as i could, and had gone some distance before i perceived that "red head" was walking by my side. after a while he said to me: "le' me carry your books." i gave him my strap without being able to answer. when we got to my gate, he said as he handed me my books: "say, you know my big red agate? i can't shoot with it any more. i'm going to bring it to school for you tomorrow." i took my books and ran into the house. as i passed through the hallway, i saw that my mother was busy with one of her customers; i rushed up into my own little room, shut the door, and went quickly to where my looking-glass hung on the wall. for an instant i was afraid to look, but when i did, i looked long and earnestly. i had often heard people say to my mother: "what a pretty boy you have!" i was accustomed to hear remarks about my beauty; but now, for the first time, i became conscious of it and recognized it. i noticed the ivory whiteness of my skin, the beauty of my mouth, the size and liquid darkness of my eyes, and how the long, black lashes that fringed and shaded them produced an effect that was strangely fascinating even to me. i noticed the softness and glossiness of my dark hair that fell in waves over my temples, making my forehead appear whiter than it really was. how long i stood there gazing at my image i do not know. when i came out and reached the head of the stairs, i heard the lady who had been with my mother going out. i ran downstairs and rushed to where my mother was sitting, with a piece of work in her hands. i buried my head in her lap and blurted out: "mother, mother, tell me, am i a nigger?" i could not see her face, but i knew the piece of work dropped to the floor and i felt her hands on my head. i looked up into her face and repeated: "tell me, mother, am i a nigger?" there were tears in her eyes and i could see that she was suffering for me. and then it was that i looked at her critically for the first time. i had thought of her in a childish way only as the most beautiful woman in the world; now i looked at her searching for defects. i could see that her skin was almost brown, that her hair was not so soft as mine, and that she did differ in some way from the other ladies who came to the house; yet, even so, i could see that she was very beautiful, more beautiful than any of them. she must have felt that i was examining her, for she hid her face in my hair and said with difficulty: "no, my darling, you are not a nigger." she went on: "you are as good as anybody; if anyone calls you a nigger, don't notice them." but the more she talked, the less was i reassured, and i stopped her by asking: "well, mother, am i white? are you white?" she answered tremblingly: "no, i am not white, but you--your father is one of the greatest men in the country--the best blood of the south is in you--" this suddenly opened up in my heart a fresh chasm of misgiving and fear, and i almost fiercely demanded: "who is my father? where is he?" she stroked my hair and said: "i'll tell you about him some day." i sobbed: "i want to know now." she answered: "no, not now." perhaps it had to be done, but i have never forgiven the woman who did it so cruelly. it may be that she never knew that she gave me a sword-thrust that day in school which was years in healing. ii since i have grown older i have often gone back and tried to analyze the change that came into my life after that fateful day in school. there did come a radical change, and, young as i was, i felt fully conscious of it, though i did not fully comprehend it. like my first spanking, it is one of the few incidents in my life that i can remember clearly. in the life of everyone there is a limited number of unhappy experiences which are not written upon the memory, but stamped there with a die; and in long years after, they can be called up in detail, and every emotion that was stirred by them can be lived through anew; these are the tragedies of life. we may grow to include some of them among the trivial incidents of childhood--a broken toy, a promise made to us which was not kept, a harsh, heart-piercing word--but these, too, as well as the bitter experiences and disappointments of mature years, are the tragedies of life. and so i have often lived through that hour, that day, that week, in which was wrought the miracle of my transition from one world into another; for i did indeed pass into another world. from that time i looked out through other eyes, my thoughts were colored, my words dictated, my actions limited by one dominating, all-pervading idea which constantly increased in force and weight until i finally realized in it a great, tangible fact. and this is the dwarfing, warping, distorting influence which operates upon each and every colored man in the united states. he is forced to take his outlook on all things, not from the viewpoint of a citizen, or a man, or even a human being, but from the viewpoint of a _colored_ man. it is wonderful to me that the race has progressed so broadly as it has, since most of its thought and all of its activity must run through the narrow neck of this one funnel. and it is this, too, which makes the colored people of this country, in reality, a mystery to the whites. it is a difficult thing for a white man to learn what a colored man really thinks; because, generally, with the latter an additional and different light must be brought to bear on what he thinks; and his thoughts are often influenced by considerations so delicate and subtle that it would be impossible for him to confess or explain them to one of the opposite race. this gives to every colored man, in proportion to his intellectuality, a sort of dual personality; there is one phase of him which is disclosed only in the freemasonry of his own race. i have often watched with interest and sometimes with amazement even ignorant colored men under cover of broad grins and minstrel antics maintain this dualism in the presence of white men. i believe it to be a fact that the colored people of this country know and understand the white people better than the white people know and understand them. i now think that this change which came into my life was at first more subjective than objective. i do not think my friends at school changed so much toward me as i did toward them. i grew reserved, i might say suspicious. i grew constantly more and more afraid of laying myself open to some injury to my feelings or my pride. i frequently saw or fancied some slight where, i am sure, none was intended. on the other hand, my friends and teachers were, if anything different, more considerate of me; but i can remember that it was against this very attitude in particular that my sensitiveness revolted. "red" was the only one who did not so wound me; up to this day i recall with a swelling heart his clumsy efforts to make me understand that nothing could change his love for me. i am sure that at this time the majority of my white schoolmates did not understand or appreciate any differences between me and themselves; but there were a few who had evidently received instructions at home on the matter, and more than once they displayed their knowledge in word and action. as the years passed, i noticed that the most innocent and ignorant among the others grew in wisdom. i myself would not have so clearly understood this difference had it not been for the presence of the other colored children at school; i had learned what their status was, and now i learned that theirs was mine. i had had no particular like or dislike for these black and brown boys and girls; in fact, with the exception of "shiny," they had occupied very little of my thought; but i do know that when the blow fell, i had a very strong aversion to being classed with them. so i became something of a solitary. "red" and i remained inseparable, and there was between "shiny" and me a sort of sympathetic bond, but my intercourse with the others was never entirely free from a feeling of constraint. i must add, however, that this feeling was confined almost entirely to my intercourse with boys and girls of about my own age; i did not experience it with my seniors. and when i grew to manhood, i found myself freer with elderly white people than with those near my own age. i was now about eleven years old, but these emotions and impressions which i have just described could not have been stronger or more distinct at an older age. there were two immediate results of my forced loneliness: i began to find company in books, and greater pleasure in music. i made the former discovery through a big, gilt-bound, illustrated copy of the bible, which used to lie in splendid neglect on the center table in our little parlor. on top of the bible lay a photograph album. i had often looked at the pictures in the album, and one day, after taking the larger book down and opening it on the floor, i was overjoyed to find that it contained what seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of pictures. i looked at these pictures many times; in fact, so often that i knew the story of each one without having to read the subject, and then, somehow, i picked up the thread of history on which are strung the trials and tribulations of the hebrew children; this i followed with feverish interest and excitement. for a long time king david, with samson a close second, stood at the head of my list of heroes; he was not displaced until i came to know robert the bruce. i read a good portion of the old testament, all that part treating of wars and rumors of wars, and then started in on the new. i became interested in the life of christ, but became impatient and disappointed when i found that, notwithstanding the great power he possessed, he did not make use of it when, in my judgment, he most needed to do so. and so my first general impression of the bible was what my later impression has been of a number of modern books, that the authors put their best work in the first part, and grew either exhausted or careless toward the end. after reading the bible, or those parts which held my attention, i began to explore the glass-doored bookcase which i have already mentioned. i found there _pilgrim's progress_, peter parley's _history of the united states_, grimm's _household stories, tales of a grandfather_, a bound volume of an old english publication (i think it was called _the mirror_), a little volume called _familiar science_, and somebody's _natural theology_, which last, of course, i could not read, but which, nevertheless, i tackled, with the result of gaining a permanent dislike for all kinds of theology. there were several other books of no particular name or merit, such as agents sell to people who know nothing of buying books. how my mother came by this little library which, considering all things, was so well suited to me i never sought to know. but she was far from being an ignorant woman and had herself, very likely, read the majority of these books, though i do not remember ever seeing her with a book in her hand, with the exception of the episcopal prayer book. at any rate she encouraged in me the habit of reading, and when i had about exhausted those books in the little library which interested me, she began to buy books for me. she also regularly gave me money to buy a weekly paper which was then very popular for boys. at this time i went in for music with an earnestness worthy of maturer years; a change of teachers was largely responsible for this. i began now to take lessons of the organist of the church which i attended with my mother; he was a good teacher and quite a thorough musician. he was so skillful in his instruction and filled me with such enthusiasm that my progress--these are his words--was marvelous. i remember that when i was barely twelve years old i appeared on a program with a number of adults at an entertainment given for some charitable purpose, and carried off the honors. i did more, i brought upon myself through the local newspapers the handicapping title of "infant prodigy." i can believe that i did astonish my audience, for i never played the piano like a child; that is, in the "one-two-three" style with accelerated motion. neither did i depend upon mere brilliancy of technique, a trick by which children often surprise their listeners; but i always tried to interpret a piece of music; i always played with feeling. very early i acquired that knack of using the pedals, which makes the piano a sympathetic, singing instrument, quite a different thing from the source of hard or blurred sounds it so generally is. i think this was due not entirely to natural artistic temperament, but largely to the fact that i did not begin to learn the piano by counting out exercises, but by trying to reproduce the quaint songs which my mother used to sing, with all their pathetic turns and cadences. even at a tender age, in playing i helped to express what i felt by some of the mannerisms which i afterwards observed in great performers; i had not copied them. i have often heard people speak of the mannerisms of musicians as affectations adopted for mere effect; in some cases they may be so; but a true artist can no more play upon the piano or violin without putting his whole body in accord with the emotions he is striving to express than a swallow can fly without being graceful. often when playing i could not keep the tears which formed in my eyes from rolling down my cheeks. sometimes at the end or even in the midst of a composition, as big a boy as i was, i would jump from the piano, and throw myself sobbing into my mother's arms. she, by her caresses and often her tears, only encouraged these fits of sentimental hysteria. of course, to counteract this tendency to temperamental excesses i should have been out playing ball or in swimming with other boys of my age; but my mother didn't know that. there was only once when she was really firm with me, making me do what she considered was best; i did not want to return to school after the unpleasant episode which i have related, and she was inflexible. i began my third term, and the days ran along as i have already indicated. i had been promoted twice, and had managed each time to pull "red" along with me. i think the teachers came to consider me the only hope of his ever getting through school, and i believe they secretly conspired with me to bring about the desired end. at any rate, i know it became easier in each succeeding examination for me not only to assist "red," but absolutely to do his work. it is strange how in some things honest people can be dishonest without the slightest compunction. i knew boys at school who were too honorable to tell a fib even when one would have been just the right thing, but could not resist the temptation to assist or receive assistance in an examination. i have long considered it the highest proof of honesty in a man to hand his street-car fare to the conductor who had overlooked it. one afternoon after school, during my third term, i rushed home in a great hurry to get my dinner and go to my music teacher's. i was never reluctant about going there, but on this particular afternoon i was impetuous. the reason of this was i had been asked to play the accompaniment for a young lady who was to play a violin solo at a concert given by the young people of the church, and on this afternoon we were to have our first rehearsal. at that time playing accompaniments was the only thing in music i did not enjoy; later this feeling grew into positive dislike. i have never been a really good accompanist because my ideas of interpretation were always too strongly individual. i constantly forced my _accelerandos_ and _rubatos_ upon the soloist, often throwing the duet entirely out of gear. perhaps the reader has already guessed why i was so willing and anxious to play the accompaniment to this violin solo; if not--the violinist was a girl of seventeen or eighteen whom i had first heard play a short time before on a sunday afternoon at a special service of some kind, and who had moved me to a degree which now i can hardly think of as possible. at present i do not think it was due to her wonderful playing, though i judge she must have been a very fair performer, but there was just the proper setting to produce the effect upon a boy such as i was; the half-dim church, the air of devotion on the part of the listeners, the heaving tremor of the organ under the clear wail of the violin, and she, her eyes almost closing, the escaping strands of her dark hair wildly framing her pale face, and her slender body swaying to the tones she called forth, all combined to fire my imagination and my heart with a passion, though boyish, yet strong and, somehow, lasting. i have tried to describe the scene; if i have succeeded, it is only half success, for words can only partially express what i wish to convey. always in recalling that sunday afternoon i am sub-conscious of a faint but distinct fragrance which, like some old memory-awakening perfume, rises and suffuses my whole imagination, inducing a state of reverie so airy as just to evade the powers of expression. she was my first love, and i loved her as only a boy loves. i dreamed of her, i built air castles for her, she was the incarnation of each beautiful heroine i knew; when i played the piano, it was to her, not even music furnished an adequate outlet for my passion; i bought a new note-book and, to sing her praises, made my first and last attempts at poetry. i remember one day at school, after we had given in our notebooks to have some exercises corrected, the teacher called me to her desk and said: "i couldn't correct your exercises because i found nothing in your book but a rhapsody on somebody's brown eyes." i had passed in the wrong note-book. i don't think i have felt greater embarrassment in my whole life than i did at that moment. i was ashamed not only that my teacher should see this nakedness of my heart, but that she should find out that i had any knowledge of such affairs. it did not then occur to me to be ashamed of the kind of poetry i had written. of course, the reader must know that all of this adoration was in secret; next to my great love for this young lady was the dread that in some way she would find it out. i did not know what some men never find out, that the woman who cannot discern when she is loved has never lived. it makes me laugh to think how successful i was in concealing it all; within a short time after our duet all of the friends of my dear one were referring to me as her "little sweetheart," or her "little beau," and she laughingly encouraged it. this did not entirely satisfy me; i wanted to be taken seriously. i had definitely made up my mind that i should never love another woman, and that if she deceived me i should do something desperate--the great difficulty was to think of something sufficiently desperate--and the heartless jade, how she led me on! so i hurried home that afternoon, humming snatches of the violin part of the duet, my heart beating with pleasurable excitement over the fact that i was going to be near her, to have her attention placed directly upon me; that i was going to be of service to her, and in a way in which i could show myself to advantage--this last consideration has much to do with cheerful service----. the anticipation produced in me a sensation somewhat between bliss and fear. i rushed through the gate, took the three steps to the house at one bound, threw open the door, and was about to hang my cap on its accustomed peg of the hall rack when i noticed that that particular peg was occupied by a black derby hat. i stopped suddenly and gazed at this hat as though i had never seen an object of its description. i was still looking at it in open-eyed wonder when my mother, coming out of the parlor into the hallway, called me and said there was someone inside who wanted to see me. feeling that i was being made a party to some kind of mystery, i went in with her, and there i saw a man standing leaning with one elbow on the mantel, his back partly turned toward the door. as i entered, he turned and i saw a tall, handsome, well-dressed gentleman of perhaps thirty-five; he advanced a step toward me with a smile on his face. i stopped and looked at him with the same feelings with which i had looked at the derby hat, except that they were greatly magnified. i looked at him from head to foot, but he was an absolute blank to me until my eyes rested on his slender, elegant polished shoes; then it seemed that indistinct and partly obliterated films of memory began, at first slowly, then rapidly, to unroll, forming a vague panorama of my childhood days in georgia. my mother broke the spell by calling me by name and saying: "this is your father." "father, father," that was the word which had been to me a source of doubt and perplexity ever since the interview with my mother on the subject. how often i had wondered about my father, who he was, what he was like, whether alive or dead, and, above all, why she would not tell me about him. more than once i had been on the point of recalling to her the promise she had made me, but i instinctively felt that she was happier for not telling me and that i was happier for not being told; yet i had not the slightest idea what the real truth was. and here he stood before me, just the kind of looking father i had wishfully pictured him to be; but i made no advance toward him; i stood there feeling embarrassed and foolish, not knowing what to say or do. i am not sure but that he felt pretty much the same. my mother stood at my side with one hand on my shoulder, almost pushing me forward, but i did not move. i can well remember the look of disappointment, even pain, on her face; and i can now understand that she could expect nothing else but that at the name "father" i should throw myself into his arms. but i could not rise to this dramatic, or, better, melodramatic, climax. somehow i could not arouse any considerable feeling of need for a father. he broke the awkward tableau by saying: "well, boy, aren't you glad to see me?" he evidently meant the words kindly enough, but i don't know what he could have said that would have had a worse effect; however, my good breeding came to my rescue, and i answered: "yes, sir," and went to him and offered him my hand. he took my hand into one of his, and, with the other, stroked my head, saying that i had grown into a fine youngster. he asked me how old i was; which, of course, he must have done merely to say something more, or perhaps he did so as a test of my intelligence. i replied: "twelve, sir." he then made the trite observation about the flight of time, and we lapsed into another awkward pause. my mother was all in smiles; i believe that was one of the happiest moments of her life. either to put me more at ease or to show me off, she asked me to play something for my father. there is only one thing in the world that can make music, at all times and under all circumstances, up to its general standard; that is a hand-organ, or one of its variations. i went to the piano and played something in a listless, half-hearted way. i simply was not in the mood. i was wondering, while playing, when my mother would dismiss me and let me go; but my father was so enthusiastic in his praise that he touched my vanity--which was great--and more than that; he displayed that sincere appreciation which always arouses an artist to his best effort, and, too, in an unexplainable manner, makes him feel like shedding tears. i showed my gratitude by playing for him a chopin waltz with all the feeling that was in me. when i had finished, my mother's eyes were glistening with tears; my father stepped across the room, seized me in his arms, and squeezed me to his breast. i am certain that for that moment he was proud to be my father. he sat and held me standing between his knees while he talked to my mother. i, in the mean time, examined him with more curiosity, perhaps, than politeness. i interrupted the conversation by asking: "mother, is he going to stay with us now?" i found it impossible to frame the word "father"; it was too new to me; so i asked the question through my mother. without waiting for her to speak, my father answered: "i've got to go back to new york this afternoon, but i'm coming to see you again." i turned abruptly and went over to my mother, and almost in a whisper reminded her that i had an appointment which i should not miss; to my pleasant surprise she said that she would give me something to eat at once so that i might go. she went out of the room and i began to gather from off the piano the music i needed. when i had finished, my father, who had been watching me, asked: "are you going?" i replied: "yes, sir, i've got to go to practice for a concert." he spoke some words of advice to me about being a good boy and taking care of my mother when i grew up, and added that he was going to send me something nice from new york. my mother called, and i said good-bye to him and went out. i saw him only once after that. i quickly swallowed down what my mother had put on the table for me, seized my cap and music, and hurried off to my teacher's house. on the way i could think of nothing but this new father, where he came from, where he had been, why he was here, and why he would not stay. in my mind i ran over the whole list of fathers i had become acquainted with in my reading, but i could not classify him. the thought did not cross my mind that he was different from me, and even if it had, the mystery would not thereby have been explained; for, notwithstanding my changed relations with most of my schoolmates, i had only a faint knowledge of prejudice and no idea at all how it ramified and affected our entire social organism. i felt, however, that there was something about the whole affair which had to be hid. when i arrived, i found that she of the brown eyes had been rehearsing with my teacher and was on the point of leaving. my teacher, with some expressions of surprise, asked why i was late, and i stammered out the first deliberate lie of which i have any recollection. i told him that when i reached home from school, i found my mother quite sick, and that i had stayed with her awhile before coming. then unnecessarily and gratuitously--to give my words force of conviction, i suppose--i added: "i don't think she'll be with us very long." in speaking these words i must have been comical; for i noticed that my teacher, instead of showing signs of anxiety or sorrow, half hid a smile. but how little did i know that in that lie i was speaking a prophecy! she of the brown eyes unpacked her violin, and we went through the duet several times. i was soon lost to all other thoughts in the delights of music and love. i saw delights of love without reservation; for at no time of life is love so pure, so delicious, so poetic, so romantic, as it is in boyhood. a great deal has been said about the heart of a girl when she' stands "where the brook and river meet," but what she feels is negative; more interesting is the heart of a boy when just at the budding dawn of manhood he stands looking wide-eyed into the long vistas opening before him; when he first becomes conscious of the awakening and quickening of strange desires and unknown powers; when what he sees and feels is still shadowy and mystical enough to be intangible, and, so, more beautiful; when his imagination is unsullied, and his faith new and whole--then it is that love wears a halo. the man who has not loved before he was fourteen has missed a foretaste of elysium. when i reached home, it was quite dark and i found my mother without a light, sitting rocking in a chair, as she so often used to do in my childhood days, looking into the fire and singing softly to herself. i nestled close to her, and, with her arms round me, she haltingly told me who my father was--a great man, a fine gentleman--he loved me and loved her very much; he was going to make a great man of me: all she said was so limited by reserve and so colored by her feelings that it was but half truth; and so i did not yet fully understand. iii perhaps i ought not pass on in this narrative without mentioning that the duet was a great success, so great that we were obliged to respond with two encores. it seemed to me that life could hold no greater joy than it contained when i took her hand and we stepped down to the front of the stage bowing to our enthusiastic audience. when we reached the little dressing-room, where the other performers were applauding as wildly as the audience, she impulsively threw both her arms round me and kissed me, while i struggled to get away. one day a couple of weeks after my father had been to see us, a wagon drove up to our cottage loaded with a big box. i was about to tell the men on the wagon that they had made a mistake, when my mother, acting darkly wise, told them to bring their load in; she had them unpack the box, and quickly there was evolved from the boards, paper, and other packing material a beautiful, brand-new, upright piano. then she informed me that it was a present to me from my father. i at once sat down and ran my fingers over the keys; the full, mellow tone of the instrument was ravishing. i thought, almost remorsefully, of how i had left my father; but, even so, there momentarily crossed my mind a feeling of disappointment that the piano was not a grand. the new instrument greatly increased the pleasure of my hours of study and practice at home. shortly after this i was made a member of the boys' choir, it being found that i possessed a clear, strong soprano voice. i enjoyed the singing very much. about a year later i began the study of the pipe organ and the theory of music; and before i finished the grammar school, i had written out several simple preludes for organ which won the admiration of my teacher, and which he did me the honor to play at services. the older i grew, the more thought i gave to the question of my mother's and my position, and what was our exact relation to the world in general. my idea of the whole matter was rather hazy. my study of united states history had been confined to those periods which were designated in my book as "discovery," "colonial," "revolutionary," and "constitutional." i now began to study about the civil war, but the story was told in such a condensed and skipping style that i gained from it very little real information. it is a marvel how children ever learn any history out of books of that sort. and, too, i began now to read the newspapers; i often saw articles which aroused my curiosity, but did not enlighten me. but one day i drew from the circulating library a book that cleared the whole mystery, a book that i read with the same feverish intensity with which i had read the old bible stories, a book that gave me my first perspective of the life i was entering; that book was _uncle tom's cabin_. this work of harriet beecher stowe has been the object of much unfavorable criticism. it has been assailed, not only as fiction of the most imaginative sort, but as being a direct misrepresentation. several successful attempts have lately been made to displace the book from northern school libraries. its critics would brush it aside with the remark that there never was a negro as good as uncle tom, nor a slave-holder as bad as legree. for my part, i was never an admirer of uncle tom, nor of his type of goodness; but i believe that there were lots of old negroes as foolishly good as he; the proof of which is that they knowingly stayed and worked the plantations that furnished sinews for the army which was fighting to keep them enslaved. but in these later years several cases have come to my personal knowledge in which old negroes have died and left what was a considerable fortune to the descendants of their former masters. i do not think it takes any great stretch of the imagination to believe there was a fairly large class of slave-holders typified in legree. and we must also remember that the author depicted a number of worthless if not vicious negroes, and a slave-holder who was as much of a christian and a gentleman as it was possible for one in his position to be; that she pictured the happy, singing, shuffling "darky" as well as the mother wailing for her child sold "down river." i do not think it is claiming too much to say that _uncle tom's cabin_ was a fair and truthful panorama of slavery; however that may be, it opened my eyes as to who and what i was and what my country considered me; in fact, it gave me my bearing. but there was no shock; i took the whole revelation in a kind of stoical way. one of the greatest benefits i derived from reading the book was that i could afterwards talk frankly with my mother on all the questions which had been vaguely troubling my mind. as a result, she was entirely freed from reserve, and often herself brought up the subject, talking of things directly touching her life and mine and of things which had come down to her through the "old folks." what she told me interested and even fascinated me, and, what may seem strange, kindled in me a strong desire to see the south. she spoke to me quite frankly about herself, my father, and myself: she, the sewing girl of my father's mother; he, an impetuous young man home from college; i, the child of this unsanctioned love. she told me even the principal reason for our coming north. my father was about to be married to a young lady of another great southern family; she did not neglect to add that another reason for our being in connecticut was that he intended to give me an education and make a man of me. in none of her talks did she ever utter one word of complaint against my father. she always endeavored to impress upon me how good he had been and still was, and that he was all to us that custom and the law would allow. she loved him; more, she worshiped him, and she died firmly believing that he loved her more than any other woman in the world. perhaps she was right. who knows? all of these newly awakened ideas and thoughts took the form of a definite aspiration on the day i graduated from the grammar school. and what a day that was! the girls in white dresses, with fresh ribbons in their hair; the boys in new suits and creaky shoes; the great crowd of parents and friends; the flowers, the prizes and congratulations, made the day seem to me one of the greatest importance. i was on the program, and played a piano solo which was received by the audience with that amount of applause which i had come to look upon as being only the just due of my talent. but the real enthusiasm was aroused by "shiny." he was the principal speaker of the day, and well did he measure up to the honor. he made a striking picture, that thin little black boy standing on the platform, dressed in clothes that did not fit him any too well, his eyes burning with excitement, his shrill, musical voice vibrating in tones of appealing defiance, and his black face alight with such great intelligence and earnestness as to be positively handsome. what were his thoughts when he stepped forward and looked into that crowd of faces, all white with the exception of a score or so that were lost to view? i do not know, but i fancy he felt his loneliness. i think there must have rushed over him a feeling akin to that of a gladiator tossed into the arena and bade to fight for his life. i think that solitary little black figure standing there felt that for the particular time and place he bore the weight and responsibility of his race; that for him to fail meant general defeat; but he won, and nobly. his oration was wendell phillips's "toussaint l'ouverture," a speech which may now be classed as rhetorical--even, perhaps, bombastic; but as the words fell from "shiny's" lips their effect was magical. how so young an orator could stir so great enthusiasm was to be wondered at. when, in the famous peroration, his voice, trembling with suppressed emotion, rose higher and higher and then rested on the name "toussaint l'ouverture," it was like touching an electric button which loosed the pent-up feelings of his listeners. they actually rose to him. i have since known of colored men who have been chosen as class orators in our leading universities, of others who have played on the varsity football and baseball teams, of colored speakers who have addressed great white audiences. in each of these instances i believe the men were stirred by the same emotions which actuated "shiny" on the day of his graduation; and, too, in each case where the efforts have reached any high standard of excellence they have been followed by the same phenomenon of enthusiasm. i think the explanation of the latter lies in what is a basic, though often dormant, principle of the anglo-saxon heart, love of fair play. "shiny," it is true, was what is so common in his race, a natural orator; but i doubt that any white boy of equal talent could have wrought the same effect. the sight of that boy gallantly waging with puny, black arms so unequal a battle touched the deep springs in the hearts of his audience, and they were swept by a wave of sympathy and admiration. but the effect upon me of "shiny's" speech was double; i not only shared the enthusiasm of his audience, but he imparted to me some of his own enthusiasm. i felt leap within me pride that i was colored; and i began to form wild dreams of bringing glory and honor to the negro race. for days i could talk of nothing else with my mother except my ambitions to be a great man, a great colored man, to reflect credit on the race and gain fame for myself. it was not until years after that i formulated a definite and feasible plan for realizing my dreams. i entered the high school with my class, and still continued my study of the piano, the pipe organ, and the theory of music. i had to drop out of the boys' choir on account of a changing voice; this i regretted very much. as i grew older, my love for reading grew stronger. i read with studious interest everything i could find relating to colored men who had gained prominence. my heroes had been king david, then robert the bruce; now frederick douglass was enshrined in the place of honor. when i learned that alexandre dumas was a colored man, i re-read _monte cristo_ and _the three guardsmen_ with magnified pleasure. i lived between my music and books, on the whole a rather unwholesome life for a boy to lead. i dwelt in a world of imagination, of dreams and air castles--the kind of atmosphere that sometimes nourishes a genius, more often men unfitted for the practical struggles of life. i never played a game of ball, never went fishing or learned to swim; in fact, the only outdoor exercise in which i took any interest was skating. nevertheless, though slender, i grew well formed and in perfect health. after i entered the high school, i began to notice the change in my mother's health, which i suppose had been going on for some years. she began to complain a little and to cough a great deal; she tried several remedies, and finally went to see a doctor; but though she was failing in health, she kept her spirits up. she still did a great deal of sewing, and in the busy seasons hired two women to help her. the purpose she had formed of having me go through college without financial worries kept her at work when she was not fit for it. i was so fortunate as to be able to organize a class of eight or ten beginners on the piano, and so start a separate little fund of my own. as the time for my graduation from the high school grew nearer, the plans for my college career became the chief subject of our talks. i sent for catalogues of all the prominent schools in the east and eagerly gathered all the information i could concerning them from different sources. my mother told me that my father wanted me to go to harvard or yale; she herself had a half desire for me to go to atlanta university, and even had me write for a catalogue of that school. there were two reasons, however, that inclined her to my father's choice; the first, that at harvard or yale i should be near her; the second, that my father had promised to pay for a part of my college education. both "shiny" and "red" came to my house quite often of evenings, and we used to talk over our plans and prospects for the future. sometimes i would play for them, and they seemed to enjoy the music very much. my mother often prepared sundry southern dishes for them, which i am not sure but that they enjoyed more. "shiny" had an uncle in amherst, mass., and he expected to live with him and work his way through amherst college. "red" declared that he had enough of school and that after he got his high school diploma, he would get a position in a bank. it was his ambition to become a banker and he felt sure of getting the opportunity through certain members of his family. my mother barely had strength to attend the closing exercises of the high school when i graduated, and after that day she was seldom out of bed. she could no longer direct her work, and under the expense of medicines, doctors, and someone to look after her our college fund began to diminish rapidly. many of her customers and some of the neighbors were very kind, and frequently brought her nourishment of one kind or another. my mother realized what i did not, that she was mortally ill, and she had me write a long letter to my father. for some time past she had heard from him only at irregular intervals; we never received an answer. in those last days i often sat at her bedside and read to her until she fell asleep. sometimes i would leave the parlor door open and play on the piano, just loud enough for the music to reach her. this she always enjoyed. one night, near the end of july, after i had been watching beside her for some hours, i went into the parlor and, throwing myself into the big arm chair, dozed off into a fitful sleep. i was suddenly aroused by one of the neighbors, who had come in to sit with her that night. she said: "come to your mother at once." i hurried upstairs, and at the bedroom door met the woman who was acting as nurse. i noted with a dissolving heart the strange look of awe on her face. from my first glance at my mother i discerned the light of death upon her countenance. i fell upon my knees beside the bed and, burying my face in the sheets, sobbed convulsively. she died with the fingers of her left hand entwined in my hair. i will not rake over this, one of the two sacred sorrows of my life; nor could i describe the feeling of unutterable loneliness that fell upon me. after the funeral i went to the house of my music teacher; he had kindly offered me the hospitality of his home for so long as i might need it. a few days later i moved my trunk, piano, my music, and most of my books to his home; the rest of my books i divided between "shiny" and "red." some of the household effects i gave to "shiny's" mother and to two or three of the neighbors who had been kind to us during my mother's illness; the others i sold. after settling up my little estate i found that, besides a good supply of clothes, a piano, some books and trinkets, i had about two hundred dollars in cash. the question of what i was to do now confronted me. my teacher suggested a concert tour; but both of us realized that i was too old to be exploited as an infant prodigy and too young and inexperienced to go before the public as a finished artist. he, however, insisted that the people of the town would generously patronize a benefit concert; so he took up the matter and made arrangements for such an entertainment. a more than sufficient number of people with musical and elocutionary talent volunteered their services to make a program. among these was my brown-eyed violinist. but our relations were not the same as they were when we had played our first duet together. a year or so after that time she had dealt me a crushing blow by getting married. i was partially avenged, however, by the fact that, though she was growing more beautiful, she was losing her ability to play the violin. i was down on the program for one number. my selection might have appeared at that particular time as a bit of affectation, but i considered it deeply appropriate; i played beethoven's "sonata pathétique." when i sat down at the piano and glanced into the faces of the several hundreds of people who were there solely on account of love or sympathy for me, emotions swelled in my heart which enabled me to play the "pathétique" as i could never again play it. when the last tone died away, the few who began to applaud were hushed by the silence of the others; and for once i played without receiving an encore. the benefit yielded me a little more than two hundred dollars, thus raising my cash capital to about four hundred dollars. i still held to my determination of going to college; so it was now a question of trying to squeeze through a year at harvard or going to atlanta, where the money i had would pay my actual expenses for at least two years. the peculiar fascination which the south held over my imagination and my limited capital decided me in favor of atlanta university; so about the last of september i bade farewell to the friends and scenes of my boyhood and boarded a train for the south. iv the farther i got below washington, the more disappointed i became in the appearance of the country. i peered through the car windows, looking in vain for the luxuriant semi-tropical scenery which i had pictured in my mind. i did not find the grass so green, nor the woods so beautiful, nor the flowers so plentiful, as they were in connecticut. instead, the red earth partly covered by tough, scrawny grass, the muddy, straggling roads, the cottages of unpainted pine boards, and the clay-daubed huts imparted a "burnt up" impression. occasionally we ran through a little white and green village that was like an oasis in a desert. when i reached atlanta, my steadily increasing disappointment was not lessened. i found it a big, dull, red town. this dull red color of that part of the south i was then seeing had much, i think, to do with the extreme depression of my spirits--no public squares, no fountains, dingy street-cars, and, with the exception of three or four principal thoroughfares, unpaved streets. it was raining when i arrived and some of these unpaved streets were absolutely impassable. wheels sank to the hubs in red mire, and i actually stood for an hour and watched four or five men work to save a mule, which had stepped into a deep sink, from drowning, or, rather, suffocating in the mud. the atlanta of today is a new city. on the train i had talked with one of the pullman car porters, a bright young fellow who was himself a student, and told him that i was going to atlanta to attend school. i had also asked him to tell me where i might stop for a day or two until the university opened. he said i might go with him to the place where he stopped during his "lay-overs" in atlanta. i gladly accepted his offer and went with him along one of those muddy streets until we came to a rather rickety looking frame house, which we entered. the proprietor of the house was a big, fat, greasy-looking brown-skin man. when i asked him if he could give me accommodations, he wanted to know how long i would stay. i told him perhaps two days, not more than three. in reply he said: "oh, dat's all right den," at the same time leading the way up a pair of creaky stairs. i followed him and the porter to a room, the door of which the proprietor opened while continuing, it seemed, his remark, "oh, dat's all right den," by adding: "you kin sleep in dat cot in de corner der. fifty cents, please." the porter interrupted by saying: "you needn't collect from him now, he's got a trunk." this seemed to satisfy the man, and he went down, leaving me and my porter friend in the room. i glanced around the apartment and saw that it contained a double bed and two cots, two wash-stands, three chairs, and a time-worn bureau, with a looking-glass that would have made adonis appear hideous. i looked at the cot in which i was to sleep and suspected, not without good reasons, that i should not be the first to use the sheets and pillow-case since they had last come from the wash. when i thought of the clean, tidy, comfortable surroundings in which i had been reared, a wave of homesickness swept over me that made me feel faint. had it not been for the presence of my companion, and that i knew this much of his history--that he was not yet quite twenty, just three years older than myself, and that he had been fighting his own way in the world, earning his own living and providing for his own education since he was fourteen--i should not have been able to stop the tears that were welling up in my eyes. i asked him why it was that the proprietor of the house seemed unwilling to accommodate me for more than a couple of days. he informed me that the man ran a lodging house especially for pullman porters, and, as their stays in town were not longer than one or two nights, it would interfere with his arrangements to have anyone stay longer. he went on to say: "you see this room is fixed up to accommodate four men at a time. well, by keeping a sort of table of trips, in and out, of the men, and working them like checkers, he can accommodate fifteen or sixteen in each week and generally avoid having an empty bed. you happen to catch a bed that would have been empty for a couple of nights." i asked him where he was going to sleep. he answered: "i sleep in that other cot tonight; tomorrow night i go out." he went on to tell me that the man who kept the house did not serve meals, and that if i was hungry, we would go out and get something to eat. we went into the street, and in passing the railroad station i hired a wagon to take my trunk to my lodging place. we passed along until, finally, we turned into a street that stretched away, up and down hill, for a mile or two; and here i caught my first sight of colored people in large numbers. i had seen little squads around the railroad stations on my way south, but here i saw a street crowded with them. they filled the shops and thronged the, sidewalks and lined the curb. i asked my companion if all the colored people in atlanta lived in this street. he said they did not and assured me that the ones i saw were of the lower class. i felt relieved, in spite of the size of the lower class. the unkempt appearance, the shambling, slouching gait and loud talk and laughter of these people aroused in me a feeling of almost repulsion. only one thing about them awoke a feeling of interest; that was their dialect. i had read some negro dialect and had heard snatches of it on my journey down from washington; but here i heard it in all of its fullness and freedom. i was particularly struck by the way in which it was punctuated by such exclamatory phrases as "lawd a mussy!" "g'wan, man!" "bless ma soul!" "look heah, chile!" these people talked and laughed without restraint. in fact, they talked straight from their lungs and laughed from the pits of their stomachs. and this hearty laughter was often justified by the droll humor of some remark. i paused long enough to hear one man say to another: "wat's de mattah wid you an' yo' fr'en' sam?" and the other came back like a flash: "ma fr'en'? he ma fr'en'? man! i'd go to his funeral jes' de same as i'd go to a minstrel show." i have since learned that this ability to laugh heartily is, in part, the salvation of the american negro; it does much to keep him from going the way of the indian. the business places of the street along which we were passing consisted chiefly of low bars, cheap dry-goods and notion stores, barber shops, and fish and bread restaurants. we, at length, turned down a pair of stairs that led to a basement and i found myself in an eating-house somewhat better than those i had seen in passing; but that did not mean much for its excellence. the place was smoky, the tables were covered with oilcloth, the floor with sawdust, and from the kitchen came a rancid odor of fish fried over several times, which almost nauseated me. i asked my companion if this was the place where we were to eat. he informed me that it was the best place in town where a colored man could get a meal. i then wanted to know why somebody didn't open a place where respectable colored people who had money could be accommodated. he answered: "it wouldn't pay; all the respectable colored people eat at home, and the few who travel generally have friends in the towns to which they go, who entertain them." he added: "of course, you could go in any place in the city; they wouldn't know you from white." i sat down with the porter at one of the tables, but was not hungry enough to eat with any relish what was put before me. the food was not badly cooked; but the iron knives and forks needed to be scrubbed, the plates and dishes and glasses needed to be washed and well dried. i minced over what i took on my plate while my companion ate. when we finished, we paid the waiter twenty cents each and went out. we walked around until the lights of the city were lit. then the porter said that he must get to bed and have some rest, as he had not had six hours' sleep since he left jersey city. i went back to our lodging house with him. when i awoke in the morning, there were, besides my new-found friend, two other men in the room, asleep in the double bed. i got up and dressed myself very quietly, so as not to awake anyone. i then drew from under the pillow my precious roll of greenbacks, took out a ten-dollar bill, and, very softly unlocking my trunk, put the remainder, about three hundred dollars, in the inside pocket of a coat near the bottom, glad of the opportunity to put it unobserved in a place of safety. when i had carefully locked my trunk, i tiptoed toward the door with the intention of going out to look for a decent restaurant where i might get something fit to eat. as i was easing the door open, my porter friend said with a yawn: "hello! you're going out?" i answered him: "yes." "oh!" he yawned again, "i guess i've had enough sleep; wait a minute, i'll go with you." for the instant his friendship bored and embarrassed me. i had visions of another meal in the greasy restaurant of the day before. he must have divined my thoughts, for he went on to say: "i know a woman across town who takes a few boarders; i think we can go over there and get a good breakfast." with a feeling of mingled fears and doubts regarding what the breakfast might be, i waited until he had dressed himself. when i saw the neat appearance of the cottage we entered, my fears vanished, and when i saw the woman who kept it, my doubts followed the same course. scrupulously clean, in a spotless white apron and colored head-handkerchief, her round face beaming with motherly kindness, she was picturesquely beautiful. she impressed me as one broad expanse of happiness and good nature. in a few minutes she was addressing me as "chile" and "honey." she made me feel as though i should like to lay my head on her capacious bosom and go to sleep. and the breakfast, simple as it was, i could not have had at any restaurant in atlanta at any price. there was fried chicken, as it is fried only in the south, hominy boiled to the consistency where it could be eaten with a fork, and biscuits so light and flaky that a fellow with any appetite at all would have no difficulty in disposing of eight or ten. when i had finished, i felt that i had experienced the realization of, at least, one of my dreams of southern life. during the meal we found out from our hostess, who had two boys in school, that atlanta university opened on that very day. i had somehow mixed my dates. my friend the porter suggested that i go out to the university at once and offered to walk over and show me the way. we had to walk because, although the university was not more than twenty minutes' distance from the center of the city, there were no street-cars running in that direction. my first sight of the school grounds made me feel that i was not far from home; here the red hills had been terraced and covered with green grass; clean gravel walks, well shaded, led up to the buildings; indeed, it was a bit of new england transplanted. at the gate my companion said he would bid me good-by, because it was likely that he would not see me again before his car went out. he told me that he would make two more trips to atlanta and that he would come out and see me; that after his second trip he would leave the pullman service for the winter and return to school in nashville. we shook hands, i thanked him for all his kindness, and we said good-by. i walked up to a group of students and made some inquiries. they directed me to the president's office in the main building. the president gave me a cordial welcome; it was more than cordial; he talked to me, not as the official head of a college, but as though he were adopting me into what was his large family, personally to look after my general welfare as well as my education. he seemed especially pleased with the fact that i had come to them all the way from the north. he told me that i could have come to the school as soon as i had reached the city and that i had better move my trunk out at once. i gladly promised him that i would do so. he then called a boy and directed him to take me to the matron, and to show me around afterwards. i found the matron even more motherly than the president was fatherly. she had me register, which was in effect to sign a pledge to abstain from the use of intoxicating beverages, tobacco, and profane language while i was a student in the school. this act caused me no sacrifice, as, up to that time, i was free from all three habits. the boy who was with me then showed me about the grounds. i was especially interested in the industrial building. the sounding of a bell, he told me, was the signal for the students to gather in the general assembly hall, and he asked me if i would go. of course i would. there were between three and four hundred students and perhaps all of the teachers gathered in the room. i noticed that several of the latter were colored. the president gave a talk addressed principally to newcomers; but i scarcely heard what he said, i was so much occupied in looking at those around me. they were of all types and colors, the more intelligent types predominating. the colors ranged from jet black to pure white, with light hair and eyes. among the girls especially there were many so fair that it was difficult to believe that they had negro blood in them. and, too, i could not help noticing that many of the girls, particularly those of the delicate brown shades, with black eyes and wavy dark hair, were decidedly pretty. among the boys many of the blackest were fine specimens of young manhood, tall, straight, and muscular, with magnificent heads; these were the kind of boys who developed into the patriarchal "uncles" of the old slave regime. when i left the university, it was with the determination to get my trunk and move out to the school before night. i walked back across the city with a light step and a light heart. i felt perfectly satisfied with life for the first time since my mother's death. in passing the railroad station i hired a wagon and rode with the driver as far as my stopping-place. i settled with my landlord and went upstairs to put away several articles i had left out. as soon as i opened my trunk, a dart of suspicion shot through my heart; the arrangement of things did not look familiar. i began to dig down excitedly to the bottom till i reached the coat in which i had concealed my treasure. my money was gone! every single bill of it. i knew it was useless to do so, but i searched through every other coat, every pair of trousers, every vest, and even each pair of socks. when i had finished my fruitless search, i sat down dazed and heartsick. i called the landlord up and informed him of my loss; he comforted me by saying that i ought to have better sense than to keep money in a trunk and that he was not responsible for his lodgers' personal effects. his cooling words brought me enough to my senses to cause me to look and see if anything else was missing. several small articles were gone, among them a black and gray necktie of odd design upon which my heart was set; almost as much as the loss of my money i felt the loss of my tie. after thinking for a while as best i could, i wisely decided to go at once back to the university and lay my troubles before the president. i rushed breathlessly back to the school. as i neared the grounds, the thought came across me, would not my story sound fishy? would it not place me in the position of an impostor or beggar? what right had i to worry these busy people with the results of my carelessness? if the money could not be recovered, and i doubted that it could, what good would it do to tell them about it? the shame and embarrassment which the whole situation gave me caused me to stop at the gate. i paused, undecided, for a moment; then, turned and slowly retraced my steps, and so changed the whole course of my life. if the reader has never been in a strange city without money or friends, it is useless to try to describe what my feelings were; he could not understand. if he has been, it is equally useless, for he understands more than words could convey. when i reached my lodgings, i found in the room one of the porters who had slept there the night before. when he heard what misfortune had befallen me, he offered many words of sympathy and advice. he asked me how much money i had left. i told him that i had ten or twelve dollars in my pocket. he said: "that won't last you very long here, and you will hardly be able to find anything to do in atlanta. i'll tell you what you do, go down to jacksonville and you won't have any trouble to get a job in one of the big hotels there, or in st. augustine." i thanked him, but intimated my doubts of being able to get to jacksonville on the money i had. he reassured me by saying: "oh, that's all right. you express your trunk on through, and i'll take you down in my closet." i thanked him again, not knowing then what it was to travel in a pullman porter's closet. he put me under a deeper debt of gratitude by lending me fifteen dollars, which he said i could pay back after i had secured work. his generosity brought tears to my eyes, and i concluded that, after all, there were some kind hearts in the world. i now forgot my troubles in the hurry and excitement of getting my trunk off in time to catch the train, which went out at seven o'clock. i even forgot that i hadn't eaten anything since morning. we got a wagon--the porter went with me--and took my trunk to the express office. my new friend then told me to come to the station at about a quarter of seven and walk straight to the car where i should see him standing, and not to lose my nerve. i found my role not so difficult to play as i thought it would be, because the train did not leave from the central station, but from a smaller one, where there were no gates and guards to pass. i followed directions, and the porter took me on his car and locked me in his closet. in a few minutes the train pulled out for jacksonville. i may live to be a hundred years old, but i shall never forget the agonies i suffered that night. i spent twelve hours doubled up in the porter's basket for soiled linen, not being able to straighten up on account of the shelves for clean linen just over my head. the air was hot and suffocating and the smell of damp towels and used linen was sickening. at each lurch of the car over the none-too-smooth track i was bumped and bruised against the narrow walls of my narrow compartment. i became acutely conscious of the fact that i had not eaten for hours. then nausea took possession of me, and at one time i had grave doubts about reaching my destination alive. if i had the trip to make again, i should prefer to walk. v the next morning i got out of the car at jacksonville with a stiff and aching body. i determined to ask no more porters, not even my benefactor, about stopping-places; so i found myself on the street not knowing where to go. i walked along listlessly until i met a colored man who had the appearance of a preacher. i asked him if he could direct me to a respectable boarding-house for colored people. he said that if i walked along with him in the direction he was going, he would show me such a place: i turned and walked at his side. he proved to be a minister, and asked me a great many direct questions about myself. i answered as many as i saw fit to answer; the others i evaded or ignored. at length we stopped in front of a frame house, and my guide informed me that it was the place. a woman was standing in the doorway, and he called to her saying that he had brought her a new boarder. i thanked him for his trouble, and after he had urged upon, me to attend his church while i was in the city, he went on his way. i went in and found the house neat and not uncomfortable. the parlor was furnished with cane-bottomed chairs, each of which was adorned with a white crocheted tidy. the mantel over the fireplace had a white crocheted cover; a marble-topped center table held a lamp, a photograph album and several trinkets, each of which was set upon a white crocheted mat. there was a cottage organ in a corner of the room, and i noted that the lamp-racks upon it were covered with white crocheted mats. there was a matting on the floor, but a white crocheted carpet would not have been out of keeping. i made arrangements with the landlady for my board and lodging; the amount was, i think, three dollars and a half a week. she was a rather fine-looking, stout, brown-skin woman of about forty years of age. her husband was a light-colored cuban, a man about one half her size, and one whose age could not be guessed from his appearance. he was small in size, but a handsome black mustache and typical spanish eyes redeemed him from insignificance. i was in time for breakfast, and at the table i had the opportunity to see my fellow boarders. there were eight or ten of them. two, as i afterwards learned, were colored americans. all of them were cigar makers and worked in one of the large factories--cigar making is one trade in which the color line is not drawn. the conversation was carried on entirely in spanish, and my ignorance of the language subjected me more to alarm than embarrassment. i had never heard such uproarious conversation; everybody talked at once, loud exclamations, rolling "_carambas_," menacing gesticulations with knives, forks, and spoons. i looked every moment for the clash of blows. one man was emphasizing his remarks by flourishing a cup in his hand, seemingly forgetful of the fact that it was nearly full of hot coffee. he ended by emptying it over what was, relatively, the only quiet man at the table excepting myself, bringing from him a volley of language which made the others appear dumb by comparison. i soon learned that in all of this clatter of voices and table utensils they were discussing purely ordinary affairs and arguing about mere trifles, and that not the least ill feeling was aroused. it was not long before i enjoyed the spirited chatter and _badinage_ at the table as much as i did my meals--and the meals were not bad. i spent the afternoon in looking around the town. the streets were sandy, but were well-shaded by fine oak trees and far preferable to the clay roads of atlanta. one or two public squares with green grass and trees gave the city a touch of freshness. that night after supper i spoke to my landlady and her husband about my intentions. they told me that the big winter hotels would not open within two months. it can easily be imagined what effect this news had on me. i spoke to them frankly about my financial condition and related the main fact of my misfortune in atlanta. i modestly mentioned my ability to teach music and asked if there was any likelihood of my being able to get some scholars. my landlady suggested that i speak to the preacher who had shown me her house; she felt sure that through his influence i should be able to get up a class in piano. she added, however, that the colored people were poor, and that the general price for music lessons was only twenty-five cents. i noticed that the thought of my teaching white pupils did not even remotely enter her mind. none of this information made my prospects look much brighter. the husband, who up to this time had allowed the woman to do most of the talking, gave me the first bit of tangible hope; he said that he could get me a job as a "stripper" in the factory where he worked, and that if i succeeded in getting some music pupils, i could teach a couple of them every night, and so make a living until something better turned up. he went on to say that it would not be a bad thing for me to stay at the factory and learn my trade as a cigar maker, and impressed on me that, for a young man knocking about the country, a trade was a handy thing to have. i determined to accept his offer and thanked him heartily. in fact, i became enthusiastic, not only because i saw a way out of my financial troubles, but also because i was eager and curious over the new experience i was about to enter. i wanted to know all about the cigar making business. this narrowed the conversation down to the husband and myself, so the wife went in and left us talking. he was what is called a _regalia_ workman, and earned from thirty-five to forty dollars a week. he generally worked a sixty-dollar job; that is, he made cigars for which he was paid at the rate of sixty dollars per thousand. it was impossible for him to make a thousand in a week because he had to work very carefully and slowly. each cigar was made entirely by hand. each piece of filler and each wrapper had to be selected with care. he was able to make a bundle of one hundred cigars in a day, not one of which could be told from the others by any difference in size or shape, or even by any appreciable difference in weight. this was the acme of artistic skill in cigar making. workmen of this class were rare, never more than three or four in one factory, and it was never necessary for them to remain out of work. there were men who made two, three, and four hundred cigars of the cheaper grades in a day; they had to be very fast in order to make a decent week's wages. cigar making was a rather independent trade; the men went to work when they pleased and knocked off when they felt like doing so. as a class the workmen were careless and improvident; some very rapid makers would not work more than three or four days out of the week, and there were others who never showed up at the factory on mondays. "strippers" were the boys who pulled the long stems from the tobacco leaves. after they had served at that work for a certain time they were given tables as apprentices. all of this was interesting to me; and we drifted along in conversation until my companion struck the subject nearest his heart, the independence of cuba. he was an exile from the island, and a prominent member of the jacksonville junta. every week sums of money were collected from juntas all over the country. this money went to buy arms and ammunition for the insurgents. as the man sat there nervously smoking his long, "green" cigar, and telling me of the gómezes, both the white one and the black one, of macéo and bandera, he grew positively eloquent. he also showed that he was a man of considerable education and reading. he spoke english excellently, and frequently surprised me by using words one would hardly expect from a foreigner. the first one of this class of words he employed almost shocked me, and i never forgot it; 'twas "ramify." we sat on the piazza until after ten o'clock. when we arose to go in to bed, it was with the understanding that i should start in the factory on the next day. i began work the next morning seated at a barrel with another boy, who showed me how to strip the stems from the leaves, to smooth out each half leaf, and to put the "rights" together in one pile, and the "lefts" together in another pile on the edge of the barrel. my fingers, strong and sensitive from their long training, were well adapted to this kind of work, and within two weeks i was accounted the fastest "stripper" in the factory. at first the heavy odor of the tobacco almost sickened me, but when i became accustomed to it, i liked the smell. i was now earning four dollars a week, and was soon able to pick up a couple more by teaching a few scholars at night, whom i had secured through the good offices of the preacher i had met on my first morning in jacksonville. at the end of about three months, through my skill as a "stripper" and the influence of my landlord, i was advanced to a table and began to learn my trade; in fact, more than my trade; for i learned not only to make cigars, but also to smoke, to swear, and to speak spanish. i discovered that i had a talent for languages as well as for music. the rapidity and ease with which i acquired spanish astonished my associates. in a short time i was able not only to understand most of what was said at the table during meals, but to join in the conversation. i bought a method for learning the spanish language, and with the aid of my landlord as a teacher, by constant practice with my fellow workmen, and by regularly reading the cuban newspapers and finally some books of standard spanish literature which were at the house, i was able in less than a year to speak like a native. in fact, it was my pride that i spoke better spanish than many of the cuban workmen at the factory. after i had been in the factory a little over a year, i was repaid for all the effort i had put forth to learn spanish by being selected as "reader." the "reader" is quite an institution in all cigar factories which employ spanish-speaking workmen. he sits in the center of the large room in which the cigar makers work and reads to them for a certain number of hours each day all the important news from the papers and whatever else he may consider would be interesting. he often selects an exciting novel and reads it in daily installments. he must, of course, have a good voice, but he must also have a reputation among the men for intelligence, for being well-posted and having in his head a stock of varied information. he is generally the final authority on all arguments which arise, and in a cigar factory these arguments are many and frequent, ranging from the respective and relative merits of rival baseball clubs to the duration of the sun's light and energy--cigar making is a trade in which talk does not interfere with work. my position as "reader" not only released me from the rather monotonous work of rolling cigars, and gave me something more in accord with my tastes, but also added considerably to my income. i was now earning about twenty-five dollars a week, and was able to give up my peripatetic method of giving music lessons. i hired a piano and taught only those who could arrange to take their lessons where i lived. i finally gave up teaching entirely, as what i made scarcely paid for my time and trouble. i kept the piano, however, in order to keep up my own studies, and occasionally i played at some church concert or other charitable entertainment. through my music teaching and my not absolutely irregular attendance at church, i became acquainted with the best class of colored people in jacksonville. this was really my entrance into the race. it was my initiation into what i have termed the freemasonry of the race. i had formulated a theory of what it was to be colored; now i was getting the practice. the novelty of my position caused me to observe and consider things which, i think, entirely escaped the young men i associated with; or, at least, were so commonplace to them as not to attract their attention. and of many of the impressions which came to me then i have realized the full import only within the past few years, since i have had a broader knowledge of men and history, and a fuller comprehension of the tremendous struggle which is going on between the races in the south. it is a struggle; for though the black man fights passively, he nevertheless fights; and his passive resistance is more effective at present than active resistance could possibly be. he bears the fury of the storm as does the willow tree. it is a struggle; for though the white man of the south may be too proud to admit it, he is, nevertheless, using in the contest his best energies; he is devoting to it the greater part of his thought and much of his endeavor. the south today stands panting and almost breathless from its exertions. and how the scene of the struggle has shifted! the battle was first waged over the right of the negro to be classed as a human being with a soul; later, as to whether he had sufficient intellect to master even the rudiments of learning; and today it is being fought out over his social recognition. i said somewhere in the early part of this narrative that because the colored man looked at everything through the prism of his relationship to society as a _colored_ man, and because most of his mental efforts ran through the narrow channel bounded by his rights and his wrongs, it was to be wondered at that he has progressed so broadly as he has. the same thing may be said of the white man of the south; most of his mental efforts run through one narrow channel; his life as a man and a citizen, many of his financial activities, and all of his political activities are impassably limited by the ever present "negro question." i am sure it would be safe to wager that no group of southern white men could get together and talk for sixty minutes without bringing up the "race question." if a northern white man happened to be in the group, the time could be safely cut to thirty minutes. in this respect i consider the conditions of the whites more to be deplored than that of the blacks. here, a truly great people, a people that produced a majority of the great historic americans from washington to lincoln, now forced to use up its energies in a conflict as lamentable as it is violent. i shall give the observations i made in jacksonville as seen through the light of after years; and they apply generally to every southern community. the colored people may be said to be roughly divided into three classes, not so much in respect to themselves as in respect to their relations with the whites. there are those constituting what might be called the desperate class--the men who work in the lumber and turpentine camps, the ex-convicts, the bar-room loafers are all in this class. these men conform to the requirements of civilization much as a trained lion with low muttered growls goes through his stunts under the crack of the trainer's whip. they cherish a sullen hatred for all white men, and they value life as cheap. i have heard more than one of them say: "i'll go to hell for the first white man that bothers me." many who have expressed that sentiment have kept their word, and it is that fact which gives such prominence to this class; for in numbers it is only a small proportion of the colored people, but it often dominates public opinion concerning the whole race. happily, this class represents the black people of the south far below their normal physical and moral condition, but in its increase lies the possibility of grave dangers. i am sure there is no more urgent work before the white south, not only for its present happiness, but for its future safety, than the decreasing of this class of blacks. and it is not at all a hopeless class; for these men are but the creatures of conditions, as much so as the slum and criminal elements of all the great cities of the world are creatures of conditions. decreasing their number by shooting and burning them off will not be successful; for these men are truly desperate, and thoughts of death, however terrible, have little effect in deterring them from acts the result of hatred or degeneracy. this class of blacks hate everything covered by a white skin, and in return they are loathed by the whites. the whites regard them just about as a man would a vicious mule, a thing to be worked, driven, and beaten, and killed for kicking. the second class, as regards the relation between blacks and whites, comprises the servants, the washerwomen, the waiters, the cooks, the coachmen, and all who are connected with the whites by domestic service. these may be generally characterized as simple, kind-hearted, and faithful; not over-fine in their moral deductions, but intensely religious, and relatively--such matters can be judged only relatively--about as honest and wholesome in their lives as any other grade of society. any white person is "good" who treats them kindly, and they love him for that kindness. in return, the white people with whom they have to do regard them with indulgent affection. they come into close daily contact with the whites, and may be called the connecting link between whites and blacks; in fact, it is through them that the whites know the rest of their colored neighbors. between this class of the blacks and the whites there is little or no friction. the third class is composed of the independent workmen and tradesmen, and of the well-to-do and educated colored people; and, strange to say, for a directly opposite reason they are as far removed from the whites as the members of the first class i mentioned. these people live in a little world of their own; in fact, i concluded that if a colored man wanted to separate himself from his white neighbors, he had but to acquire some money, education, and culture, and to live in accordance. for example, the proudest and fairest lady in the south could with propriety--and it is what she would most likely do--go to the cabin of aunt mary, her cook, if aunt mary was sick, and minister to her comfort with her own hands; but if mary's daughter, eliza, a girl who used to run round my lady's kitchen, but who has received an education and married a prosperous young colored man, were at death's door, my lady would no more think of crossing the threshold of eliza's cottage than she would of going into a bar-room for a drink. i was walking down the street one day with a young man who was born in jacksonville, but had been away to prepare himself for a professional life. we passed a young white man, and my companion said to me: "you see that young man? we grew up together; we have played, hunted, and fished together; we have even eaten and slept together; and now since i have come back home, he barely speaks to me." the fact that the whites of the south despise and ill-treat the desperate class of blacks is not only explainable according to the ancient laws of human nature, but it is not nearly so serious or important as the fact that as the progressive colored people advance, they constantly widen the gulf between themselves and their white neighbors. i think that the white people somehow feel that colored people who have education and money, who wear good clothes and live in comfortable houses, are "putting on airs," that they do these things for the sole purpose of "spiting the white folks," or are, at best, going through a sort of monkey-like imitation. of course, such feelings can only cause irritation or breed disgust. it seems that the whites have not yet been able to realize and understand that these people in striving to better their physical and social surroundings in accordance with their financial and intellectual progress are simply obeying an impulse which is common to human nature the world over. i am in grave doubt as to whether the greater part of the friction in the south is caused by the whites' having a natural antipathy to negroes as a race, or an acquired antipathy to negroes in certain relations to themselves. however that may be, there is to my mind no more pathetic side of this many-sided question than the isolated position into which are forced the very colored people who most need and who could best appreciate sympathetic cooperation; and their position grows tragic when the effort is made to couple them, whether or no, with the negroes of the first class i mentioned. this latter class of colored people are well-disposed towards the whites, and always willing to meet them more than halfway. they, however, feel keenly any injustice or gross discrimination, and generally show their resentment. the effort is sometimes made to convey the impression that the better class of colored people fight against riding in "jim crow" cars because they want to ride with white people or object to being with humbler members of their own race. the truth is they object to the humiliation of being forced to ride in a _particular_ car, aside from the fact that that car is distinctly inferior, and that they are required to pay full first-class fare. to say that the whites are forced to ride in the superior car is less than a joke. and, too, odd as it may sound, refined colored people get no more pleasure out of riding with offensive negroes than anybody else would get. i can realize more fully than i could years ago that the position of the advanced element of the colored race is often very trying. they are the ones among the blacks who carry the entire weight of the race question; it worries the others very little, and i believe the only thing which at times sustains them is that they know that they are in the right. on the other hand, this class of colored people get a good deal of pleasure out of life; their existence is far from being one long groan about their condition. out of a chaos of ignorance and poverty they have evolved a social life of which they need not be ashamed. in cities where the professional and well-to-do class is large they have formed society--society as discriminating as the actual conditions will allow it to be; i should say, perhaps, society possessing discriminating tendencies which become rules as fast as actual conditions allow. this statement will, i know, sound preposterous, even ridiculous, to some persons; but as this class of colored people is the least known of the race it is not surprising. these social circles are connected throughout the country, and a person in good standing in one city is readily accepted in another. one who is on the outside will often find it a difficult matter to get in. i know personally of one case in which money to the extent of thirty or forty thousand dollars and a fine house, not backed up by a good reputation, after several years of repeated effort, failed to gain entry for the possessor. these people have their dances and dinners and card parties, their musicals, and their literary societies. the women attend social affairs dressed in good taste, and the men in dress suits which they own; and the reader will make a mistake to confound these entertainments with the "bellman's balls" and "whitewashers' picnics" and "lime-kiln clubs" with which the humorous press of the country illustrates "cullud sassiety." jacksonville, when i was there, was a small town, and the number of educated and well-to-do colored people was small; so this society phase of life did not equal what i have since seen in boston, washington, richmond, and nashville; and it is upon what i have more recently seen in these cities that i have made the observations just above. however, there were many comfortable and pleasant homes in jacksonville to which i was often invited. i belonged to the literary society--at which we generally discussed the race question--and attended all of the church festivals and other charitable entertainments. in this way i passed three years which were not at all the least enjoyable of my life. in fact, my joy took such an exuberant turn that i fell in love with a young school teacher and began to have dreams of matrimonial bliss; but another turn in the course of my life brought these dreams to an end. i do not wish to mislead my readers into thinking that i led a life in jacksonville which would make copy for the hero of a sunday-school library book. i was a hail fellow well met with all of the workmen at the factory, most of whom knew little and cared less about social distinctions. from their example i learned to be careless about money, and for that reason i constantly postponed and finally abandoned returning to atlanta university. it seemed impossible for me to save as much as two hundred dollars. several of the men at the factory were my intimate friends, and i frequently joined them in their pleasures. during the summer months we went almost every monday on an excursion to a seaside resort called pablo beach. these excursions were always crowded. there was a dancing pavilion, a great deal of drinking, and generally a fight or two to add to the excitement. i also contracted the cigar maker's habit of riding around in a hack on sunday afternoons. i sometimes went with my cigar maker friends to public balls that were given at a large hall on one of the main streets. i learned to take a drink occasionally and paid for quite a number that my friends took; but strong liquors never appealed to my appetite. i drank them only when the company i was in required it, and suffered for it afterwards. on the whole, though i was a bit wild, i can't remember that i ever did anything disgraceful, or, as the usual standard for young men goes, anything to forfeit my claim to respectability. at one of the first public balls i attended i saw the pullman car porter who had so kindly assisted me in getting to jacksonville. i went immediately to one of my factory friends and borrowed fifteen dollars with which to repay the loan my benefactor had made me. after i had given him the money, and was thanking him, i noticed that he wore what was, at least, an exact duplicate of my lamented black and gray tie. it was somewhat worn, but distinct enough for me to trace the same odd design which had first attracted my eye. this was enough to arouse my strongest suspicions, but whether it was sufficient for the law to take cognizance of i did not consider. my astonishment and the ironical humor of the situation drove everything else out of my mind. these balls were attended by a great variety of people. they were generally given by the waiters of some one of the big hotels, and were often patronized by a number of hotel guests who came to "see the sights." the crowd was always noisy, but good-natured; there was much quadrille-dancing, and a strong-lunged man called figures in a voice which did not confine itself to the limits of the hall. it is not worth the while for me to describe in detail how these people acted; they conducted themselves in about the same manner as i have seen other people at similar balls conduct themselves. when one has seen something of the world and human nature, one must conclude, after all, that between people in like stations of life there is very little difference the world over. however, it was at one of these balls that i first saw the cake-walk. there was a contest for a gold watch, to be awarded to the hotel head-waiter receiving the greatest number of votes. there was some dancing while the votes were being counted. then the floor was cleared for the cake-walk. a half-dozen guests from some of the hotels took seats on the stage to act as judges, and twelve or fourteen couples began to walk for a sure enough, highly decorated cake, which was in plain evidence. the spectators crowded about the space reserved for the contestants and watched them with interest and excitement. the couples did not walk round in a circle, but in a square, with the men on the inside. the fine points to be considered were the bearing of the men, the precision with which they turned the corners, the grace of the women, and the ease with which they swung around the pivots. the men walked with stately and soldierly step, and the women with considerable grace. the judges arrived at their decision by a process of elimination. the music and the walk continued for some minutes; then both were stopped while the judges conferred; when the walk began again, several couples were left out. in this way the contest was finally narrowed down to three or four couples. then the excitement became intense; there was much partisan cheering as one couple or another would execute a turn in extra elegant style. when the cake was finally awarded, the spectators were about evenly divided between those who cheered the winners and those who muttered about the unfairness of the judges. this was the cake-walk in its original form, and it is what the colored performers on the theatrical stage developed into the prancing movements now known all over the world, and which some parisian critics pronounced the acme of poetic motion. there are a great many colored people who are ashamed of the cake-walk, but i think they ought to be proud of it. it is my opinion that the colored people of this country have done four things which refute the oft-advanced theory that they are an absolutely inferior race, which demonstrate that they have originality and artistic conception, and, what is more, the power of creating that which can influence and appeal universally. the first two of these are the uncle remus stories, collected by joel chandler harris, and the jubilee songs, to which the fisk singers made the public and the skilled musicians of both america and europe listen. the other two are ragtime music and the cake-walk. no one who has traveled can question the world-conquering influence of ragtime, and i do not think it would be an exaggeration to say that in europe the united states is popularly known better by ragtime than by anything else it has produced in a generation. in paris they call it american music. the newspapers have already told how the practice of intricate cake-walk steps has taken up the time of european royalty and nobility. these are lower forms of art, but they give evidence of a power that will some day be applied to the higher forms. in this measure, at least, and aside from the number of prominent individuals the colored people of the united states have produced, the race has been a world influence; and all of the indians between alaska and patagonia haven't done as much. just when i was beginning to look upon jacksonville as my permanent home and was beginning to plan about marrying the young school teacher, raising a family, and working in a cigar factory the rest of my life, for some reason, which i do not now remember, the factory at which i worked was indefinitely shut down. some of the men got work in other factories in town; some decided to go to key west and tampa, others made up their minds to go to new york for work. all at once a desire like a fever seized me to see the north again and i cast my lot with those bound for new york. vi we steamed up into new york harbor late one afternoon in spring. the last efforts of the sun were being put forth in turning the waters of the bay to glistening gold; the green islands on either side, in spite of their warlike mountings, looked calm and peaceful; the buildings of the town shone out in a reflected light which gave the city an air of enchantment; and, truly, it is an enchanted spot. new york city is the most fatally fascinating thing in america. she sits like a great witch at the gate of the country, showing her alluring white face and hiding her crooked hands and feet under the folds of her wide garments--constantly enticing thousands from far within, and tempting those who come from across the seas to go no farther. and all these become the victims of her caprice. some she at once crushes beneath her cruel feet; others she condemns to a fate like that of galley slaves; a few she favors and fondles, riding them high on the bubbles of fortune; then with a sudden breath she blows the bubbles out and laughs mockingly as she watches them fall. twice i had passed through it, but this was really my first visit to new york; and as i walked about that evening, i began to feel the dread power of the city; the crowds, the lights, the excitement, the gaiety, and all its subtler stimulating influences began to take effect upon me. my blood ran quicker and i felt that i was just beginning to live. to some natures this stimulant of life in a great city becomes a thing as binding and necessary as opium is to one addicted to the habit. it becomes their breath of life; they cannot exist outside of it; rather than be deprived of it they are content to suffer hunger, want, pain, and misery; they would not exchange even a ragged and wretched condition among the great crowd for any degree of comfort away from it. as soon as we landed, four of us went directly to a lodging house in twenty-seventh street, just west of sixth avenue. the house was run by a short, stout mulatto man, who was exceedingly talkative and inquisitive. in fifteen minutes he not only knew the history of the past life of each one of us, but had a clearer idea of what we intended to do in the future than we ourselves. he sought this information so much with an air of being very particular as to whom he admitted into his house that we tremblingly answered every question that he asked. when we had become located, we went out and got supper, then walked around until about ten o'clock. at that hour we met a couple of young fellows who lived in new york and were known to one of the members of our party. it was suggested we go to a certain place which was known by the proprietor's name. we turned into one of the cross streets and mounted the stoop of a house in about the middle of a block between sixth and seventh avenues. one of the young men whom we had met rang a bell, and a man on the inside cracked the door a couple of inches; then opened it and let us in. we found ourselves in the hallway of what had once been a residence. the front parlor had been converted into a bar, and a half-dozen or so well-dressed men were in the room. we went in and after a general introduction had several rounds of beer. in the back parlor a crowd was sitting and standing around the walls of the room watching an exciting and noisy game of pool. i walked back and joined this crowd to watch the game, and principally to get away from the drinking party. the game was really interesting, the players being quite expert, and the excitement was heightened by the bets which were being made on the result. at times the antics and remarks of both players and spectators were amusing. when, at a critical point, a player missed a shot, he was deluged, by those financially interested in his making it, with a flood of epithets synonymous with "chump"; while from the others he would be jeered by such remarks as "nigger, dat cue ain't no hoe-handle." i noticed that among this class of colored men the word "nigger" was freely used in about the same sense as the word "fellow," and sometimes as a term of almost endearment; but i soon learned that its use was positively and absolutely prohibited to white men. i stood watching this pool game until i was called by my friends, who were still in the bar-room, to go upstairs. on the second floor there were two large rooms. from the hall i looked into the one on the front. there was a large, round table in the center, at which five or six men were seated playing poker. the air and conduct here were greatly in contrast to what i had just seen in the pool-room; these men were evidently the aristocrats of the place; they were well, perhaps a bit flashily, dressed and spoke in low modulated voices, frequently using the word "gentlemen"; in fact, they seemed to be practicing a sort of chesterfieldian politeness towards each other. i was watching these men with a great deal of interest and some degree of admiration when i was again called by the members of our party, and i followed them on to the back room. there was a door-keeper at this room, and we were admitted only after inspection. when we got inside, i saw a crowd of men of all ages and kinds grouped about an old billiard table, regarding some of whom, in supposing them to be white, i made no mistake. at first i did not know what these men were doing; they were using terms that were strange to me. i could hear only a confusion of voices exclaiming: "shoot the two!" "shoot the four!" "fate me! fate me!" "i've got you fated!" "twenty-five cents he don't turn!" this was the ancient and terribly fascinating game of dice, popularly known as "craps." i myself had played pool in jacksonville--it is a favorite game among cigar makers--and i had seen others play cards; but here was something new. i edged my way in to the table and stood between one of my new-found new york friends and a tall, slender, black fellow, who was making side bets while the dice were at the other end of the table. my companion explained to me the principles of the game; and they are so simple that they hardly need to be explained twice. the dice came around the table until they reached the man on the other side of the tall, black fellow. he lost, and the latter said: "gimme the bones." he threw a dollar on the table and said: "shoot the dollar." his style of play was so strenuous that he had to be allowed plenty of room. he shook the dice high above his head, and each time he threw them on the table, he emitted a grunt such as men give when they are putting forth physical exertion with a rhythmic regularity. he frequently whirled completely around on his heels, throwing the dice the entire length of the table, and talking to them as though they were trained animals. he appealed to them in short singsong phrases. "come, dice," he would say. "little phoebe," "little joe," "'way down yonder in the cornfield." whether these mystic incantations were efficacious or not i could not say, but, at any rate, his luck was great, and he had what gamblers term "nerve." "shoot the dollar!" "shoot the two!" "shoot the four!" "shoot the eight!" came from his lips as quickly as the dice turned to his advantage. my companion asked me if i had ever played. i told him no. he said that i ought to try my luck: that everybody won at first. the tall man at my side was waving his arms in the air, exclaiming: "shoot the sixteen!" "shoot the sixteen!" "fate me!" whether it was my companion's suggestion or some latent dare-devil strain in my blood which suddenly sprang into activity i do not know; but with a thrill of excitement which went through my whole body i threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and said in a trembling voice: "i fate you." i could feel that i had gained the attention and respect of everybody in the room, every eye was fixed on me, and the widespread question, "who is he?" went around. this was gratifying to a certain sense of vanity of which i have never been able to rid myself, and i felt that it was worth the money even if i lost. the tall man, with a whirl on his heels and a double grunt, threw the dice; four was the number which turned up. this is considered as a hard "point" to make. he redoubled his contortions and his grunts and his pleadings to the dice; but on his third or fourth throw the fateful seven turned up, and i had won. my companion and all my friends shouted to me to follow up my luck. the fever was on me. i seized the dice. my hands were so hot that the bits of bone felt like pieces of ice. i shouted as loudly as i could: "shoot it all!" but the blood was tingling so about my ears that i could not hear my own voice. i was soon "fated." i threw the dice--sevens--i had won. "shoot it all!" i cried again. there was a pause; the stake was more than one man cared to or could cover. i was finally "fated" by several men taking each a part of it. i then threw the dice again. seven. i had won. "shoot it all!" i shouted excitedly. after a short delay i was "fated." again i rolled the dice. eleven. again i won. my friends now surrounded me and, much against my inclination, forced me to take down all of the money except five dollars. i tried my luck once more, and threw some small "point" which failed to make, and the dice passed on to the next man. in less than three minutes i had won more than two hundred dollars, a sum which afterwards cost me dearly. i was the hero of the moment and was soon surrounded by a group of men who expressed admiration for my "nerve" and predicted for me a brilliant future as a gambler. although at the time i had no thought of becoming a gambler, i felt proud of my success. i felt a bit ashamed, too, that i had allowed my friends to persuade me to take down my money so soon. another set of men also got around me and begged me for twenty-five or fifty cents to put them back into the game. i gave each of them something. i saw that several of them had on linen dusters, and as i looked about, i noticed that there were perhaps a dozen men in the room similarly clad. i asked the fellow who had been my prompter at the dice table why they dressed in such a manner. he told me that men who had lost all the money and jewelry they possessed, frequently, in an effort to recoup their losses, would gamble away all their outer clothing and even their shoes; and that the proprietor kept on hand a supply of linen dusters for all who were so unfortunate. my informant went on to say that sometimes a fellow would become almost completely dressed and then, by a turn of the dice, would be thrown back into a state of semi-nakedness. some of them were virtually prisoners and unable to get into the streets for days at a time. they ate at the lunch counter, where their credit was good so long as they were fair gamblers and did not attempt to jump their debts, and they slept around in chairs. they importuned friends and winners to put them back in the game, and kept at it until fortune again smiled on them. i laughed heartily at this, not thinking the day was coming which would find me in the same ludicrous predicament. on passing downstairs i was told that the third and top floor of the house was occupied by the proprietor. when we passed through the bar, i treated everybody in the room--and that was no small number, for eight or ten had followed us down. then our party went out. it was now about half past twelve, but my nerves were at such a tension that i could not endure the mere thought of going to bed. i asked if there was no other place to which we could go; our guides said yes, and suggested that we go to the "club." we went to sixth avenue, walked two blocks, and turned to the west into another street. we stopped in front of a house with three stories and a basement. in the basement was a chinese chop-suey restaurant. there was a red lantern at the iron gate to the area way, inside of which the chinaman's name was printed. we went up the steps of the stoop, rang the bell, and were admitted without any delay. from the outside the house bore a rather gloomy aspect, the windows being absolutely dark, but within, it was a veritable house of mirth. when we had passed through a small vestibule and reached the hallway, we heard mingled sounds of music and laughter, the clink of glasses, and the pop of bottles. we went into the main room and i was little prepared for what i saw. the brilliancy of the place, the display of diamond rings, scarf-pins, ear-rings, and breast-pins, the big rolls of money that were brought into evidence when drinks were paid for, and the air of gaiety that pervaded the place, all completely dazzled and dazed me. i felt positively giddy, and it was several minutes before i was able to make any clear and definite observations. we at length secured places at a table in a corner of the room and, as soon as we could attract the attention of one of the busy waiters, ordered a round of drinks. when i had somewhat collected my senses, i realized that in a large back room into which the main room opened, there was a young fellow singing a song, accompanied on the piano by a short, thickset, dark man. after each verse he did some dance steps, which brought forth great applause and a shower of small coins at his feet. after the singer had responded to a rousing encore, the stout man at the piano began to run his fingers up and down the keyboard. this he did in a manner which indicated that he was master of a good deal of technique. then he began to play; and such playing! i stopped talking to listen. it was music of a kind i had never heard before. it was music that demanded physical response, patting of the feet, drumming of the fingers, or nodding of the head in time with the beat. the barbaric harmonies, the audacious resolutions, often consisting of an abrupt jump from one key to another, the intricate rhythms in which the accents fell in the most unexpected places, but in which the beat was never lost, produced a most curious effect. and, too, the player--the dexterity of his left hand in making rapid octave runs and jumps was little short of marvelous; and with his right hand he frequently swept half the keyboard with clean-cut chromatics which he fitted in so nicely as never to fail to arouse in his listeners a sort of pleasant surprise at the accomplishment of the feat. this was ragtime music, then a novelty in new york, and just growing to be a rage, which has not yet subsided. it was originated in the questionable resorts about memphis and st. louis by negro piano players who knew no more of the theory of music than they did of the theory of the universe, but were guided by natural musical instinct and talent. it made its way to chicago, where it was popular some time before it reached new york. these players often improvised crude and, at times, vulgar words to fit the melodies. this was the beginning of the ragtime song. several of these improvisations were taken down by white men, the words slightly altered, and published under the names of the arrangers. they sprang into immediate popularity and earned small fortunes, of which the negro originators got only a few dollars. but i have learned that since that time a number of colored men, of not only musical talent, but training, are writing out their own melodies and words and reaping the reward of their work. i have learned also that they have a large number of white imitators and adulterators. american musicians, instead of investigating ragtime, attempt to ignore it, or dismiss it with a contemptuous word. but that has always been the course of scholasticism in every branch of art. whatever new thing the people like is pooh-poohed; whatever is popular is spoken of as not worth the while. the fact is, nothing great or enduring, especially in music, has ever sprung full-fledged and unprecedented from the brain of any master; the best that he gives to the world he gathers from the hearts of the people, and runs it through the alembic of his genius. in spite of the bans which musicians and music teachers have placed upon it, the people still demand and enjoy ragtime. one thing cannot be denied; it is music which possesses at least one strong element of greatness: it appeals universally; not only the american, but the english, the french, and even the german people find delight in it. in fact, there is not a corner of the civilized world in which it is not known, and this proves its originality; for if it were an imitation, the people of europe, anyhow, would not have found it a novelty. anyone who doubts that there is a peculiar heel-tickling, smile-provoking, joy-awakening charm in ragtime needs only to hear a skillful performer play the genuine article to be convinced. i believe that it has its place as well as the music which draws from us sighs and tears. i became so interested in both the music and the player that i left the table where i was sitting, and made my way through the hall into the back room, where i could see as well as hear. i talked to the piano-player between the musical numbers and found out that he was just a natural musician, never having taken a lesson in his life. not only could he play almost anything he heard, but he could accompany singers in songs he had never heard. he had, by ear alone, composed some pieces, several of which he played over for me; each of them was properly proportioned and balanced. i began to wonder what this man with such a lavish natural endowment would have done had he been trained. perhaps he wouldn't have done anything at all; he might have become, at best, a mediocre imitator of the great masters in what they have already done to a finish, or one of the modern innovators who strive after originality by seeing how cleverly they can dodge about through the rules of harmony and at the same time avoid melody. it is certain that he would not have been so delightful as he was in ragtime. i sat by, watching and listening to this man until i was dragged away by my friends. the place was now almost deserted; only a few stragglers hung on, and they were all the, worse for drink. my friends were well up in this class. we passed into the street; the lamps were pale against the sky; day was just breaking. we went home and got into bed. i fell into a fitful sort of sleep, with ragtime music ringing continually in my ears. vii i shall take advantage of this pause in my narrative to describe more closely the "club" spoken of in the latter part of the preceding chapter--to describe it as i afterwards came to know it, as an habitué. i shall do this not only because of the direct influence it had on my life, but also because it was at that time the most famous place of its kind in new york, and was well known to both white and colored people of certain classes. i have already stated that in the basement of the house there was a chinese restaurant. the chinaman who kept it did an exceptionally good business; for chop-suey was a favorite dish among the frequenters of the place. it is a food that, somehow, has the power of absorbing alcoholic liquors that have been taken into the stomach. i have heard men claim that they could sober up on chop-suey. perhaps that accounted, in some degree, for its popularity. on the main floor there were two large rooms: a parlor about thirty feet in length, and a large, square back room into which the parlor opened. the floor of the parlor was carpeted; small tables and chairs were arranged about the room; the windows were draped with lace curtains, and the walls were literally covered with photographs or lithographs of every colored man in america who had ever "done anything." there were pictures of frederick douglass and of peter jackson, of all the lesser lights of the prize-fighting ring, of all the famous jockeys and the stage celebrities, down to the newest song and dance team. the most of these photographs were autographed and, in a sense, made a really valuable collection. in the back room there was a piano, and tables were placed around the wall. the floor was bare and the center was left vacant for singers, dancers, and others who entertained the patrons. in a closet in this room which jutted out into the hall the proprietor kept his buffet. there was no open bar, because the place had no liquor license. in this back room the tables were sometimes pushed aside, and the floor given over to general dancing. the front room on the next floor was a sort of private party room; a back room on the same floor contained no furniture and was devoted to the use of new and ambitious performers. in this room song and dance teams practiced their steps, acrobatic teams practiced their tumbles, and many other kinds of "acts" rehearsed their "turns." the other rooms of the house were used as sleeping-apartments. no gambling was allowed, and the conduct of the place was surprisingly orderly. it was, in short, a center of colored bohemians and sports. here the great prize fighters were wont to come, the famous jockeys, the noted minstrels, whose names and faces were familiar on every bill-board in the country; and these drew a multitude of those who love to dwell in the shadow of greatness. there were then no organizations giving performances of such order as are now given by several colored companies; that was because no manager could imagine that audiences would pay to see negro performers in any other role than that of mississippi river roustabouts; but there was lots of talent and ambition. i often heard the younger and brighter men discussing the time when they would compel the public to recognize that they could do something more than grin and cut pigeon-wings. sometimes one or two of the visiting stage professionals, after being sufficiently urged, would go into the back room and take the places of the regular amateur entertainers, but they were very sparing with these favors, and the patrons regarded them as special treats. there was one man, a minstrel, who, whenever he responded to a request to "do something," never essayed anything below a reading from shakespeare. how well he read i do not know, but he greatly impressed me; and i can say that at least he had a voice which strangely stirred those who heard it. here was a man who made people laugh at the size of his mouth, while he carried in his heart a burning ambition to be a tragedian; and so after all he did play a part in a tragedy. these notables of the ring, the turf, and the stage, drew to the place crowds of admirers, both white and colored. whenever one of them came in, there were awe-inspired whispers from those who knew him by sight, in which they enlightened those around them as to his identity, and hinted darkly at their great intimacy with the noted one. those who were on terms of approach immediately showed their privilege over others less fortunate by gathering around their divinity. i was, at first, among those who dwelt in darkness. most of these celebrities i had never heard of. this made me an object of pity among many of my new associates. i soon learned, however, to fake a knowledge for the benefit of those who were greener than i; and, finally, i became personally acquainted with the majority of the famous personages who came to the "club." a great deal of money was spent here, so many of the patrons were men who earned large sums. i remember one night a dapper little brown-skin fellow was pointed out to me and i was told that he was the most popular jockey of the day, and that he earned $ , a year. this latter statement i couldn't doubt, for with my own eyes i saw him spending at about thirty times that rate. for his friends and those who were introduced to him he bought nothing but wine--in sporting circles, "wine" means champagne--and paid for it at five dollars a quart. he sent a quart to every table in the place with his compliments; and on the table at which he and his party were seated there were more than a dozen bottles. it was the custom at the "club" for the waiter not to remove the bottles when champagne was being drunk until the party had finished. there were reasons for this; it advertised the brand of wine, it advertised that the party was drinking wine, and advertised how much they had bought. this jockey had won a great race that day, and he was rewarding his admirers for the homage they paid him, all of which he accepted with a fine air of condescension. besides the people i have just been describing, there was at the place almost every night one or two parties of white people, men and women, who were out sight-seeing, or slumming. they generally came in cabs; some of them would stay only for a few minutes, while others sometimes stayed until morning. there was also another set of white people who came frequently; it was made up of variety performers and others who delineated "darky characters"; they came to get their imitations first hand from the negro entertainers they saw there. there was still another set of white patrons, composed of women; these were not occasional visitors, but five or six of them were regular habituées. when i first saw them, i was not sure that they were white. in the first place, among the many colored women who came to the "club" there were several just as fair; and, secondly, i always saw these women in company with colored men. they were all good-looking and well-dressed, and seemed to be women of some education. one of these in particular attracted my attention; she was an exceedingly beautiful woman of perhaps thirty-five; she had glistening copper-colored hair, very white skin, and eyes very much like du maurier's conception of trilby's "twin gray stars." when i came to know her, i found that she was a woman of considerable culture; she had traveled in europe, spoke french, and played the piano well. she was always dressed elegantly, but in absolute good taste. she always came to the "club" in a cab, and was soon joined by a well-set-up, very black young fellow. he was always faultlessly dressed; one of the most exclusive tailors in new york made his clothes, and he wore a number of diamonds in about as good taste as they could be worn in by a man. i learned that she paid for his clothes and his diamonds. i learned, too, that he was not the only one of his kind. more that i learned would be better suited to a book on social phenomena than to a narrative of my life. this woman was known at the "club" as the rich widow. she went by a very aristocratic-sounding name, which corresponded to her appearance. i shall never forget how hard it was for me to get over my feelings of surprise, perhaps more than surprise, at seeing her with her black companion; somehow i never exactly enjoyed the sight. i have devoted so much time to this pair, the "widow" and her companion, because it was through them that another decided turn was brought about in my life. viii on the day following our night at the "club" we slept until late in the afternoon; so late that beginning search for work was entirely out of the question. this did not cause me much worry, for i had more than three hundred dollars, and new york had impressed me as a place where there was lots of money and not much difficulty in getting it. it is needless to inform my readers that i did not long hold this opinion. we got out of the house about dark, went to a restaurant on sixth avenue and ate something, then walked around for a couple of hours. i finally suggested that we visit the same places we had been in the night before. following my suggestion, we started first to the gambling house. the man on the door let us in without any question; i accredited this to my success of the night before. we went straight to the "crap" room, and i at once made my way to a table, where i was rather flattered by the murmur of recognition which went around. i played in up and down luck for three or four hours; then, worn with nervous excitement, quit, having lost about fifty dollars. but i was so strongly possessed with the thought that i would make up my losses the next time i played that i left the place with a light heart. when we got into the street our party was divided against itself; two were for going home at once and getting to bed. they gave as a reason that we were to get up early and look for jobs. i think the real reason was that they had each lost several dollars in the game. i lived to learn that in the world of sport all men win alike, but lose differently; and so gamblers are rated, not by the way in which they win, but by the way in which they lose. some men lose with a careless smile, recognizing that losing is a part of the game; others curse their luck and rail at fortune; and others, still, lose sadly; after each such experience they are swept by a wave of reform; they resolve to stop gambling and be good. when in this frame of mind it would take very little persuasion to lead them into a prayer-meeting. those in the first class are looked upon with admiration; those in the second class are merely commonplace; while those in the third are regarded with contempt. i believe these distinctions hold good in all the ventures of life. after some minutes one of my friends and i succeeded in convincing the other two that a while at the "club" would put us all in better spirits; and they consented to go, on our promise not to stay longer than an hour. we found the place crowded, and the same sort of thing going on which we had seen the night before. i took a seat at once by the side of the piano player, and was soon lost to everything except the novel charm of the music. i watched the performer with the idea of catching the trick, and during one of his intermissions i took his place at the piano and made an attempt to imitate him, but even my quick ear and ready fingers were unequal to the task on first trial. we did not stay at the "club" very long, but went home to bed in order to be up early the next day. we had no difficulty in finding work, and my third morning in new york found me at a table rolling cigars. i worked steadily for some weeks, at the same time spending my earnings between the "crap" game and the "club." making cigars became more and more irksome to me; perhaps my more congenial work as a "reader" had unfitted me for work at the table. and, too, the late hours i was keeping made such a sedentary occupation almost beyond the powers of will and endurance. i often found it hard to keep my eyes open and sometimes had to get up and move around to keep from falling asleep. i began to miss whole days from the factory, days on which i was compelled to stay at home and sleep. my luck at the gambling table was varied; sometimes i was fifty to a hundred dollars ahead, and at other times i had to borrow money from my fellow workmen to settle my room rent and pay for my meals. each night after leaving the dice game i went to the "club" to hear the music and watch the gaiety. if i had won, this was in accord with my mood; if i had lost, it made me forget. i at last realized that making cigars for a living and gambling for a living could not both be carried on at the same time, and i resolved to give up the cigar making. this resolution led me into a life which held me bound more than a year. during that period my regular time for going to bed was somewhere between four and six o'clock in the mornings. i got up late in the afternoons, walked about a little, then went to the gambling house or the "club." my new york was limited to ten blocks; the boundaries were sixth avenue from twenty-third to thirty-third streets, with the cross streets one block to the west. central park was a distant forest, and the lower part of the city a foreign land. i look back upon the life i then led with a shudder when i think what would have been had i not escaped it. but had i not escaped it, i should have been no more unfortunate than are many young colored men who come to new york. during that dark period i became acquainted with a score of bright, intelligent young fellows who had come up to the great city with high hopes and ambitions and who had fallen under the spell of this under life, a spell they could not throw off. there was one popularly known as "the doctor"; he had had two years in the harvard medical school, but here he was, living this gas-light life, his will and moral sense so enervated and deadened that it was impossible for him to break away. i do not doubt that the same thing is going on now, but i have sympathy rather than censure for these victims, for i know how easy it is to slip into a slough from which it takes a herculean effort to leap. i regret that i cannot contrast my views of life among colored people of new york; but the truth is, during my entire stay in this city i did not become acquainted with a single respectable family. i knew that there were several colored men worth a hundred or so thousand dollars each, and some families who proudly dated their free ancestry back a half-dozen generations. i also learned that in brooklyn there lived quite a large colony in comfortable homes which they owned; but at no point did my life come in contact with theirs. in my gambling experiences i passed through all the states and conditions that a gambler is heir to. some days found me able to peel ten and twenty-dollar bills from a roll, and others found me clad in a linen duster and carpet slippers. i finally caught up another method of earning money, and so did not have to depend entirely upon the caprices of fortune at the gaming table. through continually listening to the music at the "club," and through my own previous training, my natural talent and perseverance, i developed into a remarkable player of ragtime; indeed, i had the name at that time of being the best ragtime-player in new york. i brought all my knowledge of classic music to bear and, in so doing, achieved some novelties which pleased and even astonished my listeners. it was i who first made ragtime transcriptions of familiar classic selections. i used to play mendelssohn's "wedding march" in a manner that never failed to arouse enthusiasm among the patrons of the "club." very few nights passed during which i was not asked to play it. it was no secret that the great increase in slumming visitors was due to my playing. by mastering ragtime i gained several things: first of all, i gained the title of professor. i was known as "the professor" as long as i remained in that world. then, too, i gained the means of earning a rather fair livelihood. this work took up much of my time and kept me almost entirely away from the gambling table. through it i also gained a friend who was the means by which i escaped from this lower world. and, finally, i secured a wedge which has opened to me more doors and made me a welcome guest than my playing of beethoven and chopin could ever have done. the greater part of the money i now began to earn came through the friend to whom i alluded in the foregoing paragraph. among the other white "slummers" there came into the "club" one night a clean-cut, slender, but athletic-looking man, who would have been taken for a youth had it not been for the tinge of gray about his temples. he was clean-shaven and had regular features, and all of his movements bore the indefinable but unmistakable stamp of culture. he spoke to no one, but sat languidly puffing cigarettes and sipping a glass of beer. he was the center of a great deal of attention; all of the old-timers were wondering who he was. when i had finished playing, he called a waiter and by him sent me a five-dollar bill. for about a month after that he was at the "club" one or two nights each week, and each time after i had played, he gave me five dollars. one night he sent for me to come to his table; he asked me several questions about myself; then told me that he had an engagement which he wanted me to fill. he gave me a card containing his address and asked me to be there on a certain night. i was on hand promptly and found that he was giving a dinner in his own apartments to a party of ladies and gentlemen and that i was expected to furnish the musical entertainment. when the grave, dignified man at the door let me in, the place struck me as being almost dark, my eyes had been so accustomed to the garish light of the "club." he took my coat and hat, bade me take a seat, and went to tell his master that i had come. when my eyes were adjusted to the soft light, i saw that i was in the midst of elegance and luxury in a degree such as i had never seen; but not the elegance which makes one ill at ease. as i sank into a great chair, the subdued tone, the delicately sensuous harmony of my surroundings, drew from me a deep sigh of relief and comfort. how long the man was gone i do not know, but i was startled by a voice saying: "come this way, if you please, sir," and i saw him standing by my chair. i had been asleep; and i awoke very much confused and a little ashamed, because i did not know how many times he may have called me. i followed him through into the dining-room, where the butler was putting the finishing touches to a table which already looked like a big jewel. the doorman turned me over to the butler, and i passed with the butler on back to where several waiters were busy polishing and assorting table utensils. without being asked whether i was hungry or not, i was placed at a table and given something to eat. before i had finished eating, i heard the laughter and talk of the guests who were arriving. soon afterwards i was called in to begin my work. i passed in to where the company was gathered and went directly to the piano. according to a suggestion from the host, i began with classic music. during the first number there was absolute quiet and appreciative attention, and when i had finished, i was given a round of generous applause. after that the talk and the laughter began to grow until the music was only an accompaniment to the chatter. this, however, did not disconcert me as it once would have done, for i had become accustomed to playing in the midst of uproarious noise. as the guests began to pay less attention to me, i was enabled to pay more to them. there were about a dozen of them. the men ranged in appearance from a girlish-looking youth to a big grizzled man whom everybody addressed as "judge." none of the women appeared to be under thirty, but each of them struck me as being handsome. i was not long in finding out that they were all decidedly blasé. several of the women smoked cigarettes, and with a careless grace which showed they were used to the habit. occasionally a "damn it!" escaped from the lips of some one of them, but in such a charming way as to rob it of all vulgarity. the most notable thing which i observed was that the reserve of the host increased in direct proportion with the hilarity of his guests. i thought that there was something going wrong which displeased him. i afterwards learned that it was his habitual manner on such occasions. he seemed to take cynical delight in watching and studying others indulging in excess. his guests were evidently accustomed to his rather non-participating attitude, for it did not seem in any degree to dampen their spirits. when dinner was served, the piano was moved and the door left open, so that the company might hear the music while eating. at a word from the host i struck up one of my liveliest ragtime pieces. the effect was surprising, perhaps even to the host; the ragtime music came very near spoiling the party so far as eating the dinner was concerned. as soon as i began, the conversation suddenly stopped. it was a pleasure to me to watch the expression of astonishment and delight that grew on the faces of everybody. these were people--and they represented a large class--who were ever expecting to find happiness in novelty, each day restlessly exploring and exhausting every resource of this great city that might possibly furnish a new sensation or awaken a fresh emotion, and who were always grateful to anyone who aided them in their quest. several of the women left the table and gathered about the piano. they watched my fingers and asked what kind of music it was that i was playing, where i had learned it, and a host of other questions. it was only by being repeatedly called back to the table that they were induced to finish their dinner. when the guests arose, i struck up my ragtime transcription of mendelssohn's "wedding march," playing it with terrific chromatic octave runs in the bass. this raised everybody's spirits to the highest point of gaiety, and the whole company involuntarily and unconsciously did an impromptu cake-walk. from that time on until the time of leaving they kept me so busy that my arms ached. i obtained a little respite when the girlish-looking youth and one or two of the ladies sang several songs, but after each of these it was "back to ragtime." in leaving, the guests were enthusiastic in telling the host that he had furnished them the most unusual entertainment they had ever enjoyed. when they had gone, my millionaire friend--for he was reported to be a millionaire--said to me with a smile: "well, i have given them something they've never had before." after i had put on my coat and was ready to leave, he made me take a glass of wine; he then gave me a cigar and twenty dollars in bills. he told me that he would give me lots of work, his only stipulation being that i should not play any engagements such as i had just filled for him, except by his instructions. i readily accepted the proposition, for i was sure that i could not be the loser by such a contract. i afterwards played for him at many dinners and parties of one kind or another. occasionally he "loaned" me to some of his friends. and, too, i often played for him alone at his apartments. at such times he was quite a puzzle to me until i became accustomed to his manners. he would sometimes sit for three or four hours hearing me play, his eyes almost closed, making scarcely a motion except to light a fresh cigarette, and never commenting one way or another on the music. at first i sometimes thought he had fallen asleep and would pause in playing. the stopping of the music always aroused him enough to tell me to play this or that; and i soon learned that my task was not to be considered finished until he got up from his chair and said: "that will do." the man's powers of endurance in listening often exceeded mine in performing--yet i am not sure that he was always listening. at times i became so oppressed with fatigue and sleepiness that it took almost superhuman effort to keep my fingers going; in fact, i believe i sometimes did so while dozing. during such moments this man sitting there so mysteriously silent, almost hid in a cloud of heavy-scented smoke, filled me with a sort of unearthly terror. he seemed to be some grim, mute, but relentless tyrant, possessing over me a supernatural power which he used to drive me on mercilessly to exhaustion. but these feelings came very rarely; besides, he paid me so liberally i could forget much. there at length grew between us a familiar and warm relationship, and i am sure he had a decided personal liking for me. on my part, i looked upon him at that time as about all a man could wish to be. the "club" still remained my headquarters, and when i was not playing for my good patron, i was generally to be found there. however, i no longer depended on playing at the "club" to earn my living; i rather took rank with the visiting celebrities and, occasionally, after being sufficiently urged, would favor my old and new admirers with a number or two. i say, without any egotistic pride, that among my admirers were several of the best-looking women who frequented the place, and who made no secret of the fact that they admired me as much as they did my playing. among these was the "widow"; indeed, her attentions became so marked that one of my friends warned me to beware of her black companion, who was generally known as a "bad man." he said there was much more reason to be careful because the pair had lately quarreled and had not been together at the "club" for some nights. this warning greatly impressed me and i resolved to stop the affair before it should go any further; but the woman was so beautiful that my native gallantry and delicacy would not allow me to repulse her; my finer feelings entirely overcame my judgment. the warning also opened my eyes sufficiently to see that though my artistic temperament and skill made me interesting and attractive to the woman, she was, after all, using me only to excite the jealousy of her companion and revenge herself upon him. it was this surly, black despot who held sway over her deepest emotions. one night, shortly afterwards, i went into the "club" and saw the "widow" sitting at a table in company with another woman. she at once beckoned for me to come to her. i went, knowing that i was committing worse than folly. she ordered a quart of champagne and insisted that i sit down and drink with her. i took a chair on the opposite side of the table and began to sip a glass of the wine. suddenly i noticed by an expression on the "widow's" face that something had occurred. i instinctively glanced around and saw that her companion had just entered. his ugly look completely frightened me. my back was turned to him, but by watching the "widow's" eyes i judged that he was pacing back and forth across the room. my feelings were far from being comfortable; i expected every moment to feel a blow on my head. she, too, was very nervous; she was trying hard to appear unconcerned, but could not succeed in hiding her real feelings. i decided that it was best to get out of such a predicament even at the expense of appearing cowardly, and i made a motion to rise. just as i partly turned in my chair, i saw the black fellow approaching; he walked directly to our table and leaned over. the "widow" evidently feared he was going to strike her, and she threw back her head. instead of striking her he whipped out a revolver and fired; the first shot went straight into her throat. there were other shots fired, but how many i do not know; for the first knowledge i had of my surroundings and actions was that i was rushing through the chop-suey restaurant into the street. just which streets i followed when i got outside i do not know, but i think i must have gone towards eighth avenue, then down towards twenty-third street and across towards fifth avenue. i traveled, not by sight, but instinctively. i felt like one fleeing in a horrible nightmare. how long and far i walked i cannot tell; but on fifth avenue, under a light, i passed a cab containing a solitary occupant, who called to me, and i recognized the voice and face of my millionaire friend. he stopped the cab and asked: "what on earth are you doing strolling in this part of the town?" for answer i got into the cab and related to him all that had happened. he reassured me by saying that no charge of any kind could be brought against me; then added: "but of course you don't want to be mixed up in such an affair." he directed the driver to turn around and go into the park, and then went on to say: "i decided last night that i'd go to europe tomorrow. i think i'll take you along instead of walter." walter was his valet. it was settled that i should go to his apartments for the rest of the night and sail with him in the morning. we drove around through the park, exchanging only an occasional word. the cool air somewhat calmed my nerves and i lay back and closed my eyes; but still i could see that beautiful white throat with the ugly wound. the jet of blood pulsing from it had placed an indelible red stain on my memory. ix i did not feel at ease until the ship was well out of new york harbor; and, notwithstanding the repeated reassurances of my millionaire friend and my own knowledge of the facts in the case, i somehow could not rid myself of the sentiment that i was, in a great degree, responsible for the "widow's" tragic end. we had brought most of the morning papers aboard with us, but my great fear of seeing my name in connection with the killing would not permit me to read the accounts, although, in one of the papers, i did look at the picture of the victim, which did not in the least resemble her. this morbid state of mind, together with sea-sickness, kept me miserable for three or four days. at the end of that time my spirits began to revive, and i took an interest in the ship, my fellow passengers, and the voyage in general. on the second or third day out we passed several spouting whales, but i could not arouse myself to make the effort to go to the other side of the ship to see them. a little later we ran in close proximity to a large iceberg. i was curious enough to get up and look at it, and i was fully repaid for my pains. the sun was shining full upon it, and it glistened like a mammoth diamond, cut with a million facets. as we passed, it constantly changed its shape; at each different angle of vision it assumed new and astonishing forms of beauty. i watched it through a pair of glasses, seeking to verify my early conception of an iceberg--in the geographies of my grammar school days the pictures of icebergs always included a stranded polar bear, standing desolately upon one of the snowy crags. i looked for the bear, but if he was there, he refused to put himself on exhibition. it was not, however, until the morning that we entered the harbor of havre that i was able to shake off my gloom. then the strange sights, the chatter in an unfamiliar tongue, and the excitement of landing and passing the customs officials caused me to forget completely the events of a few days before. indeed, i grew so lighthearted that when i caught my first sight of the train which was to take us to paris, i enjoyed a hearty laugh. the toy-looking engine, the stuffy little compartment cars, with tiny, old-fashioned wheels, struck me as being extremely funny. but before we reached paris my respect for our train rose considerably. i found that the "tiny" engine made remarkably fast time, and that the old-fashioned wheels ran very smoothly. i even began to appreciate the "stuffy" cars for their privacy. as i watched the passing scenery from the car window, it seemed too beautiful to be real. the bright-colored houses against the green background impressed me as the work of some idealistic painter. before we arrived in paris, there was awakened in my heart a love for france which continued to grow stronger, a love which to-day makes that country for me the one above all others to be desired. we rolled into the station saint lazare about four o'clock in the afternoon and drove immediately to the hôtel continental. my benefactor, humoring my curiosity and enthusiasm, which seemed to please him very much, suggested that we take a short walk before dinner. we stepped out of the hotel and turned to the right into the rue de rivoli. when the vista of the place de la concorde and the champs �lysées suddenly burst on me, i could hardly credit my own eyes. i shall attempt no such supererogatory task as a description of paris. i wish only to give briefly the impressions which that wonderful city made upon me. it impressed me as the perfect and perfectly beautiful city; and even after i had been there for some time, and seen not only its avenues and palaces, but its most squalid alleys and hovels, this impression was not weakened. paris became for me a charmed spot, and whenever i have returned there, i have fallen under the spell, a spell which compels admiration for all of its manners and customs and justification of even its follies and sins. we walked a short distance up the champs �lysées and sat for a while in chairs along the sidewalk, watching the passing crowds on foot and in carriages. it was with reluctance that i went back to the hotel for dinner. after dinner we went to one of the summer theatres, and after the performance my friend took me to a large café on one of the grands boulevards. here it was that i had my first glimpse of the french life of popular literature, so different from real french life. there were several hundred people, men and women, in the place drinking, smoking, talking, and listening to the music. my millionaire friend and i took seats at a table, where we sat smoking and watching the crowd. it was not long before we were joined by two or three good-looking, well-dressed young women. my friend talked to them in french and bought drinks for the whole party. i tried to recall my high-school french, but the effort availed me little. i could stammer out a few phrases, but, very naturally, could not understand a word that was said to me. we stayed at the café a couple of hours, then went back to the hotel. the next day we spent several hours in the shops and at the tailor's. i had no clothes except what i had been able to gather together at my benefactor's apartments the night before we sailed. he bought me the same kind of clothes which he himself wore, and that was the best; and he treated me in every way as he dressed me, as an equal, not as a servant. in fact, i don't think anyone could have guessed that such a relation existed. my duties were light and few, and he was a man full of life and vigor, who rather enjoyed doing things for himself. he kept me supplied with money far beyond what ordinary wages would have amounted to. for the first two weeks we were together almost constantly, seeing the sights, sights old to him, but from which he seemed to get new pleasure in showing them to me. during the day we took in the places of interest, and at night the theatres and cafés. this sort of life appealed to me as ideal, and i asked him one day how long he intended to stay in paris. he answered: "oh, until i get tired of it." i could not understand how that could ever happen. as it was, including several short trips to the mediterranean, to spain, to brussels, and to ostend, we did remain there fourteen or fifteen months. we stayed at the hôtel continental about two months of this time. then my millionaire took apartments, hired a piano, and lived almost the same life he lived in new york. he entertained a great deal, some of the parties being a good deal more blasé than the new york ones. i played for the guests at all of them with an effect which to relate would be but a tiresome repetition to the reader. i played not only for the guests, but continued, as i used to do in new york, to play often for the host when he was alone. this man of the world, who grew weary of everything and was always searching for something new, appeared never to grow tired of my music; he seemed to take it as a drug. he fell into a habit which caused me no little annoyance; sometimes he would come in during the early hours of the morning and, finding me in bed asleep, would wake me up and ask me to play something. this, so far as i can remember, was my only hardship during my whole stay with him in europe. after the first few weeks spent in sight-seeing i had a great deal of time left to myself; my friend was often i did not know where. when not with him, i spent the day nosing about all the curious nooks and corners of paris; of this i never grew tired. at night i usually went to some theatre, but always ended up at the big café on the grands boulevards. i wish the reader to know that it was not alone the gaiety which drew me there; aside from that i had a laudable purpose. i had purchased an english-french conversational dictionary, and i went there every night to take a language lesson. i used to get three or four of the young women who frequented the place at a table and buy beer and cigarettes for them. in return i received my lesson. i got more than my money's worth, for they actually compelled me to speak the language. this, together with reading the papers every day, enabled me within a few months to express myself fairly well, and, before i left paris, to have more than an ordinary command of french. of course, every person who goes to paris could not dare to learn french in this manner, but i can think of no easier or quicker way of doing it. the acquiring of another foreign language awoke me to the fact that with a little effort i could secure an added accomplishment as fine and as valuable as music; so i determined to make myself as much of a linguist as possible. i bought a spanish newspaper every day in order to freshen my memory of that language, and, for french, devised what was, so far as i knew, an original system of study. i compiled a list which i termed "three hundred necessary words." these i thoroughly committed to memory, also the conjugation of the verbs which were included in the list. i studied these words over and over, much as children of a couple of generations ago studied the alphabet. i also practiced a set of phrases like the following: "how?" "what did you say?" "what does the word ---- mean?" "i understand all you say except ----." "please repeat." "what do you call ----?" "how do you say ----?" these i called my working sentences. in an astonishingly short time i reached the point where the language taught itself--where i learned to speak merely by speaking. this point is the place which students taught foreign languages in our schools and colleges find great difficulty in reaching. i think the main trouble is that they learn too much of a language at a time. a french child with a vocabulary of two hundred words can express more spoken ideas than a student of french can with a knowledge of two thousand. a small vocabulary, the smaller the better, which embraces the common, everyday-used ideas, thoroughly mastered, is the key to a language. when that much is acquired the vocabulary can be increased simply by talking. and it is easy. who cannot commit three hundred words to memory? later i tried my method, if i may so term it, with german, and found that it worked in the same way. i spent a good many evenings at the opéra. the music there made me strangely reminiscent of my life in connecticut; it was an atmosphere in which i caught a fresh breath of my boyhood days and early youth. generally, in the morning after i had attended a performance, i would sit at the piano and for a couple of hours play the music which i used to play in my mother's little parlor. one night i went to hear _faust_. i got into my seat just as the lights went down for the first act. at the end of the act i noticed that my neighbor on the left was a young girl. i cannot describe her either as to feature, or color of her hair, or of her eyes; she was so young, so fair, so ethereal, that i felt to stare at her would be a violation; yet i was distinctly conscious of her beauty. during the intermission she spoke english in a low voice to a gentleman and a lady who sat in the seats to her left, addressing them as father and mother. i held my program as though studying it, but listened to catch every sound of her voice. her observations on the performance and the audience were so fresh and naïve as to be almost amusing. i gathered that she was just out of school, and that this was her first trip to paris. i occasionally stole a glance at her, and each time i did so my heart leaped into my throat. once i glanced beyond to the gentleman who sat next to her. my glance immediately turned into a stare. yes, there he was, unmistakably, my father! looking hardly a day older than when i had seen him some ten years before. what a strange coincidence! what should i say to him? what would he say to me? before i had recovered from my first surprise, there came another shock in the realization that the beautiful, tender girl at my side was my sister. then all the springs of affection in my heart, stopped since my mother's death, burst out in fresh and terrible torrents, and i could have fallen at her feet and worshiped her. they were singing the second act, but i did not hear the music. slowly the desolate loneliness of my position became clear to me. i knew that i could not speak, but i would have given a part of my life to touch her hand with mine and call her "sister." i sat through the opera until i could stand it no longer. i felt that i was suffocating. valentine's love seemed like mockery, and i felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to rise up and scream to the audience: "here, here in your very midst, is a tragedy, a real tragedy!" this impulse grew so strong that i became afraid of myself, and in the darkness of one of the scenes i stumbled out of the theatre. i walked aimlessly about for an hour or so, my feelings divided between a desire to weep and a desire to curse. i finally took a cab and went from café to café, and for one of the very few times in my life drank myself into a stupor. it was unwelcome news for me when my benefactor--i could not think of him as employer--informed me that he was at last tired of paris. this news gave me, i think, a passing doubt as to his sanity. i had enjoyed life in paris, and, taking all things into consideration, enjoyed it wholesomely. one thing which greatly contributed to my enjoyment was the fact that i was an american. americans are immensely popular in paris; and this is not due solely to the fact that they spend lots of money there, for they spend just as much or more in london, and in the latter city they are merely tolerated because they do spend. the londoner seems to think that americans are people whose only claim to be classed as civilized is that they have money, and the regrettable thing about that is that the money is not english. but the french are more logical and freer from prejudices than the british; so the difference of attitude is easily explained. only once in paris did i have cause to blush for my american citizenship. i had become quite friendly with a young man from luxemburg whom i had met at the big café. he was a stolid, slow-witted fellow, but, as we say, with a heart of gold. he and i grew attached to each other and were together frequently. he was a great admirer of the united states and never grew tired of talking to me about the country and asking for information. it was his intention to try his fortune there some day. one night he asked me in a tone of voice which indicated that he expected an authoritative denial of an ugly rumor: "did they really burn a man alive in the united states?" i never knew what i stammered out to him as an answer. i should have felt relieved if i could even have said to him: "well, only one." when we arrived in london, my sadness at leaving paris was turned into despair. after my long stay in the french capital, huge, ponderous, massive london seemed to me as ugly a thing as man could contrive to make. i thought of paris as a beauty spot on the face of the earth, and of london as a big freckle. but soon london's massiveness, i might say its very ugliness, began to impress me. i began to experience that sense of grandeur which one feels when he looks at a great mountain or a mighty river. beside london paris becomes a toy, a pretty plaything. and i must own that before i left the world's metropolis i discovered much there that was beautiful. the beauty in and about london is entirely different from that in and about paris; and i could not but admit that the beauty of the french city seemed hand-made, artificial, as though set up for the photographer's camera, everything nicely adjusted so as not to spoil the picture; while that of the english city was rugged, natural, and fresh. how these two cities typify the two peoples who built them! even the sound of their names expresses a certain racial difference. paris is the concrete expression of the gaiety, regard for symmetry, love of art, and, i might well add, of the morality of the french people. london stands for the conservatism, the solidarity, the utilitarianism, and, i might well add, the hypocrisy of the anglo-saxon. it may sound odd to speak of the morality of the french, if not of the hypocrisy of the english; but this seeming paradox impresses me as a deep truth. i saw many things in paris which were immoral according to english standards, but the absence of hypocrisy, the absence of the spirit to do the thing if it might only be done in secret, robbed these very immoralities of the damning influence of the same evils in london. i have walked along the terrace cafés of paris and seen hundreds of men and women sipping their wine and beer, without observing a sign of drunkenness. as they drank, they chatted and laughed and watched the passing crowds; the drinking seemed to be a secondary thing. this i have witnessed, not only in the cafés along the grands boulevards, but in the out-of-the-way places patronized by the working classes. in london i have seen in the "pubs" men and women crowded in stuffy little compartments, drinking seemingly only for the pleasure of swallowing as much as they could hold. i have seen there women from eighteen to eighty, some in tatters, and some clutching babes in their arms, drinking the heavy english ales and whiskies served to them by women. in the whole scene, not one ray of brightness, not one flash of gaiety, only maudlin joviality or grim despair. and i have thought, if some men and women will drink--and it is certain that some will--is it not better that they do so under the open sky, in the fresh air, than huddled together in some close, smoky room? there is a sort of frankness about the evils of paris which robs them of much of the seductiveness of things forbidden, and with that frankness goes a certain cleanliness of thought belonging to things not hidden. london will do whatever paris does, provided exterior morals are not shocked. as a result, paris has the appearance only of being the more immoral city. the difference may be summed up in this: paris practices its sins as lightly as it does its religion, while london practices both very seriously. i should not neglect to mention what impressed me most forcibly during my stay in london. it was not st. paul's nor the british museum nor westminster abbey. it was nothing more or less than the simple phrase "thank you," or sometimes more elaborated, "thank you very kindly, sir." i was continually surprised by the varied uses to which it was put; and, strange to say, its use as an expression of politeness seemed more limited than any other. one night i was in a cheap music hall and accidentally bumped into a waiter who was carrying a tray-load of beer, almost bringing him to several shillings' worth of grief. to my amazement he righted himself and said: "thank ye, sir," and left me wondering whether he meant that he thanked me for not completely spilling his beer, or that he would thank me for keeping out of his way. i also found cause to wonder upon what ground the english accuse americans of corrupting the language by introducing slang words. i think i heard more and more different kinds of slang during my few weeks' stay in london than in my whole "tenderloin" life in new york. but i suppose the english feel that the language is theirs, and that they may do with it as they please without at the same time allowing that privilege to others. my millionaire was not so long in growing tired of london as of paris. after a stay of six or eight weeks we went across into holland. amsterdam was a great surprise to me. i had always thought of venice as the city of canals; it had never entered my mind that i should find similar conditions in a dutch town. i don't suppose the comparison goes far beyond the fact that there are canals in both cities--i have never seen venice--but amsterdam struck me as being extremely picturesque. from holland we went to germany, where we spent five or six months, most of the time in berlin. i found berlin more to my taste than london, and occasionally i had to admit that in some things it was superior to paris. in berlin i especially enjoyed the orchestral concerts, and i attended a large number of them. i formed the acquaintance of a good many musicians, several of whom spoke of my playing in high terms. it was in berlin that my inspiration was renewed. one night my millionaire entertained a party of men composed of artists, musicians, writers, and, for aught i know, a count or two. they drank and smoked a great deal, talked art and music, and discussed, it seemed to me, everything that ever entered man's mind. i could only follow the general drift of what they were saying. when they discussed music, it was more interesting to me; for then some fellow would run excitedly to the piano and give a demonstration of his opinions, and another would follow quickly, doing the same. in this way, i learned that, regardless of what his specialty might be, every man in the party was a musician. i was at the same time impressed with the falsity of the general idea that frenchmen are excitable and emotional, and that germans are calm and phlegmatic. frenchmen are merely gay and never overwhelmed by their emotions. when they talk loud and fast, it is merely talk, while germans get worked up and red in the face when sustaining an opinion, and in heated discussions are likely to allow their emotions to sweep them off their feet. my millionaire planned, in the midst of the discussion on music, to have me play the "new american music" and astonish everybody present. the result was that i was more astonished than anyone else. i went to the piano and played the most intricate ragtime piece i knew. before there was time for anybody to express an opinion on what i had done, a big bespectacled, bushy-headed man rushed over, and, shoving me out of the chair, exclaimed: "get up! get up!" he seated himself at the piano, and, taking the theme of my ragtime, played it through first in straight chords; then varied and developed it through every known musical form. i sat amazed. i had been turning classic music into ragtime, a comparatively easy task; and this man had taken ragtime and made it classic. the thought came across me like a flash--it can be done, why can't i do it? from that moment my mind was made up. i clearly saw the way of carrying out the ambition i had formed when a boy. i now lost interest in our trip. i thought: "here i am a man, no longer a boy, and what am i doing but wasting my time and abusing my talent? what use am i making of my gifts? what future have i before me following my present course?" these thoughts made me feel remorseful and put me in a fever to get to work, to begin to do something. of course i know now that i was not wasting time; that there was nothing i could have done at that age which would have benefited me more than going to europe as i did. the desire to begin work grew stronger each day. i could think of nothing else. i made up my mind to go back into the very heart of the south, to live among the people, and drink in my inspiration firsthand. i gloated over the immense amount of material i had to work with, not only modern ragtime, but also the old slave songs--material which no one had yet touched. the more decided and anxious i became to return to the united states, the more i dreaded the ordeal of breaking with my millionaire. between this peculiar man and me there had grown a very strong bond of affection, backed up by a debt which each owed to the other. he had taken me from a terrible life in new york and, by giving me the opportunity of traveling and of coming in contact with the people with whom he associated, had made me a polished man of the world. on the other hand, i was his chief means of disposing of the thing which seemed to sum up all in life that he dreaded--time. as i remember him now, i can see that time was what he was always endeavoring to escape, to bridge over, to blot out; and it is not strange that some years later he did escape it forever, by leaping into eternity. for some weeks i waited for just the right moment in which to tell my patron of my decision. those weeks were a trying time to me. i felt that i was playing the part of a traitor to my best friend. at length, one day he said to me: "well, get ready for a long trip; we are going to egypt, and then to japan." the temptation was for an instant almost overwhelming, but i summoned determination enough to say: "i don't think i want to go." "what!" he exclaimed, "you want to go back to your dear paris? you still think that the only spot on earth? wait until you see cairo and tokyo, you may change your mind." "no," i stammered, "it is not because i want to go back to paris. i want to go back to the united states." he wished to know my reason, and i told him, as best i could, my dreams, my ambition, and my decision. while i was talking, he watched me with a curious, almost cynical, smile growing on his lips. when i had finished he put his hand on my shoulder--this was the first physical expression of tender regard he had ever shown me--and looking at me in a big-brotherly way, said: "my boy, you are by blood, by appearance, by education, and by tastes a white man. now, why do you want to throw your life away amidst the poverty and ignorance, in the hopeless struggle, of the black people of the united states? then look at the terrible handicap you are placing on yourself by going home and working as a negro composer; you can never be able to get the hearing for your work which it might deserve. i doubt that even a white musician of recognized ability could succeed there by working on the theory that american music should be based on negro themes. music is a universal art; anybody's music belongs to everybody; you can't limit it to race or country. now, if you want to become a composer, why not stay right here in europe? i will put you under the best teachers on the continent. then if you want to write music on negro themes, why, go ahead and do it." we talked for some time on music and the race question. on the latter subject i had never before heard him express any opinion. between him and me no suggestion of racial differences had ever come up. i found that he was a man entirely free from prejudice, but he recognized that prejudice was a big stubborn entity which had to be taken into account. he went on to say: "this idea you have of making a negro out of yourself is nothing more than a sentiment; and you do not realize the fearful import of what you intend to do. what kind of a negro would you make now, especially in the south? if you had remained there, or perhaps even in your club in new york, you might have succeeded very well; but now you would be miserable. i can imagine no more dissatisfied human being than an educated, cultured, and refined colored man in the united states. i have given more study to the race question in the united states than you may suppose, and i sympathize with the negroes there; but what's the use? i can't right their wrongs, and neither can you; they must do that themselves. they are unfortunate in having wrongs to right, and you would be foolish to take their wrongs unnecessarily on your shoulders. perhaps some day, through study and observation, you will come to see that evil is a force, and, like the physical and chemical forces, we cannot annihilate it; we may only change its form. we light upon one evil and hit it with all the might of our civilization, but only succeed in scattering it into a dozen other forms. we hit slavery through a great civil war. did we destroy it? no, we only changed it into hatred between sections of the country: in the south, into political corruption and chicanery, the degradation of the blacks through peonage, unjust laws, unfair and cruel treatment; and the degradation of the whites by their resorting to these practices, the paralyzation of the public conscience, and the ever over-hanging dread of what the future may bring. modern civilization hit ignorance of the masses through the means of popular education. what has it done but turn ignorance into anarchy, socialism, strikes, hatred between poor and rich, and universal discontent? in like manner, modern philanthropy hit at suffering and disease through asylums and hospitals; it prolongs the sufferers' lives, it is true, but is, at the same time, sending down strains of insanity and weakness into future generations. my philosophy of life is this: make yourself as happy as possible, and try to make those happy whose lives come in touch with yours; but to attempt to right the wrongs and ease the sufferings of the world in general is a waste of effort. you had just as well try to bail the atlantic by pouring the water into the pacific." this tremendous flow of serious talk from a man i was accustomed to see either gay or taciturn so surprised and overwhelmed me that i could not frame a reply. he left me thinking over what he had said. whatever was the soundness of his logic or the moral tone of his philosophy, his argument greatly impressed me. i could see, in spite of the absolute selfishness upon which it was based, that there was reason and common sense in it. i began to analyze my own motives, and found that they, too, were very largely mixed with selfishness. was it more a desire to help those i considered my people, or more a desire to distinguish myself, which was leading me back to the united states? that is a question i have never definitely answered. for several weeks longer i was in a troubled state of mind. added to the fact that i was loath to leave my good friend was the weight of the question he had aroused in my mind, whether i was not making a fatal mistake. i suffered more than one sleepless night during that time. finally, i settled the question on purely selfish grounds, in accordance with my millionaire's philosophy. i argued that music offered me a better future than anything else i had any knowledge of, and, in opposition to my friend's opinion, that i should have greater chances of attracting attention as a colored composer than as a white one. but i must own that i also felt stirred by an unselfish desire to voice all the joys and sorrows, the hopes and ambitions, of the american negro, in classic musical form. when my mind was fully made up, i told my friend. he asked me when i intended to start. i replied that i would do so at once. he then asked me how much money i had. i told him that i had saved several hundred dollars out of sums he had given me. he gave me a check for five hundred dollars, told me to write to him in care of his paris bankers if i ever needed his help, wished me good luck, and bade me good-by. all this he did almost coldly; and i often wondered whether he was in a hurry to get rid of what he considered a fool, or whether he was striving to hide deeper feelings. and so i separated from the man who was, all in all, the best friend i ever had, except my mother, the man who exerted the greatest influence ever brought into my life, except that exerted by my mother. my affection for him was so strong, my recollections of him are so distinct, he was such a peculiar and striking character, that i could easily fill several chapters with reminiscences of him; but for fear of tiring the reader i shall go on with my narration. i decided to go to liverpool and take ship for boston. i still had an uneasy feeling about returning to new york; and in a few days i found myself aboard ship headed for home. x among the first of my fellow-passengers of whom i took any particular notice was a tall, broad-shouldered, almost gigantic, colored man. his dark-brown face was clean-shaven; he was well-dressed and bore a decidedly distinguished air. in fact, if he was not handsome, he at least compelled admiration for his fine physical proportions. he attracted general attention as he strode the deck in a sort of majestic loneliness. i became curious to know who he was and determined to strike up an acquaintance with him at the first opportune moment. the chance came a day or two later. he was sitting in the smoking-room, with a cigar, which had gone out, in his mouth, reading a novel. i sat down beside him and, offering him a fresh cigar, said: "you don't mind my telling you something unpleasant, do you?" he looked at me with a smile, accepted the proffered cigar, and replied in a voice which comported perfectly with his size and appearance: "i think my curiosity overcomes any objections i might have." "well," i said, "have you noticed that the man who sat at your right in the saloon during the first meal has not sat there since?" he frowned slightly without answering my question. "well," i continued, "he asked the steward to remove him; and not only that, he attempted to persuade a number of the passengers to protest against your presence in the dining-saloon." the big man at my side took a long draw from his cigar, threw his head back, and slowly blew a great cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. then turning to me he said: "do you know, i don't object to anyone's having prejudices so long as those prejudices don't interfere with my personal liberty. now, the man you are speaking of had a perfect right to change his seat if i in any way interfered with his appetite or his digestion. i should have no reason to complain if he removed to the farthest corner of the saloon, or even if he got off the ship; but when his prejudice attempts to move _me_ one foot, one inch, out of the place where i am comfortably located, then i object." on the word "object" he brought his great fist down on the table in front of us with such a crash that everyone in the room turned to look. we both covered up the slight embarrassment with a laugh and strolled out on the deck. we walked the deck for an hour or more, discussing different phases of the negro question. in referring to the race i used the personal pronoun "we"; my companion made no comment about it, nor evinced any surprise, except to raise his eyebrows slightly the first time he caught the significance of the word. he was the broadest-minded colored man i have ever talked with on the negro question. he even went so far as to sympathize with and offer excuses for some white southern points of view. i asked him what were his main reasons for being so hopeful. he replied: "in spite of all that is written, said, and done, this great, big, incontrovertible fact stands out--the negro is progressing, and that disproves all the arguments in the world that he is incapable of progress. i was born in slavery, and at emancipation was set adrift a ragged, penniless bit of humanity. i have seen the negro in every grade, and i know what i am talking about. our detractors point to the increase of crime as evidence against us; certainly we have progressed in crime as in other things; what less could be expected? and yet, in this respect, we are far from the point which has been reached by the more highly civilized white race. as we continue to progress, crime among us will gradually lose much of its brutal, vulgar, i might say healthy, aspect, and become more delicate, refined, and subtle. then it will be less shocking and noticeable, although more dangerous to society." then dropping his tone of irony, he continued with some show of eloquence: "but, above all, when i am discouraged and disheartened, i have this to fall back on: if there is a principle of right in the world, which finally prevails, and i believe that there is; if there is a merciful but justice-loving god in heaven, and i believe that there is, we shall win; for we have right on our side, while those who oppose us can defend themselves by nothing in the moral law, nor even by anything in the enlightened thought of the present age." for several days, together with other topics, we discussed the race problem, not only of the united states, but as it affected native africans and jews. finally, before we reached boston, our conversation had grown familiar and personal. i had told him something of my past and much about my intentions for the future. i learned that he was a physician, a graduate of howard university, washington, and had done post-graduate work in philadelphia; and this was his second trip abroad to attend professional courses. he had practiced for some years in the city of washington, and though he did not say so, i gathered that his practice was a lucrative one. before we left the ship, he had made me promise that i would stop two or three days in washington before going on south. we put up at a hotel in boston for a couple of days and visited several of my new friend's acquaintances; they were all people of education and culture and, apparently, of means. i could not help being struck by the great difference between them and the same class of colored people in the south. in speech and thought they were genuine yankees. the difference was especially noticeable in their speech. there was none of that heavy-tongued enunciation which characterizes even the best-educated colored people of the south. it is remarkable, after all, what an adaptable creature the negro is. i have seen the black west indian gentleman in london, and he is in speech and manners a perfect englishman. i have seen natives of haiti and martinique in paris, and they are more frenchy than a frenchman. i have no doubt that the negro would make a good chinaman, with exception of the pigtail. my stay in washington, instead of being two or three days, was two or three weeks. this was my first visit to the national capital, and i was, of course, interested in seeing the public buildings and something of the working of the government; but most of my time i spent with the doctor among his friends and acquaintances. the social phase of life among colored people is more developed in washington than in any other city in the country. this is on account of the large number of individuals earning good salaries and having a reasonable amount of leisure time to draw from. there are dozens of physicians and lawyers, scores of school teachers, and hundreds of clerks in the departments. as to the colored department clerks, i think it fair to say that in educational equipment they average above the white clerks of the same grade; for, whereas a colored college graduate will seek such a job, the white university man goes into one of the many higher vocations which are open to him. in a previous chapter i spoke of social life among colored people; so there is no need to take it up again here. but there is one thing i did not mention: among negroes themselves there is the peculiar inconsistency of a color question. its existence is rarely admitted and hardly ever mentioned; it may not be too strong a statement to say that the greater portion of the race is unconscious of its influence; yet this influence, though silent, is constant. it is evidenced most plainly in marriage selection; thus the black men generally marry women fairer than themselves; while, on the other hand, the dark women of stronger mental endowment are very often married to light-complexioned men; the effect is a tendency toward lighter complexions, especially among the more active elements in the race. some might claim that this is a tacit admission of colored people among themselves of their own inferiority judged by the color line. i do not think so. what i have termed an inconsistency is, after all, most natural; it is, in fact, a tendency in accordance with what might be called an economic necessity. so far as racial differences go, the united states puts a greater premium on color, or, better, lack of color, than upon anything else in the world. to paraphrase, "have a white skin, and all things else may be added unto you." i have seen advertisements in newspapers for waiters, bell-boys, or elevator men, which read: "light-colored man wanted." it is this tremendous pressure which the sentiment of the country exerts that is operating on the race. there is involved not only the question of higher opportunity, but often the question of earning a livelihood; and so i say it is not strange, but a natural tendency. nor is it any more a sacrifice of self-respect that a black man should give to his children every advantage he can which complexion of the skin carries than that the new or vulgar rich should purchase for their children the advantages which ancestry, aristocracy, and social position carry. i once heard a colored man sum it up in these words: "it's no disgrace to be black, but it's often very inconvenient." washington shows the negro not only at his best, but also at his worst. as i drove around with the doctor, he commented rather harshly on those of the latter class which we saw. he remarked: "you see those lazy, loafing, good-for-nothing darkies; they're not worth digging graves for; yet they are the ones who create impressions of the race for the casual observer. it's because they are always in evidence on the street corners, while the rest of us are hard at work, and you know a dozen loafing darkies make a bigger crowd and a worse impression in this country than fifty white men of the same class. but they ought not to represent the race. we are the race, and the race ought to be judged by us, not by them. every race and every nation should be judged by the best it has been able to produce, not by the worst." the recollection of my stay in washington is a pleasure to me now. in company with the doctor i visited howard university, the public schools, the excellent colored hospital, with which he was in some way connected, if i remember correctly, and many comfortable and even elegant homes. it was with some reluctance that i continued my journey south. the doctor was very kind in giving me letters to people in richmond and nashville when i told him that i intended to stop in both of these cities. in richmond a man who was then editing a very creditable colored newspaper gave me a great deal of his time and made my stay there of three or four days very pleasant. in nashville i spent a whole day at fisk university, the home of the "jubilee singers," and was more than repaid for my time. among my letters of introduction was one to a very prosperous physician. he drove me about the city and introduced me to a number of people. from nashville i went to atlanta, where i stayed long enough to gratify an old desire to see atlanta university again. i then continued my journey to macon. during the trip from nashville to atlanta i went into the smoking-compartment of the car to smoke a cigar. i was traveling in a pullman, not because of an abundance of funds, but because through my experience with my millionaire a certain amount of comfort and luxury had become a necessity to me whenever it was obtainable. when i entered the car, i found only a couple of men there; but in a half-hour there were half a dozen or more. from the general conversation i learned that a fat jewish-looking man was a cigar manufacturer, and was experimenting in growing havana tobacco in florida; that a slender bespectacled young man was from ohio and a professor in some state institution in alabama; that a white-mustached, well-dressed man was an old union soldier who had fought through the civil war; and that a tall, raw-boned, red-faced man, who seemed bent on leaving nobody in ignorance of the fact that he was from texas, was a cotton planter. in the north men may ride together for hours in a "smoker" and unless they are acquainted with each other never exchange a word; in the south men thrown together in such manner are friends in fifteen minutes. there is always present a warm-hearted cordiality which will melt down the most frigid reserve. it may be because southerners are very much like frenchmen in that they must talk; and not only must they talk, but they must express their opinions. the talk in the car was for a while miscellaneous--on the weather, crops, business prospects; the old union soldier had invested capital in atlanta, and he predicted that that city would soon be one of the greatest in the country. finally the conversation drifted to politics; then, as a natural sequence, turned upon the negro question. in the discussion of the race question the diplomacy of the jew was something to be admired; he had the faculty of agreeing with everybody without losing his allegiance to any side. he knew that to sanction negro oppression would be to sanction jewish oppression and would expose him to a shot along that line from the old soldier, who stood firmly on the ground of equal rights and opportunity to all men; long traditions and business instincts told him when in rome to act as a roman. altogether his position was a delicate one, and i gave him credit for the skill he displayed in maintaining it. the young professor was apologetic. he had had the same views as the g.a.r. man; but a year in the south had opened his eyes, and he had to confess that the problem could hardly be handled any better than it was being handled by the southern whites. to which the g.a.r. man responded somewhat rudely that he had spent ten times as many years in the south as his young friend and that he could easily understand how holding a position in a state institution in alabama would bring about a change of views. the professor turned very red and had very little more to say. the texan was fierce, eloquent, and profane in his argument, and, in a lower sense, there was a direct logic in what he said, which was convincing; it was only by taking higher ground, by dealing in what southerners call "theories," that he could be combated. occasionally some one of the several other men in the "smoker" would throw in a remark to reinforce what he said, but he really didn't need any help; he was sufficient in himself. in the course of a short time the controversy narrowed itself down to an argument between the old soldier and the texan. the latter maintained hotly that the civil war was a criminal mistake on the part of the north and that the humiliation which the south suffered during reconstruction could never be forgotten. the union man retorted just as hotly that the south was responsible for the war and that the spirit of unforgetfulness on its part was the greatest cause of present friction; that it seemed to be the one great aim of the south to convince the north that the latter made a mistake in fighting to preserve the union and liberate the slaves. "can you imagine," he went on to say, "what would have been the condition of things eventually if there had been no war, and the south had been allowed to follow its course? instead of one great, prosperous country with nothing before it but the conquests of peace, a score of petty republics, as in central and south america, wasting their energies in war with each other or in revolutions." "well," replied the texan, "anything--no country at all--is better than having niggers over you. but anyhow, the war was fought and the niggers were freed; for it's no use beating around the bush, the niggers, and not the union, was the cause of it; and now do you believe that all the niggers on earth are worth the good white blood that was spilt? you freed the nigger and you gave him the ballot, but you couldn't make a citizen out of him. he don't know what he's voting for, and we buy 'em like so many hogs. you're giving 'em education, but that only makes slick rascals out of 'em." "don't fancy for a moment," said the northern man, "that you have any monopoly in buying ignorant votes. the same thing is done on a larger scale in new york and boston, and in chicago and san francisco; and they are not black votes either. as to education's making the negro worse, you might just as well tell me that religion does the same thing. and, by the way, how many educated colored men do you know personally?" the texan admitted that he knew only one, and added that he was in the penitentiary. "but," he said, "do you mean to claim, ballot or no ballot, education or no education, that niggers are the equals of white men?" "that's not the question," answered the other, "but if the negro is so distinctly inferior, it is a strange thing to me that it takes such tremendous effort on the part of the white man to make him realize it, and to keep him in the same place into which inferior men naturally fall. however, let us grant for sake of argument that the negro is inferior in every respect to the white man; that fact only increases our moral responsibility in regard to our actions toward him. inequalities of numbers, wealth, and power, even of intelligence and morals, should make no difference in the essential rights of men." "if he's inferior and weaker, and is shoved to the wall, that's his own look-out," said the texan. "that's the law of nature; and he's bound to go to the wall; for no race in the world has ever been able to stand competition with the anglo-saxon. the anglo-saxon race has always been and always will be the masters of the world, and the niggers in the south ain't going to change all the records of history." "my friend," said the old soldier slowly, "if you have studied history, will you tell me, as confidentially between white men, what the anglo-saxon has ever done?" the texan was too much astonished by the question to venture any reply. his opponent continued: "can you name a single one of the great fundamental and original intellectual achievements which have raised man in the scale of civilization that may be credited to the anglo-saxon? the art of letters, of poetry, of music, of sculpture, of painting, of the drama, of architecture; the science of mathematics, of astronomy, of philosophy, of logic, of physics, of chemistry, the use of the metals, and the principles of mechanics, were all invented or discovered by darker and what we now call inferior races and nations. we have carried many of these to their highest point of perfection, but the foundation was laid by others. do you know the only original contribution to civilization we can claim is what we have done in steam and electricity and in making implements of war more deadly? and there we worked largely on principles which we did not discover. why, we didn't even originate the religion we use. we are a great race, the greatest in the world today, but we ought to remember that we are standing on a pile of past races, and enjoy our position with a little less show of arrogance. we are simply having our turn at the game, and we were a long time getting to it. after all, racial supremacy is merely a matter of dates in history. the man here who belongs to what is, all in all, the greatest race the world ever produced, is almost ashamed to own it. if the anglo-saxon is the source of everything good and great in the human race from the beginning, why wasn't the german forest the birthplace of civilization, rather than the valley of the nile?" the texan was somewhat disconcerted, for the argument had passed a little beyond his limits, but he swung it back to where he was sure of his ground by saying: "all that may be true, but it hasn't got much to do with us and the niggers here in the south. we've got 'em here, and we've got 'em to live with, and it's a question of white man or nigger, no middle ground. you want us to treat niggers as equals. do you want to see 'em sitting around in our parlors? do you want to see a mulatto south? to bring it right home to you, would you let your daughter marry a nigger?" "no, i wouldn't consent to my daughter's marrying a nigger, but that doesn't prevent my treating a black man fairly. and i don't see what fair treatment has to do with niggers sitting around in your parlors; they can't come there unless they're invited. out of all the white men i know, only a hundred or so have the privilege of sitting around in my parlor. as to the mulatto south, if you southerners have one boast that is stronger than another, it is your women; you put them on a pinnacle of purity and virtue and bow down in a chivalric worship before them; yet you talk and act as though, should you treat the negro fairly and take the anti-inter-marriage laws off your statute books, these same women would rush into the arms of black lovers and husbands. it's a wonder to me that they don't rise up and resent the insult." "colonel," said the texan, as he reached into his handbag and brought out a large flask of whisky, "you might argue from now until hell freezes over, and you might convince me that you're right, but you'll never convince me that i'm wrong. all you say sounds very good, but it's got nothing to do with facts. you can say what men ought to be, but they ain't that; so there you are. down here in the south we're up against facts, and we're meeting 'em like facts. we don't believe the nigger is or ever will be the equal of the white man, and we ain't going to treat him as an equal; i'll be damned if we will. have a drink." everybody except the professor partook of the generous texan's flask, and the argument closed in a general laugh and good feeling. i went back into the main part of the car with the conversation on my mind. here i had before me the bald, raw, naked aspects of the race question in the south; and, in consideration of the step i was just taking, it was far from encouraging. the sentiments of the texan--and he expressed the sentiments of the south--fell upon me like a chill. i was sick at heart. yet i must confess that underneath it all i felt a certain sort of admiration for the man who could not be swayed from what he held as his principles. contrasted with him, the young ohio professor was indeed a pitiable character. and all along, in spite of myself, i have been compelled to accord the same kind of admiration to the southern white man for the manner in which he defends not only his virtues, but his vices. he knows that, judged by a high standard, he is narrow and prejudiced, that he is guilty of unfairness, oppression, and cruelty, but this he defends as stoutly as he would his better qualities. this same spirit obtains in a great degree among the blacks; they, too, defend their faults and failings. this they generally do whenever white people are concerned. and yet among themselves they are their own most merciless critics. i have never heard the race so terribly arraigned as i have by colored speakers to strictly colored audiences. it is the spirit of the south to defend everything belonging to it. the north is too cosmopolitan and tolerant for such a spirit. if you should say to an easterner that paris is a gayer city than new york, he would be likely to agree with you, or at least to let you have your own way; but to suggest to a south carolinian that boston is a nicer city to live in than charleston would be to stir his greatest depths of argument and eloquence. but to-day, as i think over that smoking-car argument, i can see it in a different light. the texan's position does not render things so hopeless, for it indicates that the main difficulty of the race question does not lie so much in the actual condition of the blacks as it does in the mental attitude of the whites; and a mental attitude, especially one not based on truth, can be changed more easily than actual conditions. that is to say, the burden of the question is not that the whites are struggling to save ten million despondent and moribund people from sinking into a hopeless slough of ignorance, poverty, and barbarity in their very midst, but that they are unwilling to open certain doors of opportunity and to accord certain treatment to ten million aspiring, education-and-property-acquiring people. in a word, the difficulty of the problem is not so much due to the facts presented as to the hypothesis assumed for its solution. in this it is similar to the problem of the solar system. by a complex, confusing, and almost contradictory mathematical process, by the use of zigzags instead of straight lines, the earth can be proved to be the center of things celestial; but by an operation so simple that it can be comprehended by a schoolboy, its position can be verified among the other worlds which revolve about the sun, and its movements harmonized with the laws of the universe. so, when the white race assumes as a hypothesis that it is the main object of creation and that all things else are merely subsidiary to its well-being, sophism, subterfuge, perversion of conscience, arrogance, injustice, oppression, cruelty, sacrifice of human blood, all are required to maintain the position, and its dealings with other races become indeed a problem, a problem which, if based on a hypothesis of common humanity, could be solved by the simple rules of justice. when i reached macon, i decided to leave my trunk and all my surplus belongings, to pack my bag, and strike out into the interior. this i did; and by train, by mule and ox-cart, i traveled through many counties. this was my first real experience among rural colored people, and all that i saw was interesting to me; but there was a great deal which does not require description at my hands; for log cabins and plantations and dialect-speaking "darkies" are perhaps better known in american literature than any other single picture of our national life. indeed, they form an ideal and exclusive literary concept of the american negro to such an extent that it is almost impossible to get the reading public to recognize him in any other setting; so i shall endeavor to avoid giving the reader any already overworked and hackneyed descriptions. this generally accepted literary ideal of the american negro constitutes what is really an obstacle in the way of the thoughtful and progressive element of the race. his character has been established as a happy-go-lucky, laughing, shuffling, banjo-picking being, and the reading public has not yet been prevailed upon to take him seriously. his efforts to elevate himself socially are looked upon as a sort of absurd caricature of "white civilization." a novel dealing with colored people who lived in respectable homes and amidst a fair degree of culture and who naturally acted "just like white folks" would be taken in a comic-opera sense. in this respect the negro is much in the position of a great comedian who gives up the lighter roles to play tragedy. no matter how well he may portray the deeper passions, the public is loath to give him up in his old character; they even conspire to make him a failure in serious work, in order to force him back into comedy. in the same respect, the public is not too much to be blamed, for great comedians are far more scarce than mediocre tragedians; every amateur actor is a tragedian. however, this very fact constitutes the opportunity of the future negro novelist and poet to give the country something new and unknown, in depicting the life, the ambitions, the struggles, and the passions of those of their race who are striving to break the narrow limits of traditions. a beginning has already been made in that remarkable book by dr. du bois, _the souls of black folk_. much, too, that i saw while on this trip, in spite of my enthusiasm, was disheartening. often i thought of what my millionaire had said to me, and wished myself back in europe. the houses in which i had to stay were generally uncomfortable, sometimes worse. i often had to sleep in a division or compartment with several other people. once or twice i was not so fortunate as to find divisions; everybody slept on pallets on the floor. frequently i was able to lie down and contemplate the stars which were in their zenith. the food was at times so distasteful and poorly cooked that i could not eat it. i remember that once i lived for a week or more on buttermilk, on account of not being able to stomach the fat bacon, the rank turnip-tops, and the heavy damp mixture of meal, salt, and water which was called corn bread. it was only my ambition to do the work which i had planned that kept me steadfast to my purpose. occasionally i would meet with some signs of progress and uplift in even one of these back-wood settlements--houses built of boards, with windows, and divided into rooms; decent food, and a fair standard of living. this condition was due to the fact that there was in the community some exceptionally capable negro farmer whose thrift served as an example. as i went about among these dull, simple people--the great majority of them hard working, in their relations with the whites submissive, faithful, and often affectionate, negatively content with their lot--and contrasted them with those of the race who had been quickened by the forces of thought, i could not but appreciate the logic of the position held by those southern leaders who have been bold enough to proclaim against the education of the negro. they are consistent in their public speech with southern sentiment and desires. those public men of the south who have not been daring or heedless enough to defy the ideals of twentieth-century civilization and of modern humanitarianism and philanthropy, find themselves in the embarrassing situation of preaching one thing and praying for another. they are in the position of the fashionable woman who is compelled by the laws of polite society to say to her dearest enemy: "how happy i am to see you!" and yet in this respect how perplexing is southern character; for, in opposition to the above, it may be said that the claim of the southern whites that they love the negro better than the northern whites do is in a manner true. northern white people love the negro in a sort of abstract way, as a race; through a sense of justice, charity, and philanthropy, they will liberally assist in his elevation. a number of them have heroically spent their lives in this effort (and just here i wish to say that when the colored people reach the monument-building stage, they should not forget the men and women who went south after the war and founded schools for them). yet, generally speaking, they have no particular liking for individuals of the race. southern white people despise the negro as a race, and will do nothing to aid in his elevation as such; but for certain individuals they have a strong affection, and are helpful to them in many ways. with these individual members of the race they live on terms of the greatest intimacy; they entrust to them their children, their family treasures, and their family secrets; in trouble they often go to them for comfort and counsel; in sickness they often rely upon their care. this affectionate relation between the southern whites and those blacks who come into close touch with them has not been overdrawn even in fiction. this perplexity of southern character extends even to the intermixture of the races. that is spoken of as though it were dreaded worse than smallpox, leprosy, or the plague. yet, when i was in jacksonville, i knew several prominent families there with large colored branches, which went by the same name and were known and acknowledged as blood relatives. and what is more, there seemed to exist between these black brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts a decidedly friendly feeling. i said above that southern whites would do nothing for the negro as a race. i know the south claims that it has spent millions for the education of the blacks, and that it has of its own free will shouldered this awful burden. it seems to be forgetful of the fact that these millions have been taken from the public tax funds for education, and that the law of political economy which recognizes the land owner as the one who really pays the taxes is not tenable. it would be just as reasonable for the relatively few land owners of manhattan to complain that they had to stand the financial burden of the education of the thousands and thousands of children whose parents pay rent for tenements and flats. let the millions of producing and consuming negroes be taken out of the south, and it would be quickly seen how much less of public funds there would be to appropriate for education or any other purpose. in thus traveling about through the country i was sometimes amused on arriving at some little railroad-station town to be taken for and treated as a white man, and six hours later, when it was learned that i was stopping at the house of the colored preacher or school teacher, to note the attitude of the whole town change. at times this led even to embarrassment. yet it cannot be so embarrassing for a colored man to be taken for white as for a white man to be taken for colored; and i have heard of several cases of the latter kind. all this while i was gathering material for work, jotting down in my note-book themes and melodies, and trying to catch the spirit of the negro in his relatively primitive state. i began to feel the necessity of hurrying so that i might get back to some city like nashville to begin my compositions and at the same time earn at least a living by teaching and performing before my funds gave out. at the last settlement in which i stopped i found a mine of material. this was due to the fact that "big meeting" was in progress. "big meeting" is an institution something like camp-meeting, the difference being that it is held in a permanent church, and not in a temporary structure. all the churches of some one denomination--of course, either methodist or baptist--in a county, or, perhaps, in several adjoining counties, are closed, and the congregations unite at some centrally located church for a series of meetings lasting a week. it is really a social as well as a religious function. the people come in great numbers, making the trip, according to their financial status, in buggies drawn by sleek, fleet-footed mules, in ox-carts, or on foot. it was amusing to see some of the latter class trudging down the hot and dusty road, with their shoes, which were brand-new, strung across their shoulders. when they got near the church, they sat on the side of the road and, with many grimaces, tenderly packed their feet into those instruments of torture. this furnished, indeed, a trying test of their religion. the famous preachers come from near and far and take turns in warning sinners of the day of wrath. food, in the form of those two southern luxuries, fried chicken and roast pork, is plentiful, and no one need go hungry. on the opening sunday the women are immaculate in starched stiff white dresses adorned with ribbons, either red or blue. even a great many of the men wear streamers of vari-colored ribbons in the buttonholes of their coats. a few of them carefully cultivate a forelock of hair by wrapping it in twine, and on such festive occasions decorate it with a narrow ribbon streamer. big meetings afford a fine opportunity to the younger people to meet each other dressed in their sunday clothes, and much rustic courting, which is as enjoyable as any other kind, is indulged in. this big meeting which i was lucky enough to catch was particularly well attended; the extra large attendance was due principally to two attractions, a man by the name of john brown, who was renowned as the most powerful preacher for miles around; and a wonderful leader of singing, who was known as "singing johnson." these two men were a study and a revelation to me. they caused me to reflect upon how great an influence their types have been in the development of the negro in america. both these types are now looked upon generally with condescension or contempt by the progressive element among the colored people; but it should never be forgotten that it was they who led the race from paganism and kept it steadfast to christianity through all the long, dark years of slavery. john brown was a jet-black man of medium size, with a strikingly intelligent head and face, and a voice like an organ peal. he preached each night after several lesser lights had successively held the pulpit during an hour or so. as far as subject-matter is concerned, all of the sermons were alike: each began with the fall of man, ran through various trials and tribulations of the hebrew children, on to the redemption by christ, and ended with a fervid picture of the judgment day and the fate of the damned. but john brown possessed magnetism and an imagination so free and daring that he was able to carry through what the other preachers would not attempt. he knew all the arts and tricks of oratory, the modulation of the voice to almost a whisper, the pause for effect, the rise through light, rapid-fire sentences to the terrific, thundering outburst of an electrifying climax. in addition, he had the intuition of a born theatrical manager. night after night this man held me fascinated. he convinced me that, after all, eloquence consists more in the manner of saying than in what is said. it is largely a matter of tone pictures. the most striking example of john brown's magnetism and imagination was his "heavenly march"; i shall never forget how it impressed me when i heard it. he opened his sermon in the usual way; then, proclaiming to his listeners that he was going to take them on the heavenly march, he seized the bible under his arm and began to pace up and down the pulpit platform. the congregation immediately began with their feet a tramp, tramp, tramp, in time with the preacher's march in the pulpit, all the while singing in an undertone a hymn about marching to zion. suddenly he cried: "halt!" every foot stopped with the precision of a company of well-drilled soldiers, and the singing ceased. the morning star had been reached. here the preacher described the beauties of that celestial body. then the march, the tramp, tramp, tramp, and the singing were again taken up. another "halt!" they had reached the evening star. and so on, past the sun and moon--the intensity of religious emotion all the time increasing--along the milky way, on up to the gates of heaven. here the halt was longer, and the preacher described at length the gates and walls of the new jerusalem. then he took his hearers through the pearly gates, along the golden streets, pointing out the glories of the city, pausing occasionally to greet some patriarchal members of the church, well-known to most of his listeners in life, who had had "the tears wiped from their eyes, were clad in robes of spotless white, with crowns of gold upon their heads and harps within their hands," and ended his march before the great white throne. to the reader this may sound ridiculous, but listened to under the circumstances, it was highly and effectively dramatic. i was a more or less sophisticated and non-religious man of the world, but the torrent of the preacher's words, moving with the rhythm and glowing with the eloquence of primitive poetry, swept me along, and i, too, felt like joining in the shouts of "amen! hallelujah!" john brown's powers in describing the delights of heaven were no greater than those in depicting the horrors of hell. i saw great, strapping fellows trembling and weeping like children at the "mourners' bench." his warnings to sinners were truly terrible. i shall never forget one expression that he used, which for originality and aptness could not be excelled. in my opinion, it is more graphic and, for us, far more expressive than st. paul's "it is hard to kick against the pricks." he struck the attitude of a pugilist and thundered out: "young man, your arm's too short to box with god!" interesting as was john brown to me, the other man, "singing johnson," was more so. he was a small, dark-brown, one-eyed man, with a clear, strong, high-pitched voice, a leader of singing, a maker of songs, a man who could improvise at the moment lines to fit the occasion. not so striking a figure as john brown, but, at "big meetings," equally important. it is indispensable to the success of the singing, when the congregation is a large one made up of people from different communities, to have someone with a strong voice who knows just what hymn to sing and when to sing it, who can pitch it in the right key, and who has all the leading lines committed to memory. sometimes it devolves upon the leader to "sing down" a long-winded or uninteresting speaker. committing to memory the leading lines of all the negro spiritual songs is no easy task, for they run up into the hundreds. but the accomplished leader must know them all, because the congregation sings only the refrains and repeats; every ear in the church is fixed upon him, and if he becomes mixed in his lines or forgets them, the responsibility falls directly on his shoulders. for example, most of these hymns are constructed to be sung in the following manner: leader. _swing low, sweet chariot._ congregation. _coming for to carry me home._ leader. _swing low, sweet chariot._ congregation. _coming for to carry me home._ leader. _i look over yonder, what do i see?_ congregation. _coming for to carry me home._ leader. _two little angels coming after me._ congregation. _coming for to carry me home...._ the solitary and plaintive voice of the leader is answered by a sound like the roll of the sea, producing a most curious effect. in only a few of these songs do the leader and the congregation start off together. such a song is the well-known "steal away to jesus." the leader and the congregation begin with part-singing: _steal away, steal away, steal away to jesus; steal away, steal away home, i ain't got long to stay here._ then the leader alone or the congregation in unison: _my lord he calls me, he calls me by the thunder, the trumpet sounds within-a my soul._ then all together: _i ain't got long to stay here._ the leader and the congregation again take up the opening refrain; then the leader sings three more leading lines alone, and so on almost _ad infinitum_. it will be seen that even here most of the work falls upon the leader, for the congregation sings the same lines over and over, while his memory and ingenuity are taxed to keep the songs going. generally the parts taken up by the congregation are sung in a three-part harmony, the women singing the soprano and a transposed tenor, the men with high voices singing the melody, and those with low voices a thundering bass. in a few of these songs, however, the leading part is sung in unison by the whole congregation, down to the last line, which is harmonized. the effect of this is intensely thrilling. such a hymn is "go down, moses." it stirs the heart like a trumpet call. "singing johnson" was an ideal leader, and his services were in great demand. he spent his time going about the country from one church to another. he received his support in much the same way as the preachers--part of a collection, food and lodging. all of his leisure time he devoted to originating new words and melodies and new lines for old songs. he always sang with his eyes--or, to be more exact, his eye--closed, indicating the _tempo_ by swinging his head to and fro. he was a great judge of the proper hymn to sing at a particular moment; and i noticed several times, when the preacher reached a certain climax, or expressed a certain sentiment, that johnson broke in with a line or two of some appropriate hymn. the speaker understood and would pause until the singing ceased. as i listened to the singing of these songs, the wonder of their production grew upon me more and more. how did the men who originated them manage to do it? the sentiments are easily accounted for; they are mostly taken from the bible; but the melodies, where did they come from? some of them so weirdly sweet, and others so wonderfully strong. take, for instance, "go down, moses." i doubt that there is a stronger theme in the whole musical literature of the world. and so many of these songs contain more than mere melody; there is sounded in them that elusive undertone, the note in music which is not heard with the ears. i sat often with the tears rolling down my cheeks and my heart melted within me. any musical person who has never heard a negro congregation under the spell of religious fervor sing these old songs has missed one of the most thrilling emotions which the human heart may experience. anyone who without shedding tears can listen to negroes sing "nobody knows de trouble i see, nobody knows but jesus" must indeed have a heart of stone. as yet, the negroes themselves do not fully appreciate these old slave songs. the educated classes are rather ashamed of them and prefer to sing hymns from books. this feeling is natural; they are still too close to the conditions under which the songs were produced; but the day will come when this slave music will be the most treasured heritage of the american negro. at the close of the "big meeting" i left the settlement where it was being held, full of enthusiasm. i was in that frame of mind which, in the artistic temperament, amounts to inspiration. i was now ready and anxious to get to some place where i might settle down to work, and give expression to the ideas which were teeming in my head; but i strayed into another deviation from my path of life as i had it marked out, which led me upon an entirely different road. instead of going to the nearest and most convenient railroad station, i accepted the invitation of a young man who had been present the closing sunday at the meeting to drive with him some miles farther to the town in which he taught school, and there take the train. my conversation with this young man as we drove along through the country was extremely interesting. he had been a student in one of the negro colleges--strange coincidence, in the very college, as i learned through him, in which "shiny" was now a professor. i was, of course, curious to hear about my boyhood friend; and had it not been vacation time, and that i was not sure that i should find him, i should have gone out of my way to pay him a visit; but i determined to write to him as soon as the school opened. my companion talked to me about his work among the people, of his hopes and his discouragements. he was tremendously in earnest; i might say, too much so. in fact, it may be said that the majority of intelligent colored people are, in some degree, too much in earnest over the race question. they assume and carry so much that their progress is at times impeded and they are unable to see things in their proper proportions. in many instances a slight exercise of the sense of humor would save much anxiety of soul. anyone who marks the general tone of editorials in colored newspapers is apt to be impressed with this idea. if the mass of negroes took their present and future as seriously as do the most of their leaders, the race would be in no mental condition to sustain the terrible pressure which it undergoes; it would sink of its own weight. yet it must be acknowledged that in the making of a race overseriousness is a far lesser failing than its reverse, and even the faults resulting from it lean toward the right. we drove into the town just before dark. as we passed a large, unpainted church, my companion pointed it out as the place where he held his school. i promised that i would go there with him the next morning and visit awhile. the town was of that kind which hardly requires or deserves description; a straggling line of brick and wooden stores on one side of the railroad track and some cottages of various sizes on the other side constituted about the whole of it. the young school teacher boarded at the best house in the place owned by a colored man. it was painted, had glass windows, contained "store bought" furniture, an organ, and lamps with chimneys. the owner held a job of some kind on the railroad. after supper it was not long before everybody was sleepy. i occupied the room with the school teacher. in a few minutes after we got into the room he was in bed and asleep; but i took advantage of the unusual luxury of a lamp which gave light, and sat looking over my notes and jotting down some ideas which were still fresh in my mind. suddenly i became conscious of that sense of alarm which is always aroused by the sound of hurrying footsteps on the silence of the night. i stopped work and looked at my watch. it was after eleven. i listened, straining every nerve to hear above the tumult of my quickening pulse. i caught the murmur of voices, then the gallop of a horse, then of another and another. now thoroughly alarmed, i woke my companion, and together we both listened. after a moment he put out the light and softly opened the window-blind, and we cautiously peeped out. we saw men moving in one direction, and from the mutterings we vaguely caught the rumor that some terrible crime had been committed. i put on my coat and hat. my friend did all in his power to dissuade me from venturing out, but it was impossible for me to remain in the house under such tense excitement. my nerves would not have stood it. perhaps what bravery i exercised in going out was due to the fact that i felt sure my identity as a colored man had not yet become known in the town. i went out and, following the drift, reached the railroad station. there was gathered there a crowd of men, all white, and others were steadily arriving, seemingly from all the surrounding country. how did the news spread so quickly? i watched these men moving under the yellow glare of the kerosene lamps about the station, stern, comparatively silent, all of them armed, some of them in boots and spurs; fierce, determined men. i had come to know the type well, blond, tall, and lean, with ragged mustache and beard, and glittering gray eyes. at the first suggestion of daylight they began to disperse in groups, going in several directions. there was no extra noise or excitement, no loud talking, only swift, sharp words of command given by those who seemed to be accepted as leaders by mutual understanding. in fact, the impression made upon me was that everything was being done in quite an orderly manner. in spite of so many leaving, the crowd around the station continued to grow; at sunrise there were a great many women and children. by this time i also noticed some colored people; a few seemed to be going about customary tasks; several were standing on the outskirts of the crowd; but the gathering of negroes usually seen in such towns was missing. before noon they brought him in. two horsemen rode abreast; between them, half dragged, the poor wretch made his way through the dust. his hands were tied behind him, and ropes around his body were fastened to the saddle horns of his double guard. the men who at midnight had been stern and silent were now emitting that terror-instilling sound known as the "rebel yell." a space was quickly cleared in the crowd, and a rope placed about his neck, when from somewhere came the suggestion, "burn him!" it ran like an electric current. have you ever witnessed the transformation of human beings into savage beasts? nothing can be more terrible. a railroad tie was sunk into the ground, the rope was removed, and a chain brought and securely coiled around the victim and the stake. there he stood, a man only in form and stature, every sign of degeneracy stamped upon his countenance. his eyes were dull and vacant, indicating not a single ray of thought. evidently the realization of his fearful fate had robbed him of whatever reasoning power he had ever possessed. he was too stunned and stupefied even to tremble. fuel was brought from everywhere, oil, the torch; the flames crouched for an instant as though to gather strength, then leaped up as high as their victim's head. he squirmed, he writhed, strained at his chains, then gave out cries and groans that i shall always hear. the cries and groans were choked off by the fire and smoke; but his eyes, bulging from their sockets, rolled from side to side, appealing in vain for help. some of the crowd yelled and cheered, others seemed appalled at what they had done, and there were those who turned away sickened at the sight. i was fixed to the spot where i stood, powerless to take my eyes from what i did not want to see. it was over before i realized that time had elapsed. before i could make myself believe that what i saw was really happening, i was looking at a scorched post, a smoldering fire, blackened bones, charred fragments sifting down through coils of chain; and the smell of burnt flesh--human flesh--was in my nostrils. i walked a short distance away and sat down in order to clear my dazed mind. a great wave of humiliation and shame swept over me. shame that i belonged to a race that could be so dealt with; and shame for my country, that it, the great example of democracy to the world, should be the only civilized, if not the only state on earth, where a human being would be burned alive. my heart turned bitter within me. i could understand why negroes are led to sympathize with even their worst criminals and to protect them when possible. by all the impulses of normal human nature they can and should do nothing less. whenever i hear protests from the south that it should be left alone to deal with the negro question, my thoughts go back to that scene of brutality and savagery. i do not see how a people that can find in its conscience any excuse whatever for slowly burning to death a human being, or for tolerating such an act, can be entrusted with the salvation of a race. of course, there are in the south men of liberal thought who do not approve lynching, but i wonder how long they will endure the limits which are placed upon free speech. they still cower and tremble before "southern opinion." even so late as the recent atlanta riot those men who were brave enough to speak a word in behalf of justice and humanity felt called upon, by way of apology, to preface what they said with a glowing rhetorical tribute to the anglo-saxon's superiority and to refer to the "great and impassable gulf" between the races "fixed by the creator at the foundation of the world." the question of the relative qualities of the two races is still an open one. the reference to the "great gulf" loses force in face of the fact that there are in this country perhaps three or four million people with the blood of both races in their veins; but i fail to see the pertinency of either statement subsequent to the beating and murdering of scores of innocent people in the streets of a civilized and christian city. the southern whites are in many respects a great people. looked at from a certain point of view, they are picturesque. if one will put oneself in a romantic frame of mind, one can admire their notions of chivalry and bravery and justice. in this same frame of mind an intelligent man can go to the theatre and applaud the impossible hero, who with his single sword slays everybody in the play except the equally impossible heroine. so can an ordinary peace-loving citizen sit by a comfortable fire and read with enjoyment of the bloody deeds of pirates and the fierce brutality of vikings. this is the way in which we gratify the old, underlying animal instincts and passions; but we should shudder with horror at the mere idea of such practices being realities in this day of enlightened and humanitarianized thought. the southern whites are not yet living quite in the present age; many of their general ideas hark back to a former century, some of them to the dark ages. in the light of other days they are sometimes magnificent. today they are often cruel and ludicrous. how long i sat with bitter thoughts running through my mind i do not know; perhaps an hour or more. when i decided to get up and go back to the house, i found that i could hardly stand on my feet. i was as weak as a man who had lost blood. however, i dragged myself along, with the central idea of a general plan well fixed in my mind. i did not find my school teacher friend at home, so i did not see him again. i swallowed a few mouthfuls of food, packed my bag, and caught the afternoon train. when i reached macon, i stopped only long enough to get the main part of my luggage and to buy a ticket for new york. all along the journey i was occupied in debating with myself the step which i had decided to take. i argued that to forsake one's race to better one's condition was no less worthy an action than to forsake one's country for the same purpose. i finally made up my mind that i would neither disclaim the black race nor claim the white race; but that i would change my name, raise a mustache, and let the world take me for what it would; that it was not necessary for me to go about with a label of inferiority pasted across my forehead. all the while i understood that it was not discouragement or fear or search for a larger field of action and opportunity that was driving me out of the negro race. i knew that it was shame, unbearable shame. shame at being identified with a people that could with impunity be treated worse than animals. for certainly the law would restrain and punish the malicious burning alive of animals. so once again i found myself gazing at the towers of new york and wondering what future that city held in store for me. xi i have now reached that part of my narrative where i must be brief and touch only on important facts; therefore the reader must make up his mind to pardon skips and jumps and meager details. when i reached new york, i was completely lost. i could not have felt more a stranger had i been suddenly dropped into constantinople. i knew not where to turn or how to strike out. i was so oppressed by a feeling of loneliness that the temptation to visit my old home in connecticut was well-nigh irresistible. i reasoned, however, that unless i found my old music teacher, i should be, after so many years of absence, as much of a stranger there as in new york; and, furthermore, that in view of the step which i had decided to take, such a visit would be injudicious. i remembered, too, that i had some property there in the shape of a piano and a few books, but decided that it would not be worth what it might cost me to take possession. by reason of the fact that my living expenses in the south had been very small, i still had nearly four hundred dollars of my capital left. in contemplation of this, my natural and acquired bohemian tastes asserted themselves, and i decided to have a couple of weeks' good time before worrying seriously about the future. i went to coney island and the other resorts, took in the pre-season shows along broadway, and ate at first-class restaurants; but i shunned the old sixth avenue district as though it were pest-infected. my few days of pleasure made appalling inroads upon what cash i had, and caused me to see that it required a good deal of money to live in new york as i wished to live and that i should have to find, very soon, some more or less profitable employment. i was sure that unknown, without friends or prestige, it would be useless to try to establish myself as a teacher of music; so i gave that means of earning a livelihood scarcely any consideration. and even had i considered it possible to secure pupils, as i then felt, i should have hesitated about taking up a work in which the chances for any considerable financial success are necessarily so small. i had made up my mind that since i was not going to be a negro, i would avail myself of every possible opportunity to make a white man's success; and that, if it can be summed up in any one word, means "money." i watched the "want" columns in the newspapers and answered a number of advertisements, but in each case found the positions were such as i could not fill or did not want. i also spent several dollars for "ads" which brought me no replies. in this way i came to know the hopes and disappointments of a large and pitiable class of humanity in this great city, the people who look for work through the newspapers. after some days of this sort of experience i concluded that the main difficulty with me was that i was not prepared for what i wanted to do. i then decided upon a course which, for an artist, showed an uncommon amount of practical sense and judgment. i made up my mind to enter a business college. i took a small room, ate at lunch counters, in order to economize, and pursued my studies with the zeal that i have always been able to put into any work upon which i set my heart. yet, in spite of all my economy, when i had been at the school for several months, my funds gave out completely. i reached the point where i could not afford sufficient food for each day. in this plight i was glad to get, through one of the teachers, a job as an ordinary clerk in a downtown wholesale house. i did my work faithfully, and received a raise of salary before i expected it. i even managed to save a little money out of my modest earnings. in fact, i began then to contract the money fever, which later took strong possession of me. i kept my eyes open, watching for a chance to better my condition. it finally came in the form of a position with a house which was at the time establishing a south american department. my knowledge of spanish was, of course, the principal cause of my good luck; and it did more for me: it placed me where the other clerks were practically put out of competition with me. i was not slow in taking advantage of the opportunity to make myself indispensable to the firm. what an interesting and absorbing game is money-making! after each deposit at my savings-bank i used to sit and figure out, all over again, my principal and interest, and make calculations on what the increase would be in such and such time. out of this i derived a great deal of pleasure. i denied myself as much as possible in order to swell my savings. as much as i enjoyed smoking, i limited myself to an occasional cigar, and that was generally of a variety which in my old days at the "club" was known as a "henry mud." drinking i cut out altogether, but that was no great sacrifice. the day on which i was able to figure up a thousand dollars marked an epoch in my life. and this was not because i had never before had money. in my gambling days and while i was with my millionaire i handled sums running high up into the hundreds; but they had come to me like fairy godmother's gifts, and at a time when my conception of money was that it was made only to spend. here, on the other hand, was a thousand dollars which i had earned by days of honest and patient work, a thousand dollars which i had carefully watched grow from the first dollar; and i experienced, in owning them, a pride and satisfaction which to me was an entirely new sensation. as my capital went over the thousand-dollar mark, i was puzzled to know what to do with it, how to put it to the most advantageous use. i turned down first one scheme and then another, as though they had been devised for the sole purpose of gobbling up my money. i finally listened to a friend who advised me to put all i had in new york real estate; and under his guidance i took equity in a piece of property on which stood a rickety old tenement-house. i did not regret following this friend's advice, for in something like six months i disposed of my equity for more than double my investment. from that time on i devoted myself to the study of new york real estate and watched for opportunities to make similar investments. in spite of two or three speculations which did not turn out well, i have been remarkably successful. today i am the owner and part-owner of several flat-houses. i have changed my place of employment four times since returning to new york, and each change has been a decided advancement. concerning the position which i now hold i shall say nothing except that it pays extremely well. as my outlook on the world grew brighter, i began to mingle in the social circles of the men with whom i came in contact; and gradually, by a process of elimination, i reached a grade of society of no small degree of culture. my appearance was always good and my ability to play on the piano, especially ragtime, which was then at the height of its vogue, made me a welcome guest. the anomaly of my social position often appealed strongly to my sense of humor. i frequently smiled inwardly at some remark not altogether complimentary to people of color; and more than once i felt like declaiming: "i am a colored man. do i not disprove the theory that one drop of negro blood renders a man unfit?" many a night when i returned to my room after an enjoyable evening, i laughed heartily over what struck me as the capital joke i was playing. then i met her, and what i had regarded as a joke was gradually changed into the most serious question of my life. i first saw her at a musical which was given one evening at a house to which i was frequently invited. i did not notice her among the other guests before she came forward and sang two sad little songs. when she began, i was out in the hallway, where many of the men were gathered; but with the first few notes i crowded with others into the doorway to see who the singer was. when i saw the girl, the surprise which i had felt at the first sound of her voice was heightened; she was almost tall and quite slender, with lustrous yellow hair and eyes so blue as to appear almost black. she was as white as a lily, and she was dressed in white. indeed, she seemed to me the most dazzlingly white thing i had ever seen. but it was not her delicate beauty which attracted me most; it was her voice, a voice which made one wonder how tones of such passionate color could come from so fragile a body. i determined that when the program was over, i would seek an introduction to her; but at the moment, instead of being the easy man of the world, i became again the bashful boy of fourteen, and my courage failed me. i contented myself with hovering as near her as politeness would permit; near enough to hear her voice, which in conversation was low, yet thrilling, like the deeper middle tones of a flute. i watched the men gather round her talking and laughing in an easy manner, and wondered how it was possible for them to do it. but destiny, my special destiny, was at work. i was standing near, talking with affected gaiety to several young ladies, who, however, must have remarked my preoccupation; for my second sense of hearing was alert to what was being said by the group of which the girl in white was the center, when i heard her say: "i think his playing of chopin is exquisite." and one of my friends in the group replied: "you haven't met him? allow me----" then turning to me, "old man, when you have a moment i wish you to meet miss ----." i don't know what she said to me or what i said to her. i can remember that i tried to be clever, and experienced a growing conviction that i was making myself appear more and more idiotic. i am certain, too, that, in spite of my italian-like complexion, i was as red as a beet. instead of taking the car, i walked home. i needed the air and exercise as a sort of sedative. i am not sure whether my troubled condition of mind was due to the fact that i had been struck by love or to the feeling that i had made a bad impression upon her. as the weeks went by, and when i had met her several more times, i came to know that i was seriously in love; and then began for me days of worry, for i had more than the usual doubts and fears of a young man in love to contend with. up to this time i had assumed and played my role as a white man with a certain degree of nonchalance, a carelessness as to the outcome, which made the whole thing more amusing to me than serious; but now i ceased to regard "being a white man" as a sort of practical joke. my acting had called for mere external effects. now i began to doubt my ability to play the part. i watched her to see if she was scrutinizing me, to see if she was looking for anything in me which made me differ from the other men she knew. in place of an old inward feeling of superiority over many of my friends i began to doubt myself. i began even to wonder if i really was like the men i associated with; if there was not, after all, an indefinable something which marked a difference. but, in spite of my doubts and timidity, my affair progressed, and i finally felt sufficiently encouraged to decide to ask her to marry me. then began the hardest struggle of my life, whether to ask her to marry me under false colors or to tell her the whole truth. my sense of what was exigent made me feel there was no necessity of saying anything; but my inborn sense of honor rebelled at even indirect deception in this case. but however much i moralized on the question, i found it more and more difficult to reach the point of confession. the dread that i might lose her took possession of me each time i sought to speak, and rendered it impossible for me to do so. that moral courage requires more than physical courage is no mere poetic fancy. i am sure i should have found it easier to take the place of a gladiator, no matter how fierce the numidian lion, than to tell that slender girl that i had negro blood in my veins. the fact which i had at times wished to cry out, i now wished to hide forever. during this time we were drawn together a great deal by the mutual bond of music. she loved to hear me play chopin and was herself far from being a poor performer of his compositions. i think i carried her every new song that was published which i thought suitable to her voice, and played the accompaniment for her. over these songs we were like two innocent children with new toys. she had never been anything but innocent; but my innocence was a transformation wrought by my love for her, love which melted away my cynicism and whitened my sullied soul and gave me back the wholesome dreams of my boyhood. my artistic temperament also underwent an awakening. i spent many hours at my piano, playing over old and new composers. i also wrote several little pieces in a more or less chopinesque style, which i dedicated to her. and so the weeks and months went by. often words of love trembled on my lips, but i dared not utter them, because i knew they would have to be followed by other words which i had not the courage to frame. there might have been some other woman in my set whom i could have fallen in love with and asked to marry me without a word of explanation; but the more i knew this girl, the less could i find it in my heart to deceive her. and yet, in spite of this specter that was constantly looming up before me, i could never have believed that life held such happiness as was contained in those dream days of love. one saturday afternoon, in early june, i was coming up fifth avenue, and at the corner of twenty-third street i met her. she had been shopping. we stopped to chat for a moment, and i suggested that we spend half an hour at the eden musée. we were standing leaning on the rail in front of a group of figures, more interested in what we had to say to each other than in the group, when my attention became fixed upon a man who stood at my side studying his catalogue. it took me only an instant to recognize in him my old friend "shiny." my first impulse was to change my position at once. as quick as a flash i considered all the risks i might run in speaking to him, and most especially the delicate question of introducing him to her. i confess that in my embarrassment and confusion i felt small and mean. but before i could decide what to do, he looked around at me and, after an instant, quietly asked: "pardon me; but isn't this----?" the nobler part in me responded to the sound of his voice and i took his hand in a hearty clasp. whatever fears i had felt were quickly banished, for he seemed, at a glance, to divine my situation, and let drop no word that would have aroused suspicion as to the truth. with a slight misgiving i presented him to her and was again relieved of fear. she received the introduction in her usual gracious manner, and without the least hesitancy or embarrassment joined in the conversation. an amusing part about the introduction was that i was upon the point of introducing him as "shiny," and stammered a second or two before i could recall his name. we chatted for some fifteen minutes. he was spending his vacation north, with the intention of doing four or six weeks' work in one of the summer schools; he was also going to take a bride back with him in the fall. he asked me about myself, but in so diplomatic a way that i found no difficulty in answering him. the polish of his language and he unpedantic manner in which he revealed his culture greatly impressed her; and after we had left the musée she showed it by questioning me about him. i was surprised at the amount of interest a refined black man could arouse. even after changes in the conversation she reverted several times to the subject of "shiny." whether it was more than mere curiosity i could not tell, but i was convinced that she herself knew very little about prejudice. just why it should have done so i do not know, but somehow the "shiny" incident gave me encouragement and confidence to cast the die of my fate. i reasoned, however, that since i wanted to marry her only, and since it concerned her alone, i would divulge my secret to no one else, not even her parents. one evening, a few days afterwards, at her home we were going over some new songs and compositions when she asked me, as she often did, to play the thirteenth nocturne. when i began, she drew a chair near to my right and sat leaning with her elbow on the end of the piano, her chin resting on her hand, and her eyes reflecting the emotions which the music awoke in her. an impulse which i could not control rushed over me, a wave of exultation, the music under my fingers sank almost to a whisper, and calling her for the first time by her christian name, but without daring to look at her, i said: "i love you, i love you, i love you." my fingers were trembling so that i ceased playing. i felt her hand creep to mine, and when i looked at her, her eyes were glistening with tears. i understood, and could scarcely resist the longing to take her in my arms; but i remembered, remembered that which has been the sacrificial altar of so much happiness--duty; and bending over her hand in mine, i said: "yes, i love you; but there is something more, too, that i must tell you." then i told her, in what words i do not know, the truth. i felt her hand grow cold, and when i looked up, she was gazing at me with a wild, fixed stare as though i was some object she had never seen. under the strange light in her eyes i felt that i was growing black and thick-featured and crimp-haired. she appeared not to have comprehended what i had said. her lips trembled and she attempted to say something to me, but the words stuck in her throat. then, dropping her head on the piano, she began to weep with great sobs that shook her frail body. i tried to console her, and blurted out incoherent words of love, but this seemed only to increase her distress, and when i left her, she was still weeping. when i got into the street, i felt very much as i did the night after meeting my father and sister at the opera in paris, even a similar desperate inclination to get drunk; but my self-control was stronger. this was the only time in my life that i ever felt absolute regret at being colored, that i cursed the drops of african blood in my veins and wished that i were really white. when i reached my rooms, i sat and smoked several cigars while i tried to think out the significance of what had occurred. i reviewed the whole history of our acquaintance, recalled each smile she had given me, each word she had said to me that nourished my hope. i went over the scene we had just gone through, trying to draw from it what was in my favor and what was against me. i was rewarded by feeling confident that she loved me, but i could not estimate what was the effect upon her of my confession. at last, nervous and unhappy, i wrote her a letter, which i dropped into the mail-box before going to bed, in which i said: i understand, understand even better than you, and so i suffer even more than you. but why should either of us suffer for what neither of us is to blame for? if there is any blame, it belongs to me and i can only make the old, yet strongest plea that can be offered, i love you; and i know that my love, my great love, infinitely overbalances that blame and blots it out. what is it that stands in the way of our happiness? it is not what you feel or what i feel; it is not what you are or what i am. it is what others feel and are. but, oh! is that a fair price? in all the endeavors and struggles of life, in all our strivings and longings, there is only one thing worth seeking, only one thing worth winning, and that is love. it is not always found; but when it is, there is nothing in all the world for which it can be profitably exchanged. the second morning after, i received a note from her which stated briefly that she was going up into new hampshire to spend the summer with relatives there. she made no reference to what had passed between us; nor did she say exactly when she would leave the city. the note contained no single word that gave me any clue to her feelings. i could gather hope only from the fact that she had written at all. on the same evening, with a degree of trepidation which rendered me almost frightened, i went to her house. i met her mother, who told me that she had left for the country that very afternoon. her mother treated me in her usual pleasant manner, which fact greatly reassured me; and i left the house with a vague sense of hope stirring in my breast, which sprang from the conviction that she had not yet divulged my secret. but that hope did not remain with me long. i waited one, two, three weeks, nervously examining my mail every day, looking for some word from her. all of the letters received by me seemed so insignificant, so worthless, because there was none from her. the slight buoyancy of spirit which i had felt gradually dissolved into gloomy heart-sickness. i became preoccupied; i lost appetite, lost sleep, and lost ambition. several of my friends intimated to me that perhaps i was working too hard. she stayed away the whole summer. i did not go to the house, but saw her father at various times, and he was as friendly as ever. even after i knew that she was back in town, i did not go to see her. i determined to wait for some word or sign. i had finally taken refuge and comfort in my pride, pride which, i suppose, i came by naturally enough. the first time i saw her after her return was one night at the theatre. she and her mother sat in company with a young man whom i knew slightly, not many seats away from me. never did she appear more beautiful; and yet, it may have been my fancy, she seemed a trifle paler, and there was a suggestion of haggardness in her countenance. but that only heightened her beauty; the very delicacy of her charm melted down the strength of my pride. my situation made me feel weak and powerless, like a man trying with his bare hands to break the iron bars of his prison cell. when the performance was over, i hurried out and placed myself where, unobserved, i could see her as she passed out. the haughtiness of spirit in which i had sought relief was all gone, and i was willing and ready to undergo any humiliation. shortly afterward we met at a progressive card party, and during the evening we were thrown together at one of the tables as partners. this was really our first meeting since the eventful night at her house. strangely enough, in spite of our mutual nervousness, we won every trick of the game, and one of our opponents jokingly quoted the old saw: "lucky at cards, unlucky in love." our eyes met and i am sure that in the momentary glance my whole soul went out to her in one great plea. she lowered her eyes and uttered a nervous little laugh. during the rest of the game i fully merited the unexpressed and expressed abuse of my various partners; for my eyes followed her wherever she was and i played whatever card my fingers happened to touch. later in the evening she went to the piano and began to play very softly, as to herself, the opening bars of the thirteenth nocturne. i felt that the psychic moment of my life had come, a moment which, if lost, could never be called back; and, in as careless a manner as i could assume, i sauntered over to the piano and stood almost bending over her. she continued playing, but, in a voice that was almost a whisper, she called me by my christian name and said: "i love you, i love you, i love you." i took her place at the piano and played the nocturne in a manner that silenced the chatter of the company both in and out of the room, involuntarily closing it with the major triad. we were married the following spring, and went to europe for several months. it was a double joy for me to be in france again under such conditions. first there came to us a little girl, with hair and eyes dark like mine, but who is growing to have ways like her mother. two years later there came a boy, who has my temperament, but is fair like his mother, a little golden-headed god, with a face and head that would have delighted the heart of an old italian master. and this boy, with his mother's eyes and features, occupies an inner sanctuary of my heart; for it was for him that she gave all; and that is the second sacred sorrow of my life. the few years of our married life were supremely happy, and perhaps she was even happier than i; for after our marriage, in spite of all the wealth of her love which she lavished upon me, there came a new dread to haunt me, a dread which i cannot explain and which was unfounded, but one that never left me. i was in constant fear that she would discover in me some shortcoming which she would unconsciously attribute to my blood rather than to a failing of human nature. but no cloud ever came to mar our life together; her loss to me is irreparable. my children need a mother's care, but i shall never marry again. it is to my children that i have devoted my life. i no longer have the same fear for myself of my secret's being found out, for since my wife's death i have gradually dropped out of social life; but there is nothing i would not suffer to keep the brand from being placed upon them. it is difficult for me to analyze my feelings concerning my present position in the world. sometimes it seems to me that i have never really been a negro, that i have been only a privileged spectator of their inner life; at other times i feel that i have been a coward, a deserter, and i am possessed by a strange longing for my mother's people. several years ago i attended a great meeting in the interest of hampton institute at carnegie hall. the hampton students sang the old songs and awoke memories that left me sad. among the speakers were r.c. ogden, ex-ambassador choate, and mark twain; but the greatest interest of the audience was centered in booker t. washington, and not because he so much surpassed the others in eloquence, but because of what he represented with so much earnestness and faith. and it is this that all of that small but gallant band of colored men who are publicly fighting the cause of their race have behind them. even those who oppose them know that these men have the eternal principles of right on their side, and they will be victors even though they should go down in defeat. beside them i feel small and selfish. i am an ordinarily successful white man who has made a little money. they are men who are making history and a race. i, too, might have taken part in a work so glorious. my love for my children makes me glad that i am what i am and keeps me from desiring to be otherwise; and yet, when i sometimes open a little box in which i still keep my fast yellowing manuscripts, the only tangible remnants of a vanished dream, a dead ambition, a sacrificed talent, i cannot repress the thought that, after all, i have chosen the lesser part, that i have sold my birthright for a mess of pottage. the marrow of tradition by charles w. chestnutt contents i. at break of day ii. the christening party iii. the editor at work iv. theodore felix v. a journey southward vi. janet vii. the operation viii. the campaign drags ix. a white man's "nigger" x. delamere plays a trump xi. the baby and the bird xii. another southern product xiii. the cakewalk xiv. the maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree xv. mrs. carteret seeks an explanation xvi. ellis takes a trick xvii. the social aspirations of captain mcbane xviii. sandy sees his own ha'nt xix. a midnight walk xx. a shocking crime xxi. the necessity of an example xxii. how not to prevent a lynching xxiii. belleview xxiv. two southern gentlemen xxv. the honor of a family xxvi. the discomfort of ellis xxvii. the vagaries of the higher law xxviii. in season and out xxix. mutterings of the storm xxx. the missing papers xxxi. the shadow of a dream xxxii. the storm breaks xxxiii. into the lion's jaws xxxiv. the valley of the shadow xxxv. "mine enemy, o mine enemy!" xxxvi. fiat justitia xxxvii. the sisters the marrow of tradition i like you and your book, ingenious hone! in whose capacious all-embracing leaves the very marrow of tradition's shown. --charles lamb _to the editor of the every-day book_ i at break of day "stay here beside her, major. i shall not he needed for an hour yet. meanwhile i'll go downstairs and snatch a bit of sleep, or talk to old jane." the night was hot and sultry. though the windows of the chamber were wide open, and the muslin curtains looped back, not a breath of air was stirring. only the shrill chirp of the cicada and the muffled croaking of the frogs in some distant marsh broke the night silence. the heavy scent of magnolias, overpowering even the strong smell of drugs in the sickroom, suggested death and funeral wreaths, sorrow and tears, the long home, the last sleep. the major shivered with apprehension as the slender hand which he held in his own contracted nervously and in a spasm of pain clutched his fingers with a viselike grip. major carteret, though dressed in brown linen, had thrown off his coat for greater comfort. the stifling heat, in spite of the palm-leaf fan which he plied mechanically, was scarcely less oppressive than his own thoughts. long ago, while yet a mere boy in years, he had come back from appomattox to find his family, one of the oldest and proudest in the state, hopelessly impoverished by the war,--even their ancestral home swallowed up in the common ruin. his elder brother had sacrificed his life on the bloody altar of the lost cause, and his father, broken and chagrined, died not many years later, leaving the major the last of his line. he had tried in various pursuits to gain a foothold in the new life, but with indifferent success until he won the hand of olivia merkell, whom he had seen grow from a small girl to glorious womanhood. with her money he had founded the morning chronicle, which he had made the leading organ of his party and the most influential paper in the state. the fine old house in which they lived was hers. in this very room she had first drawn the breath of life; it had been their nuptial chamber; and here, too, within a few hours, she might die, for it seemed impossible that one could long endure such frightful agony and live. one cloud alone had marred the otherwise perfect serenity of their happiness. olivia was childless. to have children to perpetuate the name of which he was so proud, to write it still higher on the roll of honor, had been his dearest hope. his disappointment had been proportionately keen. a few months ago this dead hope had revived, and altered the whole aspect of their lives. but as time went on, his wife's age had begun to tell upon her, until even dr. price, the most cheerful and optimistic of physicians, had warned him, while hoping for the best, to be prepared for the worst. to add to the danger, mrs. carteret had only this day suffered from a nervous shock, which, it was feared, had hastened by several weeks the expected event. dr. price went downstairs to the library, where a dim light was burning. an old black woman, dressed in a gingham frock, with a red bandana handkerchief coiled around her head by way of turban, was seated by an open window. she rose and curtsied as the doctor entered and dropped into a willow rocking-chair near her own. "how did this happen, jane?" he asked in a subdued voice, adding, with assumed severity, "you ought to have taken better care of your mistress." "now look a-hyuh, doctuh price," returned the old woman in an unctuous whisper, "you don' wanter come talkin' none er yo' foolishness 'bout my not takin' keer er mis' 'livy. _she_ never would 'a' said sech a thing! seven er eight mont's ago, w'en she sent fer me, i says ter her, says i:-- "'lawd, lawd, honey! you don' tell me dat after all dese long w'ary years er waitin' de good lawd is done heared yo' prayer an' is gwine ter sen' you de chile you be'n wantin' so long an' so bad? bless his holy name! will i come an' nuss yo' baby? why, honey, i nussed you, an' nussed yo' mammy thoo her las' sickness, an' laid her out w'en she died. i wouldn' _let_ nobody e'se nuss yo' baby; an' mo'over, i'm gwine ter come an' nuss you too. you're young side er me, mis' 'livy, but you're ove'ly ole ter be havin' yo' fus' baby, an' you'll need somebody roun', honey, w'at knows all 'bout de fam'ly, an' deir ways an' deir weaknesses, an' i don' know who dat'd be ef it wa'n't me.' "''deed, mammy jane,' says she, 'dere ain' nobody e'se i'd have but you. you kin come ez soon ez you wanter an' stay ez long ez you mineter.' "an hyuh i is, an' hyuh i'm gwine ter stay. fer mis' 'livy is my ole mist'ess's daughter, an' my ole mist'ess wuz good ter me, an' dey ain' none er her folks gwine ter suffer ef ole jane kin he'p it." "your loyalty does you credit, jane," observed the doctor; "but you haven't told me yet what happened to mrs. carteret to-day. did the horse run away, or did she see something that frightened her?" "no, suh, de hoss didn' git skeered at nothin', but mis' 'livy did see somethin', er somebody; an' it wa'n't no fault er mine ner her'n neither,--it goes fu'ther back, suh, fu'ther dan dis day er dis year. does you 'member de time w'en my ole mist'ess, mis' 'livy upstairs's mammy, died? no? well, you wuz prob'ly 'way ter school den, studyin' ter be a doctuh. but i'll tell you all erbout it. "wen my ole mist'ess, mis' 'liz'beth merkell,--an' a good mist'ess she wuz,--tuck sick fer de las' time, her sister polly--ole mis' polly ochiltree w'at is now--come ter de house ter he'p nuss her. mis' 'livy upstairs yander wuz erbout six years ole den, de sweetes' little angel you ever laid eyes on; an' on her dyin' bed mis' 'liz'beth ax' mis' polly fer ter stay hyuh an' take keer er her chile, an' mis' polly she promise'. she wuz a widder fer de secon' time, an' didn' have no child'en, an' could jes' as well come as not. "but dere wuz trouble after de fune'al, an' it happen' right hyuh in dis lib'ary. mars sam wuz settin' by de table, w'en mis' polly come downstairs, slow an' solemn, an' stood dere in de middle er de flo', all in black, till mars sam sot a cheer fer her. "'well, samuel,' says she, 'now dat we've done all we can fer po' 'liz'beth, it only 'mains fer us ter consider olivia's future.' "mars sam nodded his head, but didn' say nothin'. "'i don' need ter tell you,' says she,' dat i am willin' ter carry out de wishes er my dead sister, an' sac'ifice my own comfo't, an' make myse'f yo' housekeeper an' yo' child's nuss, fer my dear sister's sake. it wuz her dyin' wish, an' on it i will ac', ef it is also yo'n.' "mars sam didn' want mis' polly ter come, suh; fur he didn' like mis' polly. he wuz skeered er miss polly." "i don't wonder," yawned the doctor, "if she was anything like she is now." "wuss, suh, fer she wuz younger, an' stronger. she always would have her say, no matter 'bout what, an' her own way, no matter who 'posed her. she had already be'n in de house fer a week, an' mars sam knowed ef she once come ter stay, she'd be de mist'ess of eve'ybody in it an' him too. but w'at could he do but say yas? "'den it is unde'stood, is it,' says mis' polly, w'en he had spoke, 'dat i am ter take cha'ge er de house?' "'all right, polly,' says mars sam, wid a deep sigh. "mis' polly 'lowed he wuz sighin' fer my po' dead mist'ess, fer she didn' have no idee er his feelin's to'ds her,--she alluz did 'low dat all de gent'emen wuz in love wid 'er. "'you won' fin' much ter do,' mars sam went on, 'fer julia is a good housekeeper, an' kin ten' ter mos' eve'ything, under yo' d'rections.' "mis' polly stiffen' up like a ramrod. 'it mus' be unde'stood, samuel,' says she, 'dat w'en i 'sumes cha'ge er yo' house, dere ain' gwine ter be no 'vided 'sponsibility; an' as fer dis julia, me an' her couldn' git 'long tergether nohow. ef i stays, julia goes.' "wen mars sam beared dat, he felt better, an' 'mence' ter pick up his courage. mis' polly had showed her ban' too plain. my mist'ess hadn' got col' yit, an' mis' polly, who'd be'n a widder fer two years dis las' time, wuz already fig'rin' on takin' her place fer good, an' she did n! want no other woman roun' de house dat mars sam might take a' intrus' in. "'my dear polly,' says mars sam, quite determine', 'i couldn' possibly sen' julia 'way. fac' is, i couldn' git 'long widout julia. she'd be'n runnin' dis house like clockwo'k befo' you come, an' i likes her ways. my dear, dead 'liz'beth sot a heap er sto' by julia, an' i'm gwine ter keep her here fer 'liz'beth's sake.' "mis' polly's eyes flash' fire. "'ah,' says she,' i see--i see! you perfers her housekeepin' ter mine, indeed! dat is a fine way ter talk ter a lady! an' a heap er rispec' you is got fer de mem'ry er my po' dead sister!' "mars sam knowed w'at she 'lowed she seed wa'n't so; but he didn' let on, fer it only made him de safer. he wuz willin' fer her ter 'magine w'at she please', jes' so long ez she kep' out er his house an' let him alone. "'no, polly,' says he, gittin' bolder ez she got madder, 'dere ain' no use talkin'. nothin' in de worl' would make me part wid julia.' "mis' polly she r'ared an' she pitch', but mars sam helt on like grim death. mis' polly wouldn' give in neither, an' so she fin'lly went away. dey made some kind er 'rangement afterwa'ds, an' miss polly tuck mis' 'livy ter her own house. mars sam paid her bo'd an' 'lowed mis' polly somethin' fer takin' keer er her." "and julia stayed?" "julia stayed, suh, an' a couple er years later her chile wuz bawn, right here in dis house." "but you said," observed the doctor, "that mrs. ochiltree was in error about julia." "yas, suh, so she wuz, w'en my ole mist'ess died. but dis wuz two years after,--an' w'at has ter be has ter be. julia had a easy time; she had a black gal ter wait on her, a buggy to ride in, an' eve'ything she wanted. eve'ybody s'posed mars sam would give her a house an' lot, er leave her somethin' in his will. but he died suddenly, and didn' leave no will, an' mis' polly got herse'f 'pinted gyardeen ter young mis' 'livy, an' driv julia an' her young un out er de house, an' lived here in dis house wid mis' 'livy till mis' 'livy ma'ied majah carteret." "and what became of julia?" asked dr. price. such relations, the doctor knew very well, had been all too common in the old slavery days, and not a few of them had been projected into the new era. sins, like snakes, die hard. the habits and customs of a people were not to be changed in a day, nor by the stroke of a pen. as family physician, and father confessor by brevet, dr. price had looked upon more than one hidden skeleton; and no one in town had had better opportunities than old jane for learning the undercurrents in the lives of the old families. "well," resumed jane, "eve'ybody s'posed, after w'at had happen', dat julia'd keep on livin' easy, fer she wuz young an' good-lookin'. but she didn'. she tried ter make a livin' sewin', but mis' polly wouldn' let de bes' w'ite folks hire her. den she tuck up washin', but didn' do no better at dat; an' bimeby she got so discourage' dat she ma'ied a shif'less yaller man, an' died er consumption soon after,--an' wuz 'bout ez well off, fer dis man couldn' hardly feed her nohow." "and the child?" "one er de no'the'n w'ite lady teachers at de mission school tuck a likin' ter little janet, an' put her thoo school, an' den sent her off ter de no'th fer ter study ter be a school teacher. w'en she come back, 'stead er teachin' she ma'ied ole adam miller's son." "the rich stevedore's son, dr. miller?" "yas, suh, dat's de man,--you knows 'im. dis yer boy wuz jes' gwine 'way fer ter study ter be a doctuh, an' he ma'ied dis janet, an' tuck her 'way wid 'im. dey went off ter europe, er irope, er orope, er somewhere er 'nother, 'way off yander, an' come back here las' year an' sta'ted dis yer horspital an' school fer ter train de black gals fer nusses." "he's a very good doctor, jane, and is doing a useful work. your chapter of family history is quite interesting,--i knew part of it before, in a general way; but you haven't yet told me what brought on mrs. carteret's trouble." "i'm jes' comin' ter dat dis minute, suh,--w'at i be'n tellin' you is all a part of it. dis yer janet, w'at's mis' 'livy's half-sister, is ez much like her ez ef dey wuz twins. folks sometimes takes 'em fer one ernudder,--i s'pose it tickles janet mos' ter death, but it do make mis' 'livy rippin'. an' den 'way back yander jes' after de wah, w'en de ole carteret mansion had ter be sol', adam miller bought it, an' dis yer janet an' her husban' is be'n livin' in it ever sence ole adam died, 'bout a year ago; an' dat makes de majah mad, 'ca'se he don' wanter see cullud folks livin' in de ole fam'ly mansion w'at he wuz bawn in. an' mo'over, an' dat's de wust of all, w'iles mis' 'livy ain' had no child'en befo', dis yer sister er her'n is got a fine-lookin' little yaller boy, w'at favors de fam'ly so dat ef mis' 'livy'd see de chile anywhere, it'd mos' break her heart fer ter think 'bout her not havin' no child'en herse'f. so ter-day, w'en mis' 'livy wuz out ridin' an' met dis yer janet wid her boy, an' w'en mis' 'livy got ter studyin' 'bout her own chances, an' how she mought not come thoo safe, she jes' had a fit er hysterics right dere in de buggy. she wuz mos' home, an' william got her here, an' you knows de res'." major carteret, from the head of the stairs, called the doctor anxiously. "you had better come along up now, jane," said the doctor. for two long hours they fought back the grim spectre that stood by the bedside. the child was born at dawn. both mother and child, the doctor said, would live. "bless its 'ittle hea't!" exclaimed mammy jane, as she held up the tiny mite, which bore as much resemblance to mature humanity as might be expected of an infant which had for only a few minutes drawn the breath of life. "bless its 'ittle hea't! it's de we'y spit an' image er its pappy!" the doctor smiled. the major laughed aloud. jane's unconscious witticism, or conscious flattery, whichever it might be, was a welcome diversion from the tense strain of the last few hours. "be that as it may," said dr. price cheerfully, "and i'll not dispute it, the child is a very fine boy,--a very fine boy, indeed! take care of it, major," he added with a touch of solemnity, "for your wife can never bear another." with the child's first cry a refreshing breeze from the distant ocean cooled the hot air of the chamber; the heavy odor of the magnolias, with its mortuary suggestiveness, gave place to the scent of rose and lilac and honeysuckle. the birds in the garden were singing lustily. all these sweet and pleasant things found an echo in the major's heart. he stood by the window, and looking toward the rising sun, breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. all nature seemed to rejoice in sympathy with his happiness at the fruition of this long-deferred hope, and to predict for this wonderful child a bright and glorious future. old mammy jane, however, was not entirely at ease concerning the child. she had discovered, under its left ear, a small mole, which led her to fear that the child was born for bad luck. had the baby been black, or yellow, or poor-white, jane would unhesitatingly have named, as his ultimate fate, a not uncommon form of taking off, usually resultant upon the infraction of certain laws, or, in these swift modern days, upon too violent a departure from established social customs. it was manifestly impossible that a child of such high quality as the grandson of her old mistress should die by judicial strangulation; but nevertheless the warning was a serious thing, and not to be lightly disregarded. not wishing to be considered as a prophet of evil omen, jane kept her own counsel in regard to this significant discovery. but later, after the child was several days old, she filled a small vial with water in which the infant had been washed, and took it to a certain wise old black woman, who lived on the farther edge of the town and was well known to be versed in witchcraft and conjuration. the conjure woman added to the contents of the bottle a bit of calamus root, and one of the cervical vertebrae from the skeleton of a black cat, with several other mysterious ingredients, the nature of which she did not disclose. following instructions given her, aunt jane buried the bottle in carteret's back yard, one night during the full moon, as a good-luck charm to ward off evil from the little grandson of her dear mistress, so long since dead and gone to heaven. ii the christening party they named the carteret baby theodore felix. theodore was a family name, and had been borne by the eldest son for several generations, the major himself being a second son. having thus given the child two beautiful names, replete with religious and sentimental significance, they called him--"dodie." the baby was christened some six weeks after its birth, by which time mrs. carteret was able to be out. old mammy jane, who had been brought up in the church, but who, like some better informed people in all ages, found religion not inconsistent with a strong vein of superstition, felt her fears for the baby's future much relieved when the rector had made the sign of the cross and sprinkled little dodie with the water from the carved marble font, which had come from england in the reign of king charles the martyr, as the ill-fated son of james i. was known to st. andrew's. upon this special occasion mammy jane had been provided with a seat downstairs among the white people, to her own intense satisfaction, and to the secret envy of a small colored attendance in the gallery, to whom she was ostentatiously pointed out by her grandson jerry, porter at the morning chronicle office, who sat among them in the front row. on the following monday evening the major gave a christening party in honor of this important event. owing to mrs. carteret's still delicate health, only a small number of intimate friends and family connections were invited to attend. these were the rector of st. andrew's; old mrs. polly ochiltree, the godmother; old mr. delamere, a distant relative and also one of the sponsors; and his grandson, tom delamere. the major had also invited lee ellis, his young city editor, for whom he had a great liking apart from his business value, and who was a frequent visitor at the house. these, with the family itself, which consisted of the major, his wife, and his half-sister, clara pemberton, a young woman of about eighteen, made up the eight persons for whom covers were laid. ellis was the first to arrive, a tall, loose-limbed young man, with a slightly freckled face, hair verging on auburn, a firm chin, and honest gray eyes. he had come half an hour early, and was left alone for a few minutes in the parlor, a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with large windows, and fitted up in excellent taste, with stately reminiscences of a past generation. the walls were hung with figured paper. the ceiling was whitewashed, and decorated in the middle with a plaster centre-piece, from which hung a massive chandelier sparkling with prismatic rays from a hundred crystal pendants. there was a handsome mantel, set with terra-cotta tiles, on which fauns and satyrs, nymphs and dryads, disported themselves in idyllic abandon. the furniture was old, and in keeping with the room. at seven o'clock a carriage drove up, from which alighted an elderly gentleman, with white hair and mustache, and bowed somewhat with years. short of breath and painfully weak in the legs, he was assisted from the carriage by a colored man, apparently about forty years old, to whom short side-whiskers and spectacles imparted an air of sobriety. this attendant gave his arm respectfully to the old gentleman, who leaned upon it heavily, but with as little appearance of dependence as possible. the servant, assuming a similar unconsciousness of the weight resting upon his arm, assisted the old gentleman carefully up the steps. "i'm all right now, sandy," whispered the gentleman as soon as his feet were planted firmly on the piazza. "you may come back for me at nine o'clock." having taken his hand from his servant's arm, he advanced to meet a lady who stood in the door awaiting him, a tall, elderly woman, gaunt and angular of frame, with a mottled face, and high cheekbones partially covered by bands of hair entirely too black and abundant for a person of her age, if one might judge from the lines of her mouth, which are rarely deceptive in such matters. "perhaps you'd better not send your man away, mr. delamere," observed the lady, in a high shrill voice, which grated upon the old gentleman's ears. he was slightly hard of hearing, but, like most deaf people, resented being screamed at. "you might need him before nine o'clock. one never knows what may happen after one has had the second stroke. and moreover, our butler has fallen down the back steps--negroes are so careless!--and sprained his ankle so that he can't stand. i'd like to have sandy stay and wait on the table in peter's place, if you don't mind." "i thank you, mrs. ochiltree, for your solicitude," replied mr. delamere, with a shade of annoyance in his voice, "but my health is very good just at present, and i do not anticipate any catastrophe which will require my servant's presence before i am ready to go home. but i have no doubt, madam," he continued, with a courteous inclination, "that sandy will be pleased to serve you, if you desire it, to the best of his poor knowledge." "i shill be honored, ma'am," assented sandy, with a bow even deeper than his master's, "only i'm 'feared i ain't rightly dressed fer ter wait on table. i wuz only goin' ter pra'r-meetin', an' so i didn' put on my bes' clo's. ef mis' ochiltree ain' gwine ter need me fer de nex' fifteen minutes, i kin ride back home in de ca'ige an' dress myse'f suitable fer de occasion, suh." "if you think you'll wait on the table any better," said mrs. ochiltree, "you may go along and change your clothes; but hurry back, for it is seven now, and dinner will soon be served." sandy retired with a bow. while descending the steps to the carriage, which had waited for him, he came face to face with a young man just entering the house. "am i in time for dinner, sandy?" asked the newcomer. "yas, mistuh tom, you're in plenty er time. dinner won't be ready till _i_ git back, which won' be fer fifteen minutes er so yit." throwing away the cigarette which he held between his fingers, the young man crossed the piazza with a light step, and after a preliminary knock, for an answer to which he did not wait, entered the house with the air of one thoroughly at home. the lights in the parlor had been lit, and ellis, who sat talking to major carteret when the newcomer entered, covered him with a jealous glance. slender and of medium height, with a small head of almost perfect contour, a symmetrical face, dark almost to swarthiness, black eyes, which moved somewhat restlessly, curly hair of raven tint, a slight mustache, small hands and feet, and fashionable attire, tom delamere, the grandson of the old gentleman who had already arrived, was easily the handsomest young man in wellington. but no discriminating observer would have characterized his beauty as manly. it conveyed no impression of strength, but did possess a certain element, feline rather than feminine, which subtly negatived the idea of manliness. he gave his hand to the major, nodded curtly to ellis, saluted his grandfather respectfully, and inquired for the ladies. "olivia is dressing for dinner," replied the major; "mrs. ochiltree is in the kitchen, struggling with the servants. clara--ah, here she comes now!" ellis, whose senses were preternaturally acute where clara was concerned, was already looking toward the hall and was the first to see her. clad in an evening gown of simple white, to the close-fitting corsage of which she had fastened a bunch of pink roses, she was to ellis a dazzling apparition. to him her erect and well-moulded form was the embodiment of symmetry, her voice sweet music, her movements the perfection of grace; and it scarcely needed a lover's imagination to read in her fair countenance a pure heart and a high spirit,--the truthfulness that scorns a lie, the pride which is not haughtiness. there were suggestive depths of tenderness, too, in the curl of her lip, the droop of her long lashes, the glance of her blue eyes,--depths that ellis had long since divined, though he had never yet explored them. she gave ellis a friendly nod as she came in, but for the smile with which she greeted delamere, ellis would have given all that he possessed,--not a great deal, it is true, but what could a man do more? "you are the last one, tom," she said reproachfully. "mr. ellis has been here half an hour." delamere threw a glance at ellis which was not exactly friendly. why should this fellow always be on hand to emphasize his own shortcomings? "the rector is not here," answered tom triumphantly. "you see i am not the last." "the rector," replied clara, "was called out of town at six o'clock this evening, to visit a dying man, and so cannot be here. you are the last, tom, and mr. ellis was the first." ellis was ruefully aware that this comparison in his favor was the only visible advantage that he had gained from his early arrival. he had not seen miss pemberton a moment sooner by reason of it. there had been a certain satisfaction in being in the same house with her, but delamere had arrived in time to share or, more correctly, to monopolize, the sunshine of her presence. delamere gave a plausible excuse which won clara's pardon and another enchanting smile, which pierced ellis like a dagger. he knew very well that delamere's excuse was a lie. ellis himself had been ready as early as six o'clock, but judging this to be too early, had stopped in at the clarendon club for half an hour, to look over the magazines. while coming out he had glanced into the card-room, where he had seen his rival deep in a game of cards, from which delamere had evidently not been able to tear himself until the last moment. he had accounted for his lateness by a story quite inconsistent with these facts. the two young people walked over to a window on the opposite side of the large room, where they stood talking to one another in low tones. the major had left the room for a moment. old mr. delamere, who was watching his grandson and clara with an indulgent smile, proceeded to rub salt into ellis's wounds. "they make a handsome couple," he observed. "i remember well when her mother, in her youth an ideally beautiful woman, of an excellent family, married daniel pemberton, who was not of so good a family, but had made money. the major, who was only a very young man then, disapproved of the match; he considered that his mother, although a widow and nearly forty, was marrying beneath her. but he has been a good brother to clara, and a careful guardian of her estate. ah, young gentleman, you cannot appreciate, except in imagination, what it means, to one standing on the brink of eternity, to feel sure that he will live on in his children and his children's children!" ellis was appreciating at that moment what it meant, in cold blood, with no effort of the imagination, to see the girl whom he loved absorbed completely in another man. she had looked at him only once since tom delamere had entered the room, and then merely to use him as a spur with which to prick his favored rival. "yes, sir," he returned mechanically, "miss clara is a beautiful young lady." "and tom is a good boy--a fine boy," returned the old gentleman. "i am very well pleased with tom, and shall be entirely happy when i see them married." ellis could not echo this sentiment. the very thought of this marriage made him miserable. he had always understood that the engagement was merely tentative, a sort of family understanding, subject to confirmation after delamere should have attained his majority, which was still a year off, and when the major should think clara old enough to marry. ellis saw delamere with the eye of a jealous rival, and judged him mercilessly,--whether correctly or not the sequel will show. he did not at all believe that tom delamere would make a fit husband for clara pemberton; but his opinion would have had no weight,--he could hardly have expressed it without showing his own interest. moreover, there was no element of the sneak in lee ellis's make-up. the very fact that he might profit by the other's discomfiture left delamere secure, so far as he could be affected by anything that ellis might say. but ellis did not shrink from a fair fight, and though in this one the odds were heavily against him, yet so long as this engagement remained indefinite, so long, indeed, as the object of his love was still unwed, he would not cease to hope. such a sacrifice as this marriage clearly belonged in the catalogue of impossibilities. ellis had not lived long enough to learn that impossibilities are merely things of which we have not learned, or which we do not wish to happen. sandy returned at the end of a quarter of an hour, and dinner was announced. mr. delamere led the way to the dining-room with mrs. ochiltree. tom followed with clara. the major went to the head of the stairs and came down with mrs. carteret upon his arm, her beauty rendered more delicate by the pallor of her countenance and more complete by the happiness with which it glowed. ellis went in alone. in the rector's absence it was practically a family party which sat down, with the exception of ellis, who, as we have seen, would willingly have placed himself in the same category. the table was tastefully decorated with flowers, which grew about the house in lavish profusion. in warm climates nature adorns herself with true feminine vanity. "what a beautiful table!" exclaimed tom, before they were seated. "the decorations are mine," said clara proudly. "i cut the flowers and arranged them all myself." "which accounts for the admirable effect," rejoined tom with a bow, before ellis, to whom the same thought had occurred, was able to express himself. he had always counted himself the least envious of men, but for this occasion he coveted tom delamere's readiness. "the beauty of the flowers," observed old mr. delamere, with sententious gallantry, "is reflected upon all around them. it is a handsome company." mrs. ochiltree beamed upon the table with a dry smile. "i don't perceive any effect that it has upon you or me," she said; "and as for the young people, 'handsome is as handsome does.' if tom here, for instance, were as good as he looks"-- "you flatter me, aunt polly," tom broke in hastily, anticipating the crack of the whip; he was familiar with his aunt's conversational idiosyncrasies. "if you are as good as you look," continued the old lady, with a cunning but indulgent smile, "some one has been slandering you." "thanks, aunt polly! now you don't flatter me." "there is mr. ellis," mrs. ochiltree went on, "who is not half so good-looking, but is steady as a clock, i dare say." "now, aunt polly," interposed mrs. carteret, "let the gentlemen alone." "she doesn't mean half what she says," continued mrs. carteret apologetically, "and only talks that way to people whom she likes." tom threw mrs. carteret a grateful glance. he had been apprehensive, with the sensitiveness of youth, lest his old great-aunt should make a fool of him before clara's family. nor had he relished the comparison with ellis, who was out of place, anyway, in this family party. he had never liked the fellow, who was too much of a plodder and a prig to make a suitable associate for a whole-souled, generous-hearted young gentleman. he tolerated him as a visitor at carteret's and as a member of the clarendon club, but that was all. "mrs. ochiltree has a characteristic way of disguising her feelings," observed old mr. delamere, with a touch of sarcasm. ellis had merely flushed and felt uncomfortable at the reference to himself. the compliment to his character hardly offset the reflection upon his looks. he knew he was not exactly handsome, but it was not pleasant to have the fact emphasized in the presence of the girl he loved; he would like at least fair play, and judgment upon the subject left to the young lady. mrs. ochiltree was quietly enjoying herself. in early life she had been accustomed to impale fools on epigrams, like flies on pins, to see them wriggle. but with advancing years she had lost in some measure the faculty of nice discrimination,--it was pleasant to see her victims squirm, whether they were fools or friends. even one's friends, she argued, were not always wise, and were sometimes the better for being told the truth. at her niece's table she felt at liberty to speak her mind, which she invariably did, with a frankness that sometimes bordered on brutality. she had long ago outgrown the period where ambition or passion, or its partners, envy and hatred, were springs of action in her life, and simply retained a mild enjoyment in the exercise of an old habit, with no active malice whatever. the ruling passion merely grew stronger as the restraining faculties decreased in vigor. a diversion was created at this point by the appearance of old mammy jane, dressed in a calico frock, with clean white neckerchief and apron, carrying the wonderful baby in honor of whose naming this feast had been given. though only six weeks old, the little theodore had grown rapidly, and mammy jane declared was already quite large for his age, and displayed signs of an unusually precocious intelligence. he was passed around the table and duly admired. clara thought his hair was fine. ellis inquired about his teeth. tom put his finger in the baby's fist to test his grip. old mr. delamere was unable to decide as yet whether he favored most his father or his mother. the object of these attentions endured them patiently for several minutes, and then protested with a vocal vigor which led to his being taken promptly back upstairs. whatever fate might be in store for him, he manifested no sign of weak lungs. "sandy," said mrs. carteret when the baby had retired, "pass that tray standing upon the side table, so that we may all see the presents." mr. delamere had brought a silver spoon, and tom a napkin ring. ellis had sent a silver watch; it was a little premature, he admitted, but the boy would grow to it, and could use it to play with in the mean time. it had a glass back, so that he might see the wheels go round. mrs. ochiltree's present was an old and yellow ivory rattle, with a handle which the child could bite while teething, and a knob screwed on at the end to prevent the handle from slipping through the baby's hand. "i saw that in your cedar chest, aunt polly," said clara, "when i was a little girl, and you used to pull the chest out from under your bed to get me a dime." "you kept the rattle in the right-hand corner of the chest," said tom, "in the box with the red silk purse, from which you took the gold piece you gave me every christmas." a smile shone on mrs. ochiltree's severe features at this appreciation, like a ray of sunlight on a snowbank. "aunt polly's chest is like the widow's cruse," said mrs. carteret, "which was never empty." "or fortunatus's purse, which was always full," added old mr. delamere, who read the latin poets, and whose allusions were apt to be classical rather than scriptural. "it will last me while i live," said mrs. ochiltree, adding cautiously, "but there'll not be a great deal left. it won't take much to support an old woman for twenty years." mr. delamere's man sandy had been waiting upon the table with the decorum of a trained butler, and a gravity all his own. he had changed his suit of plain gray for a long blue coat with brass buttons, which dated back to the fashion of a former generation, with which he wore a pair of plaid trousers of strikingly modern cut and pattern. with his whiskers, his spectacles, and his solemn air of responsibility, he would have presented, to one unfamiliar with the negro type, an amusingly impressive appearance. but there was nothing incongruous about sandy to this company, except perhaps to tom delamere, who possessed a keen eye for contrasts and always regarded sandy, in that particular rig, as a very comical darkey. "is it quite prudent, mrs. ochiltree," suggested the major at a moment when sandy, having set down the tray, had left the room for a little while, "to mention, in the presence of the servants, that you keep money in the house?" "i beg your pardon, major," observed old mr. delamere, with a touch of stiffness. "the only servant in hearing of the conversation has been my own; and sandy is as honest as any man in wellington." "you mean, sir," replied carteret, with a smile, "as honest as any negro in wellington." "i make no exceptions, major," returned the old gentleman, with emphasis. "i would trust sandy with my life,--he saved it once at the risk of his own." "no doubt," mused the major, "the negro is capable of a certain doglike fidelity,--i make the comparison in a kindly sense,--a certain personal devotion which is admirable in itself, and fits him eminently for a servile career. i should imagine, however, that one could more safely trust his life with a negro than his portable property." "very clever, major! i read your paper, and know that your feeling is hostile toward the negro, but"-- the major made a gesture of dissent, but remained courteously silent until mr. delamere had finished. "for my part," the old gentleman went on, "i think they have done very well, considering what they started from, and their limited opportunities. there was adam miller, for instance, who left a comfortable estate. his son george carries on the business, and the younger boy, william, is a good doctor and stands well with his profession. his hospital is a good thing, and if my estate were clear, i should like to do something for it." "you are mistaken, sir, in imagining me hostile to the negro," explained carteret. "on the contrary, i am friendly to his best interests. i give him employment; i pay taxes for schools to educate him, and for court-houses and jails to keep him in order. i merely object to being governed by an inferior and servile race." mrs. carteret's face wore a tired expression. this question was her husband's hobby, and therefore her own nightmare. moreover, she had her personal grievance against the negro race, and the names mentioned by old mr. delamere had brought it vividly before her mind. she had no desire to mar the harmony of the occasion by the discussion of a distasteful subject. mr. delamere, glancing at his hostess, read something of this thought, and refused the challenge to further argument. "i do not believe, major," he said, "that olivia relishes the topic. i merely wish to say that sandy is an exception to any rule which you may formulate in derogation of the negro. sandy is a gentleman in ebony!" tom could scarcely preserve his gravity at this characterization of old sandy, with his ridiculous air of importance, his long blue coat, and his loud plaid trousers. that suit would make a great costume for a masquerade. he would borrow it some time,--there was nothing in the world like it. "well, mr. delamere," returned the major good-humoredly, "no doubt sandy is an exceptionally good negro,--he might well be, for he has had the benefit of your example all his life,--and we know that he is a faithful servant. but nevertheless, if i were mrs. ochiltree, i should put my money in the bank. not all negroes are as honest as sandy, and an elderly lady might not prove a match for a burly black burglar." "thank you, major," retorted mrs. ochiltree, with spirit, "i'm not yet too old to take care of myself. that cedar chest has been my bank for forty years, and i shall not change my habits at my age." at this moment sandy reëntered the room. carteret made a warning gesture, which mrs. ochiltree chose not to notice. "i've proved a match for two husbands, and am not afraid of any man that walks the earth, black or white, by day or night. i have a revolver, and know how to use it. whoever attempts to rob me will do so at his peril." after dinner clara played the piano and sang duets with tom delamere. at nine o'clock mr. delamere's carriage came for him, and he went away accompanied by sandy. under cover of the darkness the old gentleman leaned on his servant's arm with frank dependence, and sandy lifted him into the carriage with every mark of devotion. ellis had already excused himself to go to the office and look over the late proofs for the morning paper. tom remained a few minutes longer than his grandfather, and upon taking his leave went round to the clarendon club, where he spent an hour or two in the card-room with a couple of congenial friends. luck seemed to favor him, and he went home at midnight with a comfortable balance of winnings. he was fond of excitement, and found a great deal of it in cards. to lose was only less exciting than to win. of late he had developed into a very successful player,--so successful, indeed, that several members of the club generally found excuses to avoid participating in a game where he made one. iii the editor at work to go back a little, for several days after his child's birth major carteret's chief interest in life had been confined to the four walls of the chamber where his pale wife lay upon her bed of pain, and those of the adjoining room where an old black woman crooned lovingly over a little white infant. a new element had been added to the major's consciousness, broadening the scope and deepening the strength of his affections. he did not love olivia the less, for maternity had crowned her wifehood with an added glory; but side by side with this old and tried attachment was a new passion, stirring up dormant hopes and kindling new desires. his regret had been more than personal at the thought that with himself an old name should be lost to the state; and now all the old pride of race, class, and family welled up anew, and swelled and quickened the current of his life. upon the major's first appearance at the office, which took place the second day after the child's birth, he opened a box of cigars in honor of the event. the word had been passed around by ellis, and the whole office force, including reporters, compositors, and pressmen, came in to congratulate the major and smoke at his expense. even jerry, the colored porter,--mammy jane's grandson and therefore a protégé of the family,--presented himself among the rest, or rather, after the rest. the major shook hands with them all except jerry, though he acknowledged the porter's congratulations with a kind nod and put a good cigar into his outstretched palm, for which jerry thanked him without manifesting any consciousness of the omission. he was quite aware that under ordinary circumstances the major would not have shaken hands with white workingmen, to say nothing of negroes; and he had merely hoped that in the pleasurable distraction of the moment the major might also overlook the distinction of color. jerry's hope had been shattered, though not rudely; for the major had spoken pleasantly and the cigar was a good one. mr. ellis had once shaken hands with jerry,--but mr. ellis was a young man, whose quaker father had never owned any slaves, and he could not be expected to have as much pride as one of the best "quality," whose families had possessed land and negroes for time out of mind. on the whole, jerry preferred the careless nod of the editor-in-chief to the more familiar greeting of the subaltern. having finished this pleasant ceremony, which left him with a comfortable sense of his new dignity, the major turned to his desk. it had been much neglected during the week, and more than one matter claimed his attention; but as typical of the new trend of his thoughts, the first subject he took up was one bearing upon the future of his son. quite obviously the career of a carteret must not be left to chance,--it must be planned and worked out with a due sense of the value of good blood. there lay upon his desk a letter from a well-known promoter, offering the major an investment which promised large returns, though several years must elapse before the enterprise could be put upon a paying basis. the element of time, however, was not immediately important. the morning chronicle provided him an ample income. the money available for this investment was part of his wife's patrimony. it was invested in a local cotton mill, which was paying ten per cent., but this was a beggarly return compared with the immense profits promised by the offered investment,--profits which would enable his son, upon reaching manhood, to take a place in the world commensurate with the dignity of his ancestors, one of whom, only a few generations removed, had owned an estate of ninety thousand acres of land and six thousand slaves. this letter having been disposed of by an answer accepting the offer, the major took up his pen to write an editorial. public affairs in the state were not going to his satisfaction. at the last state election his own party, after an almost unbroken rule of twenty years, had been defeated by the so-called "fusion" ticket, a combination of republicans and populists. a clean sweep had been made of the offices in the state, which were now filled by new men. many of the smaller places had gone to colored men, their people having voted almost solidly for the fusion ticket. in spite of the fact that the population of wellington was two thirds colored, this state of things was gall and wormwood to the defeated party, of which the morning chronicle was the acknowledged organ. major carteret shared this feeling. only this very morning, while passing the city hall, on his way to the office, he had seen the steps of that noble building disfigured by a fringe of job-hunting negroes, for all the world--to use a local simile--like a string of buzzards sitting on a rail, awaiting their opportunity to batten upon the helpless corpse of a moribund city. taking for his theme the unfitness of the negro to participate in government,--an unfitness due to his limited education, his lack of experience, his criminal tendencies, and more especially to his hopeless mental and physical inferiority to the white race,--the major had demonstrated, it seemed to him clearly enough, that the ballot in the hands of the negro was a menace to the commonwealth. he had argued, with entire conviction, that the white and black races could never attain social and political harmony by commingling their blood; he had proved by several historical parallels that no two unassimilable races could ever live together except in the relation of superior and inferior; and he was just dipping his gold pen into the ink to indite his conclusions from the premises thus established, when jerry, the porter, announced two visitors. "gin'l belmont an' cap'n mcbane would like ter see you, suh." "show them in, jerry." the man who entered first upon this invitation was a dapper little gentleman with light-blue eyes and a vandyke beard. he wore a frock coat, patent leather shoes, and a panama hat. there were crow's-feet about his eyes, which twinkled with a hard and, at times, humorous shrewdness. he had sloping shoulders, small hands and feet, and walked with the leisurely step characteristic of those who have been reared under hot suns. carteret gave his hand cordially to the gentleman thus described. "how do you do, captain mcbane," he said, turning to the second visitor. the individual thus addressed was strikingly different in appearance from his companion. his broad shoulders, burly form, square jaw, and heavy chin betokened strength, energy, and unscrupulousness. with the exception of a small, bristling mustache, his face was clean shaven, with here and there a speck of dried blood due to a carelessly or unskillfully handled razor. a single deep-set gray eye was shadowed by a beetling brow, over which a crop of coarse black hair, slightly streaked with gray, fell almost low enough to mingle with his black, bushy eyebrows. his coat had not been brushed for several days, if one might judge from the accumulation of dandruff upon the collar, and his shirt-front, in the middle of which blazed a showy diamond, was plentifully stained with tobacco juice. he wore a large slouch hat, which, upon entering the office, he removed and held in his hand. having greeted this person with an unconscious but quite perceptible diminution of the warmth with which he had welcomed the other, the major looked around the room for seats for his visitors, and perceiving only one chair, piled with exchanges, and a broken stool propped against the wall, pushed a button, which rang a bell in the hall, summoning the colored porter to his presence. "jerry," said the editor when his servant appeared, "bring a couple of chairs for these gentlemen." while they stood waiting, the visitors congratulated the major on the birth of his child, which had been announced in the morning chronicle, and which the prominence of the family made in some degree a matter of public interest. "and now that you have a son, major," remarked the gentleman first described, as he lit one of the major's cigars, "you'll be all the more interested in doing something to make this town fit to live in, which is what we came up to talk about. things are in an awful condition! a negro justice of the peace has opened an office on market street, and only yesterday summoned a white man to appear before him. negro lawyers get most of the business in the criminal court. last evening a group of young white ladies, going quietly along the street arm-in-arm, were forced off the sidewalk by a crowd of negro girls. coming down the street just now, i saw a spectacle of social equality and negro domination that made my blood boil with indignation,--a white and a black convict, chained together, crossing the city in charge of a negro officer! we cannot stand that sort of thing, carteret,--it is the last straw! something must be done, and that quickly!" the major thrilled with responsive emotion. there was something prophetic in this opportune visit. the matter was not only in his own thoughts, but in the air; it was the spontaneous revulsion of white men against the rule of an inferior race. these were the very men, above all others in the town, to join him in a movement to change these degrading conditions. general belmont, the smaller of the two, was a man of good family, a lawyer by profession, and took an active part in state and local politics. aristocratic by birth and instinct, and a former owner of slaves, his conception of the obligations and rights of his caste was nevertheless somewhat lower than that of the narrower but more sincere carteret. in serious affairs carteret desired the approval of his conscience, even if he had to trick that docile organ into acquiescence. this was not difficult to do in politics, for he believed in the divine right of white men and gentlemen, as his ancestors had believed in and died for the divine right of kings. general belmont was not without a gentleman's distaste for meanness, but he permitted no fine scruples to stand in the way of success. he had once been minister, under a democratic administration, to a small central american state. political rivals had characterized him as a tricky demagogue, which may of course have been a libel. he had an amiable disposition, possessed the gift of eloquence, and was a prime social favorite. captain george mcbane had sprung from the poor-white class, to which, even more than to the slaves, the abolition of slavery had opened the door of opportunity. no longer overshadowed by a slaveholding caste, some of this class had rapidly pushed themselves forward. some had made honorable records. others, foremost in negro-baiting and election frauds, had done the dirty work of politics, as their fathers had done that of slavery, seeking their reward at first in minor offices,--for which men of gentler breeding did not care,--until their ambition began to reach out for higher honors. of this class mcbane--whose captaincy, by the way, was merely a polite fiction--had been one of the most successful. he had held, until recently, as the reward of questionable political services, a contract with the state for its convict labor, from which in a few years he had realized a fortune. but the methods which made his contract profitable had not commended themselves to humane people, and charges of cruelty and worse had been preferred against him. he was rich enough to escape serious consequences from the investigation which followed, but when the fusion ticket carried the state he lost his contract, and the system of convict labor was abolished. since then mcbane had devoted himself to politics: he was ambitious for greater wealth, for office, and for social recognition. a man of few words and self-engrossed, he seldom spoke of his aspirations except where speech might favor them, preferring to seek his ends by secret "deals" and combinations rather than to challenge criticism and provoke rivalry by more open methods. at sight, therefore, of these two men, with whose careers and characters he was entirely familiar, carteret felt sweep over his mind the conviction that now was the time and these the instruments with which to undertake the redemption of the state from the evil fate which had befallen it. jerry, the porter, who had gone downstairs to the counting-room to find two whole chairs, now entered with one in each hand. he set a chair for the general, who gave him an amiable nod, to which jerry responded with a bow and a scrape. captain mcbane made no acknowledgment, but fixed jerry so fiercely with his single eye that upon placing the chair jerry made his escape from the room as rapidly as possible. "i don' like dat cap'n mcbane," he muttered, upon reaching the hall. "dey says he got dat eye knock' out tryin' ter whip a cullud 'oman, when he wuz a boy, an' dat he ain' never had no use fer niggers sence,--'cep'n' fer what he could make outen 'em wid his convic' labor contrac's. his daddy wuz a' overseer befo' 'im, an' it come nachul fer him ter be a nigger-driver. i don' want dat one eye er his'n restin' on me no longer 'n i kin he'p, an' i don' know how i'm gwine ter like dis job ef he's gwine ter be comin' roun' here. he ain' nothin' but po' w'ite trash nohow; but lawd! lawd! look at de money he's got,--livin' at de hotel, wearin' di'mon's, an' colloguin' wid de bes' quality er dis town! 'pears ter me de bottom rail is gittin' mighty close ter de top. well, i s'pose it all comes f'm bein' w'ite. i wush ter gawd i wuz w'ite!" after this fervent aspiration, having nothing else to do for the time being, except to remain within call, and having caught a few words of the conversation as he went in with the chairs, jerry, who possessed a certain amount of curiosity, placed close to the wall the broken stool upon which he sat while waiting in the hall, and applied his ear to a hole in the plastering of the hallway. there was a similar defect in the inner wall, between the same two pieces of studding, and while this inner opening was not exactly opposite the outer, jerry was enabled, through the two, to catch in a more or less fragmentary way what was going on within. he could hear the major, now and then, use the word "negro," and mcbane's deep voice was quite audible when he referred, it seemed to jerry with alarming frequency, to "the damned niggers," while the general's suave tones now and then pronounced the word "niggro,"--a sort of compromise between ethnology and the vernacular. that the gentlemen were talking politics seemed quite likely, for gentlemen generally talked politics when they met at the chronicle office. jerry could hear the words "vote," "franchise," "eliminate," "constitution," and other expressions which marked the general tenor of the talk, though he could not follow it all,--partly because he could not hear everything distinctly, and partly because of certain limitations which nature had placed in the way of jerry's understanding anything very difficult or abstruse. he had gathered enough, however, to realize, in a vague way, that something serious was on foot, involving his own race, when a bell sounded over his head, at which he sprang up hastily and entered the room where the gentlemen were talking. "jerry," said the major, "wait on captain mcbane." "yas, suh," responded jerry, turning toward the captain, whose eye he carefully avoided meeting directly. "take that half a dollar, boy," ordered mcbane, "an' go 'cross the street to mr. sykes's, and tell him to send me three whiskies. bring back the change, and make has'e." the captain tossed the half dollar at jerry, who, looking to one side, of course missed it. he picked the money up, however, and backed out of the room. jerry did not like captain mcbane, to begin with, and it was clear that the captain was no gentleman, or he would not have thrown the money at him. considering the source, jerry might have overlooked this discourtesy had it not been coupled with the remark about the change, which seemed to him in very poor taste. returning in a few minutes with three glasses on a tray, he passed them round, handed captain mcbane his change, and retired to the hall. "gentlemen," exclaimed the captain, lifting his glass, "i propose a toast: 'no nigger domination.'" "amen!" said the others, and three glasses were solemnly drained. "major," observed the general, smacking his lips, "_i_ should like to use jerry for a moment, if you will permit me." jerry appeared promptly at the sound of the bell. he had remained conveniently near,--calls of this sort were apt to come in sequence. "jerry," said the general, handing jerry half a dollar, "go over to mr. brown's,--i get my liquor there,--and tell them to send me three glasses of my special mixture. and, jerry,--you may keep the change!" "thank y', gin'l, thank y', marster," replied jerry, with unctuous gratitude, bending almost double as he backed out of the room. "dat's a gent'eman, a rale ole-time gent'eman," he said to himself when he had closed the door. "but dere's somethin' gwine on in dere,--dere sho' is! 'no nigger damnation!' dat soun's all right,--i'm sho' dere ain' no nigger i knows w'at wants damnation, do' dere's lots of 'em w'at deserves it; but ef dat one-eyed cap'n mcbane got anything ter do wid it, w'atever it is, it don' mean no good fer de niggers,--damnation'd be better fer 'em dan dat cap'n mcbane! he looks at a nigger lack he could jes' eat 'im alive." "this mixture, gentlemen," observed the general when jerry had returned with the glasses, "was originally compounded by no less a person than the great john c. calhoun himself, who confided the recipe to my father over the convivial board. in this nectar of the gods, gentlemen, i drink with you to 'white supremacy!'" "white supremacy everywhere!" added mcbane with fervor. "now and forever!" concluded carteret solemnly. when the visitors, half an hour later, had taken their departure, carteret, inspired by the theme, and in less degree by the famous mixture of the immortal calhoun, turned to his desk and finished, at a white heat, his famous editorial in which he sounded the tocsin of a new crusade. at noon, when the editor, having laid down his pen, was leaving the office, he passed jerry in the hall without a word or a nod. the major wore a rapt look, which jerry observed with a vague uneasiness. "he looks jes' lack he wuz walkin' in his sleep," muttered jerry uneasily. "dere's somethin' up, sho 's you bawn! 'no nigger damnation!' anybody'd 'low dey wuz all gwine ter heaven; but i knows better! w'en a passel er w'ite folks gits ter talkin' 'bout de niggers lack dem in yander, it's mo' lackly dey're gwine ter ketch somethin' e'se dan heaven! i got ter keep my eyes open an' keep up wid w'at's happenin'. ef dere's gwine ter be anudder flood 'roun' here, i wants ter git in de ark wid de w'ite folks,--i may haf ter be anudder ham, an' sta't de cullud race all over ag'in." iv theodore felix the young heir of the carterets had thriven apace, and at six months old was, according to mammy jane, whose experience qualified her to speak with authority, the largest, finest, smartest, and altogether most remarkable baby that had ever lived in wellington. mammy jane had recently suffered from an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, as the result of which she had returned to her own home. she nevertheless came now and then to see mrs. carteret. a younger nurse had been procured to take her place, but it was understood that jane would come whenever she might be needed. "you really mean that about dodie, do you, mammy jane?" asked the delighted mother, who never tired of hearing her own opinion confirmed concerning this wonderful child, which had come to her like an angel from heaven. "does i mean it!" exclaimed mammy jane, with a tone and an expression which spoke volumes of reproach. "now, mis' 'livy, what is i ever uttered er said er spoke er done dat would make you s'pose i could tell you a lie 'bout yo' own chile?" "no, mammy jane, i'm sure you wouldn't." "'deed, ma'am, i'm tellin' you de lawd's truf. i don' haf ter tell no lies ner strain no p'ints 'bout my ole mist'ess's gran'chile. dis yer boy is de ve'y spit an' image er yo' brother, young mars alick, w'at died w'en he wuz 'bout eight mont's ole, w'iles i wuz laid off havin' a baby er my own, an' couldn' be roun' ter look after 'im. an' dis chile is a rale quality chile, he is,--i never seed a baby wid sech fine hair fer his age, ner sech blue eyes, ner sech a grip, ner sech a heft. w'y, dat chile mus' weigh 'bout twenty-fo' poun's, an' he not but six mont's ole. does dat gal w'at does de nussin' w'iles i'm gone ten' ter dis chile right, mis' 'livy?" "she does fairly well, mammy jane, but i could hardly expect her to love the baby as you do. there's no one like you, mammy jane." "'deed dere ain't, honey; you is talkin' de gospel truf now! none er dese yer young folks ain' got de trainin' my ole mist'ess give me. dese yer new-fangle' schools don' l'arn 'em nothin' ter compare wid it. i'm jes' gwine ter give dat gal a piece er my min', befo' i go, so she'll ten' ter dis chile right." the nurse came in shortly afterwards, a neat-looking brown girl, dressed in a clean calico gown, with a nurse's cap and apron. "look a-here, gal," said mammy jane sternly, "i wants you ter understan' dat you got ter take good keer er dis chile; fer i nussed his mammy dere, an' his gran'mammy befo' 'im, an' you is got a priv'lege dat mos' lackly you don' 'preciate. i wants you to 'member, in yo' incomin's an' outgoin's, dat i got my eye on you, an' am gwine ter see dat you does yo' wo'k right." "do you need me for anything, ma'am?" asked the young nurse, who had stood before mrs. carteret, giving mammy jane a mere passing glance, and listening impassively to her harangue. the nurse belonged to the younger generation of colored people. she had graduated from the mission school, and had received some instruction in dr. miller's class for nurses. standing, like most young people of her race, on the border line between two irreconcilable states of life, she had neither the picturesqueness of the slave, nor the unconscious dignity of those of whom freedom has been the immemorial birthright; she was in what might be called the chip-on-the-shoulder stage, through which races as well as individuals must pass in climbing the ladder of life,--not an interesting, at least not an agreeable stage, but an inevitable one, and for that reason entitled to a paragraph in a story of southern life, which, with its as yet imperfect blending of old with new, of race with race, of slavery with freedom, is like no other life under the sun. had this old woman, who had no authority over her, been a little more polite, or a little less offensive, the nurse might have returned her a pleasant answer. these old-time negroes, she said to herself, made her sick with their slavering over the white folks, who, she supposed, favored them and made much of them because they had once belonged to them,--much the same reason why they fondled their cats and dogs. for her own part, they gave her nothing but her wages, and small wages at that, and she owed them nothing more than equivalent service. it was purely a matter of business; she sold her time for their money. there was no question of love between them. receiving a negative answer from mrs. carteret, she left the room without a word, ignoring mammy jane completely, and leaving that venerable relic of ante-bellum times gasping in helpless astonishment. "well, i nevuh!" she ejaculated, as soon as she could get her breath, "ef dat ain' de beatinis' pe'fo'mance i ever seed er heared of! dese yer young niggers ain' got de manners dey wuz bawned wid! i don' know w'at dey're comin' to, w'en dey ain' got no mo' rispec' fer ole age--i don' know--i don' know!" "now what are you croaking about, jane?" asked major carteret, who came into the room and took the child into his arms. mammy jane hobbled to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. she was never lacking in respect to white people of proper quality; but major carteret, the quintessence of aristocracy, called out all her reserves of deference. the major was always kind and considerate to these old family retainers, brought up in the feudal atmosphere now so rapidly passing away. mammy jane loved mrs. carteret; toward the major she entertained a feeling bordering upon awe. "well, jane," returned the major sadly, when the old nurse had related her grievance, "the old times have vanished, the old ties have been ruptured. the old relations of dependence and loyal obedience on the part of the colored people, the responsibility of protection and kindness upon that of the whites, have passed away forever. the young negroes are too self-assertive. education is spoiling them, jane; they have been badly taught. they are not content with their station in life. some time they will overstep the mark. the white people are patient, but there is a limit to their endurance." "dat's w'at i tells dese young niggers," groaned mammy jane, with a portentous shake of her turbaned head, "w'en i hears 'em gwine on wid deir foolishniss; but dey don' min' me. dey 'lows dey knows mo' d'n i does, 'ca'se dey be'n l'arnt ter look in a book. but, pshuh! my ole mist'ess showed me mo' d'n dem niggers 'll l'arn in a thousan' years! i 's fetch' my gran'son' jerry up ter be 'umble, an' keep in 'is place. an' i tells dese other niggers dat ef dey'd do de same, an' not crowd de w'ite folks, dey'd git ernuff ter eat, an' live out deir days in peace an' comfo't. but dey don' min' me--dey don' min' me!" "if all the colored people were like you and jerry, jane," rejoined the major kindly, "there would never be any trouble. you have friends upon whom, in time of need, you can rely implicitly for protection and succor. you served your mistress faithfully before the war; you remained by her when the other negroes were running hither and thither like sheep without a shepherd; and you have transferred your allegiance to my wife and her child. we think a great deal of you, jane." "yes, indeed, mammy jane," assented mrs. carteret, with sincere affection, glancing with moist eyes from the child in her husband's arms to the old nurse, whose dark face was glowing with happiness at these expressions of appreciation, "you shall never want so long as we have anything. we would share our last crust with you." "thank y', mis' 'livy," said jane with reciprocal emotion, "i knows who my frien's is, an' i ain' gwine ter let nothin' worry me. but fer de lawd's sake, mars philip, gimme dat chile, an' lemme pat 'im on de back, er he'll choke hisse'f ter death!" the old nurse had been the first to observe that little dodie, for some reason, was gasping for breath. catching the child from the major's arms, she patted it on the back, and shook it gently. after a moment of this treatment, the child ceased to gasp, but still breathed heavily, with a strange, whistling noise. "oh, my child!" exclaimed the mother, in great alarm, taking the baby in her own arms, "what can be the matter with him, mammy jane?" "fer de lawd's sake, ma'am, i don' know, 'less he's swallered somethin'; an' he ain' had nothin' in his han's but de rattle mis' polly give 'im." mrs. carteret caught up the ivory rattle, which hung suspended by a ribbon from the baby's neck. "he has swallowed the little piece off the end of the handle," she cried, turning pale with fear, "and it has lodged in his throat. telephone dr. price to come immediately, philip, before my baby chokes to death! oh, my baby, my precious baby!" an anxious half hour passed, during which the child lay quiet, except for its labored breathing. the suspense was relieved by the arrival of dr. price, who examined the child carefully. "it's a curious accident," he announced at the close of his inspection. "so far as i can discover, the piece of ivory has been drawn into the trachea, or windpipe, and has lodged in the mouth of the right bronchus. i'll try to get it out without an operation, but i can't guarantee the result." at the end of another half hour dr. price announced his inability to remove the obstruction without resorting to more serious measures. "i do not see," he declared, "how an operation can be avoided." "will it be dangerous?" inquired the major anxiously, while mrs. carteret shivered at the thought. "it will be necessary to cut into his throat from the outside. all such operations are more or less dangerous, especially on small children. if this were some other child, i might undertake the operation unassisted; but i know how you value this one, major, and i should prefer to share the responsibility with a specialist." "is there one in town?" asked the major. "no, but we can get one from out of town." "send for the best one in the country," said the major, "who can be got here in time. spare no expense, dr. price. we value this child above any earthly thing." "the best is the safest," replied dr. price. "i will send for dr. burns, of philadelphia, the best surgeon in that line in america. if he can start at once, he can reach here in sixteen or eighteen hours, and the case can wait even longer, if inflammation does not set in." the message was dispatched forthwith. by rare good fortune the eminent specialist was able to start within an hour or two after the receipt of dr. price's telegram. meanwhile the baby remained restless and uneasy, the doctor spending most of his time by its side. mrs. carteret, who had never been quite strong since the child's birth, was a prey to the most agonizing apprehensions. mammy jane, while not presuming to question the opinion of dr. price, and not wishing to add to her mistress's distress, was secretly oppressed by forebodings which she was unable to shake off. the child was born for bad luck. the mole under its ear, just at the point where the hangman's knot would strike, had foreshadowed dire misfortune. she had already observed several little things which had rendered her vaguely anxious. for instance, upon one occasion, on entering the room where the baby had been left alone, asleep in his crib, she had met a strange cat hurrying from the nursery, and, upon examining closely the pillow upon which the child lay, had found a depression which had undoubtedly been due to the weight of the cat's body. the child was restless and uneasy, and jane had ever since believed that the cat had been sucking little dodie's breath, with what might have been fatal results had she not appeared just in the nick of time. this untimely accident of the rattle, a fatality for which no one could be held responsible, had confirmed the unlucky omen. jane's duties in the nursery did not permit her to visit her friend the conjure woman; but she did find time to go out in the back yard at dusk, and to dig up the charm which she had planted there. it had protected the child so far; but perhaps its potency had become exhausted. she picked up the bottle, shook it vigorously, and then laid it back, with the other side up. refilling the hole, she made a cross over the top with the thumb of her left hand, and walked three times around it. what this strange symbolism meant, or whence it derived its origin, aunt jane did not know. the cross was there, and the trinity, though jane was scarcely conscious of these, at this moment, as religious emblems. but she hoped, on general principles, that this performance would strengthen the charm and restore little dodie's luck. it certainly had its moral effect upon jane's own mind, for she was able to sleep better, and contrived to impress mrs. carteret with her own hopefulness. v a journey southward as the south-bound train was leaving the station at philadelphia, a gentleman took his seat in the single sleeping-car attached to the train, and proceeded to make himself comfortable. he hung up his hat and opened his newspaper, in which he remained absorbed for a quarter of an hour. when the train had left the city behind, he threw the paper aside, and looked around at the other occupants of the car. one of these, who had been on the car since it had left new york, rose from his seat upon perceiving the other's glance, and came down the aisle. "how do you do, dr. burns?" he said, stopping beside the seat of the philadelphia passenger. the gentleman looked up at the speaker with an air of surprise, which, after the first keen, incisive glance, gave place to an expression of cordial recognition. "why, it's miller!" he exclaimed, rising and giving the other his hand, "william miller--dr. miller, of course. sit down, miller, and tell me all about yourself,--what you're doing, where you've been, and where you're going. i'm delighted to meet you, and to see you looking so well--and so prosperous." "i deserve no credit for either, sir," returned the other, as he took the proffered seat, "for i inherited both health and prosperity. it is a fortunate chance that permits me to meet you." the two acquaintances, thus opportunely thrown together so that they might while away in conversation the tedium of their journey, represented very different and yet very similar types of manhood. a celebrated traveler, after many years spent in barbarous or savage lands, has said that among all varieties of mankind the similarities are vastly more important and fundamental than the differences. looking at these two men with the american eye, the differences would perhaps be the more striking, or at least the more immediately apparent, for the first was white and the second black, or, more correctly speaking, brown; it was even a light brown, but both his swarthy complexion and his curly hair revealed what has been described in the laws of some of our states as a "visible admixture" of african blood. having disposed of this difference, and having observed that the white man was perhaps fifty years of age and the other not more than thirty, it may be said that they were both tall and sturdy, both well dressed, the white man with perhaps a little more distinction; both seemed from their faces and their manners to be men of culture and accustomed to the society of cultivated people. they were both handsome men, the elder representing a fine type of anglo-saxon, as the term is used in speaking of our composite white population; while the mulatto's erect form, broad shoulders, clear eyes, fine teeth, and pleasingly moulded features showed nowhere any sign of that degeneration which the pessimist so sadly maintains is the inevitable heritage of mixed races. as to their personal relations, it has already appeared that they were members of the same profession. in past years they had been teacher and pupil. dr. alvin burns was professor in the famous medical college where miller had attended lectures. the professor had taken an interest in his only colored pupil, to whom he had been attracted by his earnestness of purpose, his evident talent, and his excellent manners and fine physique. it was in part due to dr. burns's friendship that miller had won a scholarship which had enabled him, without drawing too heavily upon his father's resources, to spend in europe, studying in the hospitals of paris and vienna, the two most delightful years of his life. the same influence had strengthened his natural inclination toward operative surgery, in which dr. burns was a distinguished specialist of national reputation. miller's father, adam miller, had been a thrifty colored man, the son of a slave, who, in the olden time, had bought himself with money which he had earned and saved, over and above what he had paid his master for his time. adam miller had inherited his father's thrift, as well as his trade, which was that of a stevedore, or contractor for the loading and unloading of vessels at the port of wellington. in the flush turpentine days following a few years after the civil war, he had made money. his savings, shrewdly invested, had by constant accessions become a competence. he had brought up his eldest son to the trade; the other he had given a professional education, in the proud hope that his children or his grandchildren might be gentlemen in the town where their ancestors had once been slaves. upon his father's death, shortly after dr. miller's return from europe, and a year or two before the date at which this story opens, he had promptly spent part of his inheritance in founding a hospital, to which was to be added a training school for nurses, and in time perhaps a medical college and a school of pharmacy. he had been strongly tempted to leave the south, and seek a home for his family and a career for himself in the freer north, where race antagonism was less keen, or at least less oppressive, or in europe, where he had never found his color work to his disadvantage. but his people had needed him, and he had wished to help them, and had sought by means of this institution to contribute to their uplifting. as he now informed dr. burns, he was returning from new york, where he had been in order to purchase equipment for his new hospital, which would soon be ready for the reception of patients. "how much i can accomplish i do not know," said miller, "but i'll do what i can. there are eight or nine million of us, and it will take a great deal of learning of all kinds to leaven that lump." "it is a great problem, miller, the future of your race," returned the other, "a tremendously interesting problem. it is a serial story which we are all reading, and which grows in vital interest with each successive installment. it is not only your problem, but ours. your race must come up or drag ours down." "we shall come up," declared miller; "slowly and painfully, perhaps, but we shall win our way. if our race had made as much progress everywhere as they have made in wellington, the problem would be well on the way toward solution." "wellington?" exclaimed dr. burns. "that's where i'm going. a dr. price, of wellington, has sent for me to perform an operation on a child's throat. do you know dr. price?" "quite well," replied miller, "he is a friend of mine." "so much the better. i shall want you to assist me. i read in the medical gazette, the other day, an account of a very interesting operation of yours. i felt proud to number you among my pupils. it was a remarkable case--a rare case. i must certainly have you with me in this one." "i shall be delighted, sir," returned miller, "if it is agreeable to all concerned." several hours were passed in pleasant conversation while the train sped rapidly southward. they were already far down in virginia, and had stopped at a station beyond richmond, when the conductor entered the car. "all passengers," he announced, "will please transfer to the day coaches ahead. the sleeper has a hot box, and must be switched off here." dr. burns and miller obeyed the order, the former leading the way into the coach immediately in front of the sleeping-car. "let's sit here, miller," he said, having selected a seat near the rear of the car and deposited his suitcase in a rack. "it's on the shady side." miller stood a moment hesitatingly, but finally took the seat indicated, and a few minutes later the journey was again resumed. when the train conductor made his round after leaving the station, he paused at the seat occupied by the two doctors, glanced interrogatively at miller, and then spoke to dr. burns, who sat in the end of the seat nearest the aisle. "this man is with you?" he asked, indicating miller with a slight side movement of his head, and a keen glance in his direction. "certainly," replied dr. burns curtly, and with some surprise. "don't you see that he is?" the conductor passed on. miller paid no apparent attention to this little interlude, though no syllable had escaped him. he resumed the conversation where it had been broken off, but nevertheless followed with his eyes the conductor, who stopped at a seat near the forward end of the car, and engaged in conversation with a man whom miller had not hitherto noticed. as this passenger turned his head and looked back toward miller, the latter saw a broad-shouldered, burly white man, and recognized in his square-cut jaw, his coarse, firm mouth, and the single gray eye with which he swept miller for an instant with a scornful glance, a well-known character of wellington, with whom the reader has already made acquaintance in these pages. captain mcbane wore a frock coat and a slouch hat; several buttons of his vest were unbuttoned, and his solitaire diamond blazed in his soiled shirt-front like the headlight of a locomotive. the conductor in his turn looked back at miller, and retraced his steps. miller braced himself for what he feared was coming, though he had hoped, on account of his friend's presence, that it might be avoided. "excuse me, sir," said the conductor, addressing dr. burns, "but did i understand you to say that this man was your servant?" "no, indeed!" replied dr. burns indignantly. "the gentleman is not my servant, nor anybody's servant, but is my friend. but, by the way, since we are on the subject, may i ask what affair it is of yours?" "it's very much my affair," returned the conductor, somewhat nettled at this questioning of his authority. "i'm sorry to part _friends_, but the law of virginia does not permit colored passengers to ride in the white cars. you'll have to go forward to the next coach," he added, addressing miller this time. "i have paid my fare on the sleeping-car, where the separate-car law does not apply," remonstrated miller. "i can't help that. you can doubtless get your money back from the sleeping-car company. but this is a day coach, and is distinctly marked 'white,' as you must have seen before you sat down here. the sign is put there for that purpose." he indicated a large card neatly framed and hung at the end of the car, containing the legend, "white," in letters about a foot long, painted in white upon a dark background, typical, one might suppose, of the distinction thereby indicated. "you shall not stir a step, miller," exclaimed dr. burns wrathfully. "this is an outrage upon a citizen of a free country. you shall stay right here." "i'm sorry to discommode you," returned the conductor, "but there's no use kicking. it's the law of virginia, and i am bound by it as well as you. i have already come near losing my place because of not enforcing it, and i can take no more such chances, since i have a family to support." "and my friend has his rights to maintain," returned dr. burns with determination. "there is a vital principle at stake in the matter." "really, sir," argued the conductor, who was a man of peace and not fond of controversy, "there's no use talking--he absolutely cannot ride in this car." "how can you prevent it?" asked dr. burns, lapsing into the argumentative stage. "the law gives me the right to remove him by force. i can call on the train crew to assist me, or on the other passengers. if i should choose to put him off the train entirely, in the middle of a swamp, he would have no redress--the law so provides. if i did not wish to use force, i could simply switch this car off at the next siding, transfer the white passengers to another, and leave you and your friend in possession until you were arrested and fined or imprisoned." "what he says is absolutely true, doctor," interposed miller at this point. "it is the law, and we are powerless to resist it. if we made any trouble, it would merely delay your journey and imperil a life at the other end. i'll go into the other car." "you shall not go alone," said dr. burns stoutly, rising in his turn. "a place that is too good for you is not good enough for me. i will sit wherever you do." "i'm sorry again," said the conductor, who had quite recovered his equanimity, and calmly conscious of his power, could scarcely restrain an amused smile; "i dislike to interfere, but white passengers are not permitted to ride in the colored car." "this is an outrage," declared dr. burns, "a d----d outrage! you are curtailing the rights, not only of colored people, but of white men as well. i shall sit where i please!" "i warn you, sir," rejoined the conductor, hardening again, "that the law will be enforced. the beauty of the system lies in its strict impartiality--it applies to both races alike." "and is equally infamous in both cases," declared dr. burns. "i shall immediately take steps"-- "never mind, doctor," interrupted miller, soothingly, "it's only for a little while. i'll reach my destination just as surely in the other car, and we can't help it, anyway. i'll see you again at wellington." dr. burns, finding resistance futile, at length acquiesced and made way for miller to pass him. the colored doctor took up his valise and crossed the platform to the car ahead. it was an old car, with faded upholstery, from which the stuffing projected here and there through torn places. apparently the floor had not been swept for several days. the dust lay thick upon the window sills, and the water-cooler, from which he essayed to get a drink, was filled with stale water which had made no recent acquaintance with ice. there was no other passenger in the car, and miller occupied himself in making a rough calculation of what it would cost the southern railroads to haul a whole car for every colored passenger. it was expensive, to say the least; it would be cheaper, and quite as considerate of their feelings, to make the negroes walk. the car was conspicuously labeled at either end with large cards, similar to those in the other car, except that they bore the word "colored" in black letters upon a white background. the author of this piece of legislation had contrived, with an ingenuity worthy of a better cause, that not merely should the passengers be separated by the color line, but that the reason for this division should be kept constantly in mind. lest a white man should forget that he was white,--not a very likely contingency,--these cards would keep him constantly admonished of the fact; should a colored person endeavor, for a moment, to lose sight of his disability, these staring signs would remind him continually that between him and the rest of mankind not of his own color, there was by law a great gulf fixed. having composed himself, miller had opened a newspaper, and was deep in an editorial which set forth in glowing language the inestimable advantages which would follow to certain recently acquired islands by the introduction of american liberty, when the rear door of the car opened to give entrance to captain george mcbane, who took a seat near the door and lit a cigar. miller knew him quite well by sight and by reputation, and detested him as heartily. he represented the aggressive, offensive element among the white people of the new south, who made it hard for a negro to maintain his self-respect or to enjoy even the rights conceded to colored men by southern laws. mcbane had undoubtedly identified him to the conductor in the other car. miller had no desire to thrust himself upon the society of white people, which, indeed, to one who had traveled so much and so far, was no novelty; but he very naturally resented being at this late day--the law had been in operation only a few months--branded and tagged and set apart from the rest of mankind upon the public highways, like an unclean thing. nevertheless, he preferred even this to the exclusive society of captain george mcbane. "porter," he demanded of the colored train attaché who passed through the car a moment later, "is this a smoking car for white men?" "no, suh," replied the porter, "but they comes in here sometimes, when they ain' no cullud ladies on the kyar." "well, i have paid first-class fare, and i object to that man's smoking in here. you tell him to go out." "i'll tell the conductor, suh," returned the porter in a low tone. "i 'd jus' as soon talk ter the devil as ter that man." the white man had spread himself over two seats, and was smoking vigorously, from time to time spitting carelessly in the aisle, when the conductor entered the compartment. "captain," said miller, "this car is plainly marked 'colored.' i have paid first-class fare, and i object to riding in a smoking car." "all right," returned the conductor, frowning irritably. "i'll speak to him." he walked over to the white passenger, with whom he was evidently acquainted, since he addressed him by name. "captain mcbane," he said, "it's against the law for you to ride in the nigger car." "who are you talkin' to?" returned the other. "i'll ride where i damn please." "yes, sir, but the colored passenger objects. i'm afraid i'll have to ask you to go into the smoking-car." "the hell you say!" rejoined mcbane. "i'll leave this car when i get good and ready, and that won't be till i've finished this cigar. see?" he was as good as his word. the conductor escaped from the car before miller had time for further expostulation. finally mcbane, having thrown the stump of his cigar into the aisle and added to the floor a finishing touch in the way of expectoration, rose and went back into the white car. left alone in his questionable glory, miller buried himself again in his newspaper, from which he did not look up until the engine stopped at a tank station to take water. as the train came to a standstill, a huge negro, covered thickly with dust, crawled off one of the rear trucks unobserved, and ran round the rear end of the car to a watering-trough by a neighboring well. moved either by extreme thirst or by the fear that his time might be too short to permit him to draw a bucket of water, he threw himself down by the trough, drank long and deep, and plunging his head into the water, shook himself like a wet dog, and crept furtively back to his dangerous perch. miller, who had seen this man from the car window, had noticed a very singular thing. as the dusty tramp passed the rear coach, he cast toward it a glance of intense ferocity. up to that moment the man's face, which miller had recognized under its grimy coating, had been that of an ordinarily good-natured, somewhat reckless, pleasure-loving negro, at present rather the worse for wear. the change that now came over it suggested a concentrated hatred almost uncanny in its murderousness. with awakened curiosity miller followed the direction of the negro's glance, and saw that it rested upon a window where captain mcbane sat looking out. when miller looked back, the negro had disappeared. at the next station a chinaman, of the ordinary laundry type, boarded the train, and took his seat in the white car without objection. at another point a colored nurse found a place with her mistress. "white people," said miller to himself, who had seen these passengers from the window, "do not object to the negro as a servant. as the traditional negro,--the servant,--he is welcomed; as an equal, he is repudiated." miller was something of a philosopher. he had long ago had the conclusion forced upon him that an educated man of his race, in order to live comfortably in the united states, must be either a philosopher or a fool; and since he wished to be happy, and was not exactly a fool, he had cultivated philosophy. by and by he saw a white man, with a dog, enter the rear coach. miller wondered whether the dog would be allowed to ride with his master, and if not, what disposition would be made of him. he was a handsome dog, and miller, who was fond of animals, would not have objected to the company of a dog, as a dog. he was nevertheless conscious of a queer sensation when he saw the porter take the dog by the collar and start in his own direction, and felt consciously relieved when the canine passenger was taken on past him into the baggage-car ahead. miller's hand was hanging over the arm of his seat, and the dog, an intelligent shepherd, licked it as he passed. miller was not entirely sure that he would not have liked the porter to leave the dog there; he was a friendly dog, and seemed inclined to be sociable. toward evening the train drew up at a station where quite a party of farm laborers, fresh from their daily toil, swarmed out from the conspicuously labeled colored waiting-room, and into the car with miller. they were a jolly, good-natured crowd, and, free from the embarrassing presence of white people, proceeded to enjoy themselves after their own fashion. here an amorous fellow sat with his arm around a buxom girl's waist. a musically inclined individual--his talents did not go far beyond inclination--produced a mouth-organ and struck up a tune, to which a limber-legged boy danced in the aisle. they were noisy, loquacious, happy, dirty, and malodorous. for a while miller was amused and pleased. they were his people, and he felt a certain expansive warmth toward them in spite of their obvious shortcomings. by and by, however, the air became too close, and he went out upon the platform. for the sake of the democratic ideal, which meant so much to his race, he might have endured the affliction. he could easily imagine that people of refinement, with the power in their hands, might be tempted to strain the democratic ideal in order to avoid such contact; but personally, and apart from the mere matter of racial sympathy, these people were just as offensive to him as to the whites in the other end of the train. surely, if a classification of passengers on trains was at all desirable, it might be made upon some more logical and considerate basis than a mere arbitrary, tactless, and, by the very nature of things, brutal drawing of a color line. it was a veritable bed of procrustes, this standard which the whites had set for the negroes. those who grew above it must have their heads cut off, figuratively speaking,--must be forced back to the level assigned to their race; those who fell beneath the standard set had their necks stretched, literally enough, as the ghastly record in the daily papers gave conclusive evidence. miller breathed more freely when the lively crowd got off at the next station, after a short ride. moreover, he had a light heart, a conscience void of offense, and was only thirty years old. his philosophy had become somewhat jaded on this journey, but he pulled it together for a final effort. was it not, after all, a wise provision of nature that had given to a race, destined to a long servitude and a slow emergence therefrom, a cheerfulness of spirit which enabled them to catch pleasure on the wing, and endure with equanimity the ills that seemed inevitable? the ability to live and thrive under adverse circumstances is the surest guaranty of the future. the race which at the last shall inherit the earth--the residuary legatee of civilization--will be the race which remains longest upon it. the negro was here before the anglo-saxon was evolved, and his thick lips and heavy-lidded eyes looked out from the inscrutable face of the sphinx across the sands of egypt while yet the ancestors of those who now oppress him were living in caves, practicing human sacrifice, and painting themselves with woad--and the negro is here yet. "'blessed are the meek,'" quoted miller at the end of these consoling reflections, "'for they shall inherit the earth.' if this be true, the negro may yet come into his estate, for meekness seems to be set apart as his portion." the journey came to an end just as the sun had sunk into the west. simultaneously with miller's exit from the train, a great black figure crawled off the trucks of the rear car, on the side opposite the station platform. stretching and shaking himself with a free gesture, the black man, seeing himself unobserved, moved somewhat stiffly round the end of the car to the station platform. "'fo de lawd!" he muttered, "ef i hadn' had a cha'm' life, i'd 'a' never got here on dat ticket, an' dat's a fac'--it sho' am! i kind er 'lowed i wuz gone a dozen times, ez it wuz. but i got my job ter do in dis worl', an' i knows i ain' gwine ter die 'tel i've 'complished it. i jes' want one mo' look at dat man, an' den i'll haf ter git somethin' ter eat; fer two raw turnips in twelve hours is slim pickin's fer a man er my size!" vi janet as the train drew up at the station platform, dr. price came forward from the white waiting-room, and stood expectantly by the door of the white coach. miller, having left his car, came down the platform in time to intercept burns as he left the train, and to introduce him to dr. price. "my carriage is in waiting," said dr. price. "i should have liked to have you at my own house, but my wife is out of town. we have a good hotel, however, and you will doubtless find it more convenient." "you are very kind, dr. price. miller, won't you come up and dine with me?" "thank you, no," said miller, "i am expected at home. my wife and child are waiting for me in the buggy yonder by the platform." "oh, very well; of course you must go; but don't forget our appointment. let's see, dr. price, i can eat and get ready in half an hour--that will make it"-- "i have asked several of the local physicians to be present at eight o'clock," said dr. price. "the case can safely wait until then." "very well, miller, be on hand at eight. i shall expect you without fail. where shall he come, dr. price?" "to the residence of major philip carteret, on vine street." "i have invited dr. miller to be present and assist in the operation," dr. burns continued, as they drove toward the hotel. "he was a favorite pupil of mine, and is a credit to the profession. i presume you saw his article in the medical gazette?" "yes, and i assisted him in the case," returned dr. price. "it was a colored lad, one of his patients, and he called me in to help him. he is a capable man, and very much liked by the white physicians." miller's wife and child were waiting for him in fluttering anticipation. he kissed them both as he climbed into the buggy. "we came at four o'clock," said mrs. miller, a handsome young woman, who might be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, and whose complexion, in the twilight, was not distinguishable from that of a white person, "but the train was late two hours, they said. we came back at six, and have been waiting ever since." "yes, papa," piped the child, a little boy of six or seven, who sat between them, "and i am very hungry." miller felt very much elated as he drove homeward through the twilight. by his side sat the two persons whom he loved best in all the world. his affairs were prosperous. upon opening his office in the city, he had been received by the members of his own profession with a cordiality generally frank, and in no case much reserved. the colored population of the city was large, but in the main poor, and the white physicians were not unwilling to share this unprofitable practice with a colored doctor worthy of confidence. in the intervals of the work upon his hospital, he had built up a considerable practice among his own people; but except in the case of some poor unfortunate whose pride had been lost in poverty or sin, no white patient had ever called upon him for treatment. he knew very well the measure of his powers,--a liberal education had given him opportunity to compare himself with other men,--and was secretly conscious that in point of skill and knowledge he did not suffer by comparison with any other physician in the town. he liked to believe that the race antagonism which hampered his progress and that of his people was a mere temporary thing, the outcome of former conditions, and bound to disappear in time, and that when a colored man should demonstrate to the community in which he lived that he possessed character and power, that community would find a way in which to enlist his services for the public good. he had already made himself useful, and had received many kind words and other marks of appreciation. he was now offered a further confirmation of his theory: having recognized his skill, the white people were now ready to take advantage of it. any lurking doubt he may have felt when first invited by dr. burns to participate in the operation, had been dispelled by dr. price's prompt acquiescence. on the way homeward miller told his wife of this appointment. she was greatly interested; she was herself a mother, with an only child. moreover, there was a stronger impulse than mere humanity to draw her toward the stricken mother. janet had a tender heart, and could have loved this white sister, her sole living relative of whom she knew. all her life long she had yearned for a kind word, a nod, a smile, the least thing that imagination might have twisted into a recognition of the tie between them. but it had never come. and yet janet was not angry. she was of a forgiving temper; she could never bear malice. she was educated, had read many books, and appreciated to the full the social forces arrayed against any such recognition as she had dreamed of. of the two barriers between them a man might have forgiven the one; a woman would not be likely to overlook either the bar sinister or the difference of race, even to the slight extent of a silent recognition. blood is thicker than water, but, if it flow too far from conventional channels, may turn to gall and wormwood. nevertheless, when the heart speaks, reason falls into the background, and janet would have worshiped this sister, even afar off, had she received even the slightest encouragement. so strong was this weakness that she had been angry with herself for her lack of pride, or even of a decent self-respect. it was, she sometimes thought, the heritage of her mother's race, and she was ashamed of it as part of the taint of slavery. she had never acknowledged, even to her husband, from whom she concealed nothing else, her secret thoughts upon this lifelong sorrow. this silent grief was nature's penalty, or society's revenge, for whatever heritage of beauty or intellect or personal charm had come to her with her father's blood. for she had received no other inheritance. her sister was rich by right of her birth; if janet had been fortunate, her good fortune had not been due to any provision made for her by her white father. she knew quite well how passionately, for many years, her proud sister had longed and prayed in vain for the child which had at length brought joy into her household, and she could feel, by sympathy, all the sickening suspense with which the child's parents must await the result of this dangerous operation. "o will," she adjured her husband anxiously, when he had told her of the engagement, "you must be very careful. think of the child's poor mother! think of our own dear child, and what it would mean to lose him!" vii the operation dr. price was not entirely at ease in his mind as the two doctors drove rapidly from the hotel to major carteret's. himself a liberal man, from his point of view, he saw no reason why a colored doctor might not operate upon a white male child,--there are fine distinctions in the application of the color line,--but several other physicians had been invited, some of whom were men of old-fashioned notions, who might not relish such an innovation. this, however, was but a small difficulty compared with what might be feared from major carteret himself. for he knew carteret's unrelenting hostility to anything that savored of recognition of the negro as the equal of white men. it was traditional in wellington that no colored person had ever entered the front door of the carteret residence, and that the luckless individual who once presented himself there upon alleged business and resented being ordered to the back door had been unceremoniously thrown over the piazza railing into a rather thorny clump of rosebushes below. if miller were going as a servant, to hold a basin or a sponge, there would be no difficulty; but as a surgeon--well, he wouldn't borrow trouble. under the circumstances the major might yield a point. but as they neared the house the major's unyielding disposition loomed up formidably. perhaps if the matter were properly presented to dr. burns, he might consent to withdraw the invitation. it was not yet too, late to send miller a note. "by the way, dr. burns," he said, "i'm very friendly to dr. miller, and should personally like to have him with us to-night. but--i ought to have told you this before, but i couldn't very well do so, on such short notice, in miller's presence--we are a conservative people, and our local customs are not very flexible. we jog along in much the same old way our fathers did. i'm not at all sure that major carteret or the other gentlemen would consent to the presence of a negro doctor." "i think you misjudge your own people," returned dr. burns, "they are broader than you think. we have our prejudices against the negro at the north, but we do not let them stand in the way of anything that _we_ want. at any rate, it is too late now, and i will accept the responsibility. if the question is raised, i will attend to it. when i am performing an operation i must be _aut caesar, aut nullus_." dr. price was not reassured, but he had done his duty and felt the reward of virtue. if there should be trouble, he would not be responsible. moreover, there was a large fee at stake, and dr. burns was not likely to prove too obdurate. they were soon at carteret's, where they found assembled the several physicians invited by dr. price. these were successively introduced as drs. dudley, hooper, and ashe, all of whom were gentlemen of good standing, socially and in their profession, and considered it a high privilege to witness so delicate an operation at the hands of so eminent a member of their profession. major carteret entered the room and was duly presented to the famous specialist. carteret's anxious look lightened somewhat at sight of the array of talent present. it suggested, of course, the gravity of the impending event, but gave assurance of all the skill and care which science could afford. dr. burns was shown to the nursery, from which he returned in five minutes. "the case is ready," he announced. "are the gentlemen all present?" "i believe so," answered dr. price quickly. miller had not yet arrived. perhaps, thought dr. price, a happy accident, or some imperative call, had detained him. this would be fortunate indeed. dr. burns's square jaw had a very determined look. it would be a pity if any acrimonious discussion should arise on the eve of a delicate operation. if the clock on the mantel would only move faster, the question might never come up. "i don't see dr. miller," observed dr. burns, looking around the room. "i asked him to come at eight. there are ten minutes yet." major carteret looked up with a sudden frown. "may i ask to whom you refer?" he inquired, in an ominous tone. the other gentlemen showed signs of interest, not to say emotion. dr. price smiled quizzically. "dr. miller, of your city. he was one of my favorite pupils. he is also a graduate of the vienna hospitals, and a surgeon of unusual skill. i have asked him to assist in the operation." every eye was turned toward carteret, whose crimsoned face had set in a look of grim determination. "the person to whom you refer is a negro, i believe?" he said. "he is a colored man, certainly," returned dr. burns, "though one would never think of his color after knowing him well." "i do not know, sir," returned carteret, with an effort at self-control, "what the customs of philadelphia or vienna may be; but in the south we do not call negro doctors to attend white patients. i could not permit a negro to enter my house upon such an errand." "i am here, sir," replied dr. burns with spirit, "to perform a certain operation. since i assume the responsibility, the case must be under my entire control. otherwise i cannot operate." "gentlemen," interposed dr. price, smoothly, "i beg of you both--this is a matter for calm discussion, and any asperity is to be deplored. the life at stake here should not be imperiled by any consideration of minor importance." "your humanity does you credit, sir," retorted dr. burns. "but other matters, too, are important. i have invited this gentleman here. my professional honor is involved, and i merely invoke my rights to maintain it. it is a matter of principle, which ought not to give way to a mere prejudice." "that also states the case for major carteret," rejoined dr. price, suavely. "he has certain principles,--call them prejudices, if you like,--certain inflexible rules of conduct by which he regulates his life. one of these, which he shares with us all in some degree, forbids the recognition of the negro as a social equal." "i do not know what miller's social value may be," replied dr. burns, stoutly, "or whether you gain or lose by your attitude toward him. i have invited him here in a strictly professional capacity, with which his color is not at all concerned." "dr. burns does not quite appreciate major carteret's point of view," said dr. price. "this is not with him an unimportant matter, or a mere question of prejudice, or even of personal taste. it is a sacred principle, lying at the very root of our social order, involving the purity and prestige of our race. you northern gentlemen do not quite appreciate our situation; if you lived here a year or two you would act as we do. of course," he added, diplomatically, "if there were no alternative--if dr. burns were willing to put dr. miller's presence on the ground of imperative necessity"-- "i do nothing of the kind, sir," retorted dr. burns with some heat. "i have not come all the way from philadelphia to undertake an operation which i cannot perform without the aid of some particular physician. i merely stand upon my professional rights." carteret was deeply agitated. the operation must not be deferred; his child's life might be endangered by delay. if the negro's presence were indispensable he would even submit to it, though in order to avoid so painful a necessity, he would rather humble himself to the northern doctor. the latter course involved merely a personal sacrifice--the former a vital principle. perhaps there was another way of escape. miller's presence could not but be distasteful to mrs. carteret for other reasons. miller's wife was the living evidence of a painful episode in mrs. carteret's family, which the doctor's presence would inevitably recall. once before, mrs. carteret's life had been endangered by encountering, at a time of great nervous strain, this ill-born sister and her child. she was even now upon the verge of collapse at the prospect of her child's suffering, and should be protected from the intrusion of any idea which might add to her distress. "dr. burns," he said, with the suave courtesy which was part of his inheritance, "i beg your pardon for my heat, and throw myself upon your magnanimity, as between white men"-- "i am a gentleman, sir, before i am a white man," interposed dr. burns, slightly mollified, however, by carteret's change of manner. "the terms should be synonymous," carteret could not refrain from saying. "as between white men, and gentlemen, i say to you, frankly, that there are vital, personal reasons, apart from dr. miller's color, why his presence in this house would be distasteful. with this statement, sir, i throw myself upon your mercy. my child's life is worth more to me than any earthly thing, and i must be governed by your decision." dr. burns was plainly wavering. the clock moved with provoking slowness. miller would be there in five minutes. "may i speak with you privately a moment, doctor?" asked dr. price. they withdrew from the room and were engaged in conversation for a few moments. dr. burns finally yielded. "i shall nevertheless feel humiliated when i meet miller again," he said, "but of course if there is a personal question involved, that alters the situation. had it been merely a matter of color, i should have maintained my position. as things stand, i wash my hands of the whole affair, so far as miller is concerned, like pontius pilate--yes, indeed, sir, i feel very much like that individual." "i'll explain the matter to miller," returned dr. price, amiably, "and make it all right with him. we southern people understand the negroes better than you do, sir. why should we not? they have been constantly under our interested observation for several hundred years. you feel this vastly more than miller will. he knows the feeling of the white people, and is accustomed to it. he wishes to live and do business here, and is quite too shrewd to antagonize his neighbors or come where he is not wanted. he is in fact too much of a gentleman to do so." "i shall leave the explanation to you entirely," rejoined dr. burns, as they reëntered the other room. carteret led the way to the nursery, where the operation was to take place. dr. price lingered for a moment. miller was not likely to be behind the hour, if he came at all, and it would be well to head him off before the operation began. scarcely had the rest left the room when the doorbell sounded, and a servant announced dr. miller. dr. price stepped into the hall and met miller face to face. he had meant to state the situation to miller frankly, but now that the moment had come he wavered. he was a fine physician, but he shrank from strenuous responsibilities. it had been easy to theorize about the negro; it was more difficult to look this man in the eyes--whom at this moment he felt to be as essentially a gentleman as himself--and tell him the humiliating truth. as a physician his method was to ease pain--he would rather take the risk of losing a patient from the use of an anaesthetic than from the shock of an operation. he liked miller, wished him well, and would not wittingly wound his feelings. he really thought him too much of a gentleman for the town, in view of the restrictions with which he must inevitably be hampered. there was something melancholy, to a cultivated mind, about a sensitive, educated man who happened to be off color. such a person was a sort of social misfit, an odd quantity, educated out of his own class, with no possible hope of entrance into that above it. he felt quite sure that if he had been in miller's place, he would never have settled in the south--he would have moved to europe, or to the west indies, or some central or south american state where questions of color were not regarded as vitally important. dr. price did not like to lie, even to a negro. to a man of his own caste, his word was his bond. if it were painful to lie, it would be humiliating to be found out. the principle of _noblesse oblige_ was also involved in the matter. his claim of superiority to the colored doctor rested fundamentally upon the fact that he was white and miller was not; and yet this superiority, for which he could claim no credit, since he had not made himself, was the very breath of his nostrils,--he would not have changed places with the other for wealth untold; and as a gentleman, he would not care to have another gentleman, even a colored man, catch him in a lie. of this, however, there was scarcely any danger. a word to the other surgeons would insure their corroboration of whatever he might tell miller. no one of them would willingly wound dr. miller or embarrass dr. price; indeed, they need not know that miller had come in time for the operation. "i'm sorry, miller," he said with apparent regret, "but we were here ahead of time, and the case took a turn which would admit of no delay, so the gentlemen went in. dr. burns is with the patient now, and asked me to explain why we did not wait for you." "i'm sorry too," returned miller, regretfully, but nothing doubting. he was well aware that in such cases danger might attend upon delay. he had lost his chance, through no fault of his own or of any one else. "i hope that all is well?" he said, hesitatingly, not sure whether he would be asked to remain. "all is well, so far. step round to my office in the morning, miller, or come in when you're passing, and i'll tell you the details." this was tantamount to a dismissal, so miller took his leave. descending the doorsteps, he stood for a moment, undecided whether to return home or to go to the hotel and await the return of dr. burns, when he heard his name called from the house in a low tone. "oh, doctuh!" he stepped back toward the door, outside of which stood the colored servant who had just let him out. "dat's all a lie, doctuh," he whispered, "'bout de operation bein' already pe'fo'med. dey-all had jes' gone in de minute befo' you come--doctuh price hadn' even got out 'n de room. dey be'n quollin' 'bout you fer de las' ha'f hour. majah ca'te'et say he wouldn' have you, an' de no'then doctuh say he wouldn't do nothin' widout you, an' doctuh price he j'ined in on bofe sides, an' dey had it hot an' heavy, nip an' tuck, till bimeby majah ca'te'et up an' say it wa'n't altogether yo' color he objected to, an' wid dat de no'then doctuh give in. he's a fine man, suh, but dey wuz too much fer 'im!" "thank you, sam, i'm much obliged," returned miller mechanically. "one likes to know the truth." truth, it has been said, is mighty, and must prevail; but it sometimes leaves a bad taste in the mouth. in the ordinary course of events miller would not have anticipated such an invitation, and for that reason had appreciated it all the more. the rebuff came with a corresponding shock. he had the heart of a man, the sensibilities of a cultivated gentleman; the one was sore, the other deeply wounded. he was not altogether sure, upon reflection, whether he blamed dr. price very much for the amiable lie, which had been meant to spare his feelings, or thanked sam a great deal for the unpalatable truth. janet met him at the door. "how is the baby?" she asked excitedly. "dr. price says he is doing well." "what is the matter, will, and why are you back so soon?" he would have spared her the story, but she was a woman, and would have it. he was wounded, too, and wanted sympathy, of which janet was an exhaustless fountain. so he told her what had happened. she comforted him after the manner of a loving woman, and felt righteously indignant toward her sister's husband, who had thus been instrumental in the humiliation of her own. her anger did not embrace her sister, and yet she felt obscurely that their unacknowledged relationship had been the malignant force which had given her husband pain, and defeated his honorable ambition. when dr. price entered the nursery, dr. burns was leaning attentively over the operating table. the implements needed for the operation were all in readiness--the knives, the basin, the sponge, the materials for dressing the wound--all the ghastly paraphernalia of vivisection. mrs. carteret had been banished to another room, where clara vainly attempted to soothe her. old mammy jane, still burdened by her fears, fervently prayed the good lord to spare the life of the sweet little grandson of her dear old mistress. dr. burns had placed his ear to the child's chest, which had been bared for the incision. dr. price stood ready to administer the anaesthetic. little dodie looked up with a faint expression of wonder, as if dimly conscious of some unusual event. the major shivered at the thought of what the child must undergo. "there's a change in his breathing," said dr. burns, lifting his head. "the whistling noise is less pronounced, and he breathes easier. the obstruction seems to have shifted." applying his ear again to the child's throat, he listened for a moment intently, and then picking the baby up from the table, gave it a couple of sharp claps between the shoulders. simultaneously a small object shot out from the child's mouth, struck dr. price in the neighborhood of his waistband, and then rattled lightly against the floor. whereupon the baby, as though conscious of his narrow escape, smiled and gurgled, and reaching upward clutched the doctor's whiskers with his little hand, which, according to old jane, had a stronger grip than any other infant's in wellington. viii the campaign drags the campaign for white supremacy was dragging. carteret had set out, in the columns of the morning chronicle, all the reasons why this movement, inaugurated by the three men who had met, six months before, at the office of the chronicle, should be supported by the white public. negro citizenship was a grotesque farce--sambo and dinah raised from the kitchen to the cabinet were a spectacle to make the gods laugh. the laws by which it had been sought to put the negroes on a level with the whites must be swept away in theory, as they had failed in fact. if it were impossible, without a further education of public opinion, to secure the repeal of the fifteenth amendment, it was at least the solemn duty of the state to endeavor, through its own constitution, to escape from the domination of a weak and incompetent electorate and confine the negro to that inferior condition for which nature had evidently designed him. in spite of the force and intelligence with which carteret had expressed these and similar views, they had not met the immediate response anticipated. there were thoughtful men, willing to let well enough alone, who saw no necessity for such a movement. they believed that peace, prosperity, and popular education offered a surer remedy for social ills than the reopening of issues supposed to have been settled. there were timid men who shrank from civic strife. there were busy men, who had something else to do. there were a few fair men, prepared to admit, privately, that a class constituting half to two thirds of the population were fairly entitled to some representation in the law-making bodies. perhaps there might have been found, somewhere in the state, a single white man ready to concede that all men were entitled to equal rights before the law. that there were some white men who had learned little and forgotten nothing goes without saying, for knowledge and wisdom are not impartially distributed among even the most favored race. there were ignorant and vicious negroes, and they had a monopoly of neither ignorance nor crime, for there were prosperous negroes and poverty-stricken whites. until carteret and his committee began their baleful campaign the people of the state were living in peace and harmony. the anti-negro legislation in more southern states, with large negro majorities, had awakened scarcely an echo in this state, with a population two thirds white. even the triumph of the fusion party had not been regarded as a race issue. it remained for carteret and his friends to discover, with inspiration from whatever supernatural source the discriminating reader may elect, that the darker race, docile by instinct, humble by training, patiently waiting upon its as yet uncertain destiny, was an incubus, a corpse chained to the body politic, and that the negro vote was a source of danger to the state, no matter how cast or by whom directed. to discuss means for counteracting this apathy, a meeting of the "big three," as they had begun to designate themselves jocularly, was held at the office of the "morning chronicle," on the next day but one after little dodie's fortunate escape from the knife. "it seems," said general belmont, opening the discussion, "as though we had undertaken more than we can carry through. it is clear that we must reckon on opposition, both at home and abroad. if we are to hope for success, we must extend the lines of our campaign. the north, as well as our own people, must be convinced that we have right upon our side. we are conscious of the purity of our motives, but we should avoid even the appearance of evil." mcbane was tapping the floor impatiently with his foot during this harangue. "i don't see the use," he interrupted, "of so much beating about the bush. we may as well be honest about this thing. we are going to put the niggers down because we want to, and think we can; so why waste our time in mere pretense? i'm no hypocrite myself,--if i want a thing i take it, provided i'm strong enough." "my dear captain," resumed the general, with biting suavity, "your frankness does you credit,--'an honest man's the noblest work of god,'--but we cannot carry on politics in these degenerate times without a certain amount of diplomacy. in the good old days when your father was alive, and perhaps nowadays in the discipline of convicts, direct and simple methods might be safely resorted to; but this is a modern age, and in dealing with so fundamental a right as the suffrage we must profess a decent regard for the opinions of even that misguided portion of mankind which may not agree with us. this is the age of crowds, and we must have the crowd with us." the captain flushed at the allusion to his father's calling, at which he took more offense than at the mention of his own. he knew perfectly well that these old aristocrats, while reaping the profits of slavery, had despised the instruments by which they were attained--the poor-white overseer only less than the black slave. mcbane was rich; he lived in wellington, but he had never been invited to the home of either general belmont or major carteret, nor asked to join the club of which they were members. his face, therefore, wore a distinct scowl, and his single eye glowed ominously. he would help these fellows carry the state for white supremacy, and then he would have his innings,--he would have more to say than they dreamed, as to who should fill the offices under the new deal. men of no better birth or breeding than he had represented southern states in congress since the war. why should he not run for governor, representative, whatever he chose? he had money enough to buy out half a dozen of these broken-down aristocrats, and money was all-powerful. "you see, captain," the general went on, looking mcbane smilingly and unflinchingly in the eye, "we need white immigration--we need northern capital. 'a good name is better than great riches,' and we must prove our cause a righteous one." "we must be armed at all points," added carteret, "and prepared for defense as well as for attack,--we must make our campaign a national one." "for instance," resumed the general, "you, carteret, represent the associated press. through your hands passes all the news of the state. what more powerful medium for the propagation of an idea? the man who would govern a nation by writing its songs was a blethering idiot beside the fellow who can edit its news dispatches. the negroes are playing into our hands,--every crime that one of them commits is reported by us. with the latitude they have had in this state they are growing more impudent and self-assertive every day. a yellow demagogue in new york made a speech only a few days ago, in which he deliberately, and in cold blood, advised negroes to defend themselves to the death when attacked by white people! i remember well the time when it was death for a negro to strike a white man." "it's death now, if he strikes the right one," interjected mcbane, restored to better humor by this mention of a congenial subject. the general smiled a fine smile. he had heard the story of how mcbane had lost his other eye. "the local negro paper is quite outspoken, too," continued the general, "if not impudent. we must keep track of that; it may furnish us some good campaign material." "yes," returned carteret, "we must see to that. i threw a copy into the waste-basket this morning, without looking at it. here it is now!" ix a white man's "nigger" carteret fished from the depths of the waste-basket and handed to the general an eighteen by twenty-four sheet, poorly printed on cheap paper, with a "patent" inside, a number of advertisements of proprietary medicines, quack doctors, and fortune-tellers, and two or three columns of editorial and local news. candor compels the admission that it was not an impressive sheet in any respect, except when regarded as the first local effort of a struggling people to make public expression of their life and aspirations. from this point of view it did not speak at all badly for a class to whom, a generation before, newspapers, books, and learning had been forbidden fruit. "it's an elegant specimen of journalism, isn't it?" laughed the general, airily. "listen to this 'ad':-- "'kinky, curly hair made straight by one application of our specific. our face bleach will turn the skin of a black or brown person four or five shades lighter, and of a mulatto perfectly white. when you get the color you wish, stop using the preparation.' "just look at those heads!--'before using' and 'after using.' we'd better hurry, or there'll be no negroes to disfranchise! if they don't stop till they get the color they desire, and the stuff works according to contract, they'll all be white. ah! what have we here? this looks as though it might be serious." opening the sheet the general read aloud an editorial article, to which carteret listened intently, his indignation increasing in strength from the first word to the last, while mcbane's face grew darkly purple with anger. the article was a frank and somewhat bold discussion of lynching and its causes. it denied that most lynchings were for the offense most generally charged as their justification, and declared that, even of those seemingly traced to this cause, many were not for crimes at all, but for voluntary acts which might naturally be expected to follow from the miscegenation laws by which it was sought, in all the southern states, to destroy liberty of contract, and, for the purpose of maintaining a fanciful purity of race, to make crimes of marriages to which neither nature nor religion nor the laws of other states interposed any insurmountable barrier. such an article in a northern newspaper would have attracted no special attention, and might merely have furnished food to an occasional reader for serious thought upon a subject not exactly agreeable; but coming from a colored man, in a southern city, it was an indictment of the laws and social system of the south that could not fail of creating a profound sensation. "infamous--infamous!" exclaimed carteret, his voice trembling with emotion. "the paper should be suppressed immediately." "the impudent nigger ought to be horsewhipped and run out of town," growled mcbane. "gentlemen," said the general soothingly, after the first burst of indignation had subsided, "i believe we can find a more effective use for this article, which, by the way, will not bear too close analysis,--there's some truth in it, at least there's an argument." "that is not the point," interrupted carteret. "no," interjected mcbane with an oath, "that ain't at all the point. truth or not, no damn nigger has any right to say it." "this article," said carteret, "violates an unwritten law of the south. if we are to tolerate this race of weaklings among us, until they are eliminated by the stress of competition, it must be upon terms which we lay down. one of our conditions is violated by this article, in which our wisdom is assailed, and our women made the subject of offensive comment. we must make known our disapproval." "i say lynch the nigger, break up the press, and burn down the newspaper office," mcbane responded promptly. "gentlemen," interposed the general, "would you mind suspending the discussion for a moment, while i mind jerry across the street? i think i can then suggest a better plan." carteret rang the bell for jerry, who answered promptly. he had been expecting such a call ever since the gentlemen had gone in. "jerry," said the general, "step across to brown's and tell him to send me three calhoun cocktails. wait for them,--here's the money." "yas, suh," replied jerry, taking the proffered coin. "and make has'e, charcoal," added mcbane, "for we're gettin' damn dry." a momentary cloud of annoyance darkened carteret's brow. mcbane had always grated upon his aristocratic susceptibilities. the captain was an upstart, a product of the democratic idea operating upon the poor white man, the descendant of the indentured bondservant and the socially unfit. he had wealth and energy, however, and it was necessary to make use of him; but the example of such men was a strong incentive to carteret in his campaign against the negro. it was distasteful enough to rub elbows with an illiterate and vulgar white man of no ancestry,--the risk of similar contact with negroes was to be avoided at any cost. he could hardly expect mcbane to be a gentleman, but when among men of that class he might at least try to imitate their manners. a gentleman did not order his own servants around offensively, to say nothing of another's. the general had observed carteret's annoyance, and remarked pleasantly while they waited for the servant's return:-- "jerry, now, is a very good negro. he's not one of your new negroes, who think themselves as good as white men, and want to run the government. jerry knows his place,--he is respectful, humble, obedient, and content with the face and place assigned to him by nature." "yes, he's one of the best of 'em," sneered mcbane. "he'll call any man 'master' for a quarter, or 'god' for half a dollar; for a dollar he'll grovel at your feet, and for a cast-off coat you can buy an option on his immortal soul,--if he has one! i've handled niggers for ten years, and i know 'em from the ground up. they're all alike,--they're a scrub race, an affliction to the country, and the quicker we're rid of 'em all the better." carteret had nothing to say by way of dissent. mcbane's sentiments, in their last analysis, were much the same as his, though he would have expressed them less brutally. "the negro," observed the general, daintily flicking the ash from his cigar, "is all right in his place and very useful to the community. we lived on his labor for quite a long time, and lived very well. nevertheless we are better off without slavery, for we can get more out of the free negro, and with less responsibility. i really do not see how we could get along without the negroes. if they were all like jerry, we'd have no trouble with them." having procured the drinks, jerry, the momentary subject of the race discussion which goes on eternally in the south, was making his way back across the street, somewhat disturbed in mind. "o lawd!" he groaned, "i never troubles trouble till trouble troubles me; but w'en i got dem drinks befo', gin'l belmont gimme half a dollar an' tol' me ter keep de change. dis time he didn' say nothin' 'bout de change. i s'pose he jes' fergot erbout it, but w'at is a po' nigger gwine ter do w'en he has ter conten' wid w'ite folks's fergitfulniss? i don' see no way but ter do some fergittin' myse'f. i'll jes' stan' outside de do' here till dey gits so wrop' up in deir talk dat dey won' 'member nothin' e'se, an' den at de right minute i'll ban' de glasses 'roun, an' moa' lackly de gin'l 'll fergit all 'bout de change." while jerry stood outside, the conversation within was plainly audible, and some inkling of its purport filtered through his mind. "now, gentlemen," the general was saying, "here's my plan. that editorial in the negro newspaper is good campaign matter, but we should reserve it until it will be most effective. suppose we just stick it in a pigeon-hole, and let the editor,--what's his name?" "the nigger's name is barber," replied mcbane. "i'd like to have him under me for a month or two; he'd write no more editorials." "let barber have all the rope he wants," resumed the general, "and he'll be sure to hang himself. in the mean time we will continue to work up public opinion,--we can use this letter privately for that purpose,--and when the state campaign opens we'll print the editorial, with suitable comment, scatter it broadcast throughout the state, fire the southern heart, organize the white people on the color line, have a little demonstration with red shirts and shotguns, scare the negroes into fits, win the state for white supremacy, and teach our colored fellow citizens that we are tired of negro domination and have put an end to it forever. the afro-american banner will doubtless die about the same time." "and so will the editor!" exclaimed mcbane ferociously; "i'll see to that. but i wonder where that nigger is with them cocktails? i'm so thirsty i could swallow blue blazes." "here's yo' drinks, gin'l," announced jerry, entering with the glasses on a tray. the gentlemen exchanged compliments and imbibed--mcbane at a gulp, carteret with more deliberation, leaving about half the contents of his glass. the general drank slowly, with every sign of appreciation. "if the illustrious statesman," he observed, "whose name this mixture bears, had done nothing more than invent it, his fame would still deserve to go thundering down the endless ages." "it ain't bad liquor," assented mcbane, smacking his lips. jerry received the empty glasses on the tray and left the room. he had scarcely gained the hall when the general called him back. "o lawd!" groaned jerry, "he's gwine ter ax me fer de change. yas, suh, yas, suh; comin', gin'l, comin', suh!" "you may keep the change, jerry," said the general. jerry's face grew radiant at this announcement. "yas, suh, gin'l; thank y', suh; much obleedzed, suh. i wuz jus' gwine ter fetch it in, suh, w'en i had put de tray down. thank y', suh, truly, suh!" jerry backed and bowed himself out into the hall. "dat wuz a close shave," he muttered, as he swallowed the remaining contents of major carteret's glass. "i 'lowed dem twenty cents wuz gone dat time,--an' whar i wuz gwine ter git de money ter take my gal ter de chu'ch festibal ter-night, de lawd only knows!--'less'n i borried it offn mr. ellis, an' i owes him sixty cents a'ready. but i wonduh w'at dem w'ite folks in dere is up ter? dere's one thing sho',--dey're gwine ter git after de niggers some way er 'nuther, an' w'en dey does, whar is jerry gwine ter be? dat's de mos' impo'tantes' question. i'm gwine ter look at dat newspaper dey be'n talkin' 'bout, an' 'less'n my min' changes might'ly, i'm gwine ter keep my mouf shet an' stan' in wid de angry-saxon race,--ez dey calls deyse'ves nowadays,--an' keep on de right side er my bread an' meat. wat nigger ever give me twenty cents in all my bawn days?" "by the way, major," said the general, who lingered behind mcbane as they were leaving, "is miss clara's marriage definitely settled upon?" "well, general, not exactly; but it's the understanding that they will marry when they are old enough." "i was merely thinking," the general went on, "that if i were you i'd speak to tom about cards and liquor. he gives more time to both than a young man can afford. i'm speaking in his interest and in miss clara's,--we of the old families ought to stand together." "thank you, general, for the hint. i'll act upon it." this political conference was fruitful in results. acting upon the plans there laid out, mcbane traveled extensively through the state, working up sentiment in favor of the new movement. he possessed a certain forceful eloquence; and white supremacy was so obviously the divine intention that he had merely to affirm the doctrine in order to secure adherents. general belmont, whose business required him to spend much of the winter in washington and new york, lost no opportunity to get the ear of lawmakers, editors, and other leaders of national opinion, and to impress upon them, with persuasive eloquence, the impossibility of maintaining existing conditions, and the tremendous blunder which had been made in conferring the franchise upon the emancipated race. carteret conducted the press campaign, and held out to the republicans of the north the glittering hope that, with the elimination of the negro vote, and a proper deference to southern feeling, a strong white republican party might be built up in the new south. how well the bait took is a matter of history,--but the promised result is still in the future. the disfranchisement of the negro has merely changed the form of the same old problem. the negro had no vote before the rebellion, and few other rights, and yet the negro question was, for a century, the pivot of american politics. it plunged the nation into a bloody war, and it will trouble the american government and the american conscience until a sustained attempt is made to settle it upon principles of justice and equity. the personal ambitions entertained by the leaders of this movement are but slightly involved in this story. mcbane's aims have been touched upon elsewhere. the general would have accepted the nomination for governor of the state, with a vision of a senatorship in the future. carteret hoped to vindicate the supremacy of his race, and make the state fit for his son to live in, and, incidentally, he would not refuse any office, worthy of his dignity, which a grateful people might thrust upon him. so powerful a combination of bigot, self-seeking demagogue, and astute politician was fraught with grave menace to the peace of the state and the liberties of the people,--by which is meant the whole people, and not any one class, sought to be built up at the expense of another. x delamere plays a trump carteret did not forget what general belmont had said in regard to tom. the major himself had been young, not so very long ago, and was inclined toward indulgence for the foibles of youth. a young gentleman should have a certain knowledge of life,--but there were limits. clara's future happiness must not be imperiled. the opportunity to carry out this purpose was not long delayed. old mr. delamere wished to sell some timber which had been cut at belleview, and sent tom down to the chronicle office to leave an advertisement. the major saw him at the desk, invited him into his sanctum, and delivered him a mild lecture. the major was kind, and talked in a fatherly way about the danger of extremes, the beauty of moderation, and the value of discretion as a rule of conduct. he mentioned collaterally the unblemished honor of a fine old family, its contemplated alliance with his own, and dwelt upon the sweet simplicity of clara's character. the major was a man of feeling and of tact, and could not have put the subject in a way less calculated to wound the _amour propre_ of a very young man. delamere had turned red with anger while the major was speaking. he was impulsive, and an effort was required to keep back the retort that sprang once or twice to his lips; but his conscience was not clear, and he could not afford hard words with clara's guardian and his grandfather's friend. clara was rich, and the most beautiful girl in town; they were engaged; he loved her as well as he could love anything of which he seemed sure; and he did not mean that any one else should have her. the major's mild censure disturbed slightly his sense of security; and while the major's manner did not indicate that he knew anything definite against him, it would be best to let well enough alone. "thank you, major," he said, with well-simulated frankness. "i realize that i may have been a little careless, more from thoughtlessness than anything else; but my heart is all right, sir, and i am glad that my conduct has been brought to your attention, for what you have said enables me to see it in a different light. i will be more careful of my company hereafter; for i love clara, and mean to try to be worthy of her. do you know whether she will be at home this evening?" "i have heard nothing to the contrary," replied the major warmly. "call her up by telephone and ask--or come up and see. you're always welcome, my boy." upon leaving the office, which was on the second floor, tom met ellis coming up the stairs. it had several times of late occurred to tom that ellis had a sneaking fondness for clara. panoplied in his own engagement, tom had heretofore rather enjoyed the idea of a hopeless rival. ellis was such a solemn prig, and took life so seriously, that it was a pleasure to see him sit around sighing for the unattainable. that he should be giving pain to ellis added a certain zest to his own enjoyment. but this interview with the major had so disquieted him that upon meeting ellis upon the stairs he was struck by a sudden suspicion. he knew that major carteret seldom went to the clarendon club, and that he must have got his information from some one else. ellis was a member of the club, and a frequent visitor. who more likely than he to try to poison clara's mind, or the minds of her friends, against her accepted lover? tom did not think that the world was using him well of late; bad luck had pursued him, in cards and other things, and despite his assumption of humility, carteret's lecture had left him in an ugly mood. he nodded curtly to ellis without relaxing the scowl that disfigured his handsome features. "that's the damned sneak who's been giving me away," he muttered. "i'll get even with him yet for this." delamere's suspicions with regard to ellis's feelings were not, as we have seen, entirely without foundation. indeed, he had underestimated the strength of this rivalry and its chances of success. ellis had been watching delamere for a year. there had been nothing surreptitious about it, but his interest in clara had led him to note things about his favored rival which might have escaped the attention of others less concerned. ellis was an excellent judge of character, and had formed a very decided opinion of tom delamere. to ellis, unbiased by ancestral traditions, biased perhaps by jealousy, tom delamere was a type of the degenerate aristocrat. if, as he had often heard, it took three or four generations to make a gentleman, and as many more to complete the curve and return to the base from which it started, tom delamere belonged somewhere on the downward slant, with large possibilities of further decline. old mr. delamere, who might be taken as the apex of an ideal aristocratic development, had been distinguished, during his active life, as ellis had learned, for courage and strength of will, courtliness of bearing, deference to his superiors, of whom there had been few, courtesy to his equals, kindness and consideration for those less highly favored, and above all, a scrupulous sense of honor; his grandson tom was merely the shadow without the substance, the empty husk without the grain. of grace he had plenty. in manners he could be perfect, when he so chose. courage and strength he had none. ellis had seen this fellow, who boasted of his descent from a line of cavaliers, turn pale with fright and spring from a buggy to which was harnessed a fractious horse, which a negro stable-boy drove fearlessly. a valiant carpet-knight, skilled in all parlor exercises, great at whist or euchre, a dream of a dancer, unexcelled in cakewalk or "coon" impersonations, for which he was in large social demand, ellis had seen him kick an inoffensive negro out of his path and treat a poor-white man with scant courtesy. he suspected delamere of cheating at cards, and knew that others entertained the same suspicion. for while regular in his own habits,--his poverty would not have permitted him any considerable extravagance,--ellis's position as a newspaper man kept him in touch with what was going on about town. he was a member, proposed by carteret, of the clarendon club, where cards were indulged in within reasonable limits, and a certain set were known to bet dollars in terms of dimes. delamere was careless, too, about money matters. he had a habit of borrowing, right and left, small sums which might be conveniently forgotten by the borrower, and for which the lender would dislike to ask. ellis had a strain of thrift, derived from a scotch ancestry, and a tenacious memory for financial details. indeed, he had never had so much money that he could lose track of it. he never saw delamere without being distinctly conscious that delamere owed him four dollars, which he had lent at a time when he could ill afford to spare it. it was a prerogative of aristocracy, ellis reflected, to live upon others, and the last privilege which aristocracy in decay would willingly relinquish. neither did the aristocratic memory seem able to retain the sordid details of a small pecuniary transaction. no doubt the knowledge that delamere was the favored lover of miss pemberton lent a touch of bitterness to ellis's reflections upon his rival. ellis had no grievance against the "aristocracy" of wellington. the "best people" had received him cordially, though his father had not been of their caste; but ellis hated a hypocrite, and despised a coward, and he felt sure that delamere was both. otherwise he would have struggled against his love for clara pemberton. his passion for her had grown with his appreciation of delamere's unworthiness. as a friend of the family, he knew the nature and terms of the engagement, and that if the marriage took place at all, it would not be for at least a year. this was a long time,--many things might happen in a year, especially to a man like tom delamere. if for any reason delamere lost his chance, ellis meant to be next in the field. he had not made love to clara, but he had missed no opportunity of meeting her and making himself quietly and unobtrusively agreeable. on the day after this encounter with delamere on the stairs of the chronicle office, ellis, while walking down vine street, met old mrs. ochiltree. she was seated in her own buggy, which was of ancient build and pattern, driven by her colored coachman and man of all work. "mr. ellis," she called in a shrill voice, having directed her coachman to draw up at the curb as she saw the young man approaching, "come here. i want to speak to you." ellis came up to the buggy and stood uncovered beside it. "people are saying," said mrs. ochiltree, "that tom delamere is drinking hard, and has to be carried home intoxicated, two or three times a week, by old mr. delamere's man sandy. is there any truth in the story?" "my dear mrs. ochiltree, i am not tom delamere's keeper. sandy could tell you better than i." "you are dodging my question, mr. ellis. sandy wouldn't tell me the truth, and i know that you wouldn't lie,--you don't look like a liar. they say tom is gambling scandalously. what do you know about that?" "you must excuse me, mrs. ochiltree. a great deal of what we hear is mere idle gossip, and the truth is often grossly exaggerated. i'm a member of the same club with delamere, and gentlemen who belong to the same club are not in the habit of talking about one another. as long as a man retains his club membership, he's presumed to be a gentleman. i wouldn't say anything against delamere if i could." "you don't need to," replied the old lady, shaking her finger at him with a cunning smile. "you are a very open young man, mr. ellis, and i can read you like a book. you are much smarter than you look, but you can't fool me. good-morning." mrs. ochiltree drove immediately to her niece's, where she found mrs. carteret and clara at home. clara was very fond of the baby, and was holding him in her arms. he was a fine baby, and bade fair to realize the bright hopes built upon him. "you hold a baby very naturally, clara," chuckled the old lady. "i suppose you are in training. but you ought to talk to tom. i have just learned from mr. ellis that tom is carried home drunk two or three times a week, and that he is gambling in the most reckless manner imaginable." clara's eyes flashed indignantly. ere she could speak, mrs. carteret exclaimed:-- "why, aunt polly! did mr. ellis say that?" "i got it from dinah," she replied, "who heard it from her husband, who learned it from a waiter at the club. and"-- "pshaw!" said mrs. carteret, "mere servants' gossip." "no, it isn't, olivia. i met mr. ellis on the street, and asked him point blank, and he didn't deny it. he's a member of the club, and ought to know." "well, aunt polly, it can't be true. tom is here every other night, and how could he carry on so without showing the signs of it? and where would he get the money? you know he has only a moderate allowance." "he may win it at cards,--it's better to be born lucky than rich," returned mrs. ochiltree. "then he has expectations, and can get credit. there's no doubt that tom is going on shamefully." clara's indignation had not yet found vent in speech; olivia had said all that was necessary, but she had been thinking rapidly. even if all this had been true, why should mr. ellis have said it? or, if he had not stated it directly, he had left the inference to be drawn. it seemed a most unfair and ungentlemanly thing. what motive could ellis have for such an act? she was not long in reaching a conclusion which was not flattering to ellis. mr. ellis came often to the house, and she had enjoyed his society in a friendly way. that he had found her pleasant company had been very evident. she had never taken his attentions seriously, however, or regarded his visits as made especially to her, nor had the rest of the family treated them from that point of view. her engagement to tom delamere, though not yet formally ratified, was so well understood by the world of wellington that mr. ellis would, scarcely have presumed to think of her as anything more than a friend. this revelation of her aunt's, however, put a different face upon his conduct. certain looks and sighs and enigmatical remarks of ellis, to which she had paid but casual attention and attached no particular significance, now recurred to her memory with a new meaning. he had now evidently tried, in a roundabout way, to besmirch tom's character and undermine him in her regard. while loving tom, she had liked ellis well enough, as a friend; but he had abused the privileges of friendship, and she would teach him a needed lesson. nevertheless, mrs. ochiltree's story had given clara food for thought. she was uneasily conscious, after all, that there might be a grain of truth in what had been said, enough, at least, to justify her in warning tom to be careful, lest his enemies should distort some amiable weakness into a serious crime. she put this view of the case to tom at their next meeting, assuring him, at the same time, of her unbounded faith and confidence. she did not mention ellis's name, lest tom, in righteous indignation, might do something rash, which he might thereafter regret. if any subtler or more obscure motive kept her silent as to ellis, she was not aware of it; for clara's views of life were still in the objective stage, and she had not yet fathomed the deepest recesses of her own consciousness. delamere had the cunning of weakness. he knew, too, better than any one else could know, how much truth there was in the rumors concerning him, and whether or not they could be verified too easily for him to make an indignant denial. after a little rapid reflection, he decided upon a different course. "clara," he said with a sigh, taking the hand which she generously yielded to soften any suggestion of reproach which he may have read into her solicitude, "you are my guardian angel. i do not know, of course, who has told you this pack of lies,--for i can see that you have heard more than you have told me,--but i think i could guess the man they came from. i am not perfect, clara, though i have done nothing of which a gentleman should be ashamed. there is one sure way to stop the tongue of calumny. my home life is not ideal,--grandfather is an old, weak man, and the house needs the refining and softening influence of a lady's presence. i do not love club life; its ideals are not elevating. with you by my side, dearest, i should be preserved from every influence except the purest and the best. don't you think, dearest, that the major might be induced to shorten our weary term of waiting?" "oh, tom," she demurred blushingly, "i shall be young enough at eighteen; and you are barely twenty-one." but tom proved an eloquent pleader, and love a still more persuasive advocate. clara spoke to the major the same evening, who looked grave at the suggestion, and said he would think about it. they were both very young; but where both parties were of good family, in good health and good circumstances, an early marriage might not be undesirable. tom was perhaps a little unsettled, but blood would tell in the long run, and marriage always exercised a steadying influence. the only return, therefore, which ellis received for his well-meant effort to ward off mrs. ochiltree's embarrassing inquiries was that he did not see clara upon his next visit, which was made one afternoon while he was on night duty at the office. in conversation with mrs. carteret he learned that clara's marriage had been definitely agreed upon, and the date fixed,--it was to take place in about six months. meeting miss pemberton on the street the following day, he received the slightest of nods. when he called again at the house, after a week of misery, she treated him with a sarcastic coolness which chilled his heart. "how have i offended you, miss clara?" he demanded desperately, when they were left alone for a moment. "offended me?" she replied, lifting her eyebrows with an air of puzzled surprise. "why, mr. ellis! what could have put such a notion into your head? oh dear, i think i hear dodie,--i know you'll excuse me, mr. ellis, won't you? sister olivia will be back in a moment; and we're expecting aunt polly this afternoon,--if you'll stay awhile she'll be glad to talk to you! you can tell her all the interesting news about your friends!" xi the baby and the bird when ellis, after this rebuff, had disconsolately taken his leave, clara, much elated at the righteous punishment she had inflicted upon the slanderer, ran upstairs to the nursery, and, snatching dodie from mammy jane's arms, began dancing gayly with him round the room. "look a-hyuh, honey," said mammy jane, "you better be keerful wid dat chile, an' don' drap 'im on de flo'. you might let him fall on his head an' break his neck. my, my! but you two does make a pretty pictur'! you'll be wantin' ole jane ter come an' nuss yo' child'en some er dese days," she chuckled unctuously. mammy jane had been very much disturbed by the recent dangers through which little dodie had passed; and his escape from strangulation, in the first place, and then from the knife had impressed her as little less than miraculous. she was not certain whether this result had been brought about by her manipulation of the buried charm, or by the prayers which had been offered for the child, but was inclined to believe that both had cooperated to avert the threatened calamity. the favorable outcome of this particular incident had not, however, altered the general situation. prayers and charms, after all, were merely temporary things, which must be constantly renewed, and might be forgotten or overlooked; while the mole, on the contrary, neither faded nor went away. if its malign influence might for a time seem to disappear, it was merely lying dormant, like the germs of some deadly disease, awaiting its opportunity to strike at an unguarded spot. clara and the baby were laughing in great glee, when a mockingbird, perched on the topmost bough of a small tree opposite the nursery window, burst suddenly into song, with many a trill and quaver. clara, with the child in her arms, sprang to the open window. "sister olivia," she cried, turning her face toward mrs. carteret, who at that moment entered the room, "come and look at dodie." the baby was listening intently to the music, meanwhile gurgling with delight, and reaching his chubby hands toward the source of this pleasing sound. it seemed as though the mockingbird were aware of his appreciative audience, for he ran through the songs of a dozen different birds, selecting, with the discrimination of a connoisseur and entire confidence in his own powers, those which were most difficult and most alluring. mrs. carteret approached the window, followed by mammy jane, who waddled over to join the admiring party. so absorbed were the three women in the baby and the bird that neither one of them observed a neat top buggy, drawn by a sleek sorrel pony, passing slowly along the street before the house. in the buggy was seated a lady, and beside her a little boy, dressed in a child's sailor suit and a straw hat. the lady, with a wistful expression, was looking toward the party grouped in the open window. mrs. carteret, chancing to lower her eyes for an instant, caught the other woman's look directed toward her and her child. with a glance of cold aversion she turned away from the window. old mammy jane had observed this movement, and had divined the reason for it. she stood beside clara, watching the retreating buggy. "uhhuh!" she said to herself, "it's huh sister janet! she ma'ied a doctuh, an' all dat, an' she lives in a big house, an' she's be'n roun' de worl' an de lawd knows where e'se: but mis' 'livy don' like de sight er her, an' never will, ez long ez de sun rises an' sets. dey ce't'nly does favor one anudder,--anybody mought 'low dey wuz twins, ef dey didn' know better. well, well! fo'ty yeahs ago who'd 'a' ever expected ter see a nigger gal ridin' in her own buggy? my, my! but i don' know,--i don' know! it don' look right, an' it ain' gwine ter las'!--you can't make me b'lieve!" meantime janet, stung by mrs. carteret's look,--the nearest approach she had ever made to a recognition of her sister's existence,--had turned away with hardening face. she had struck her pony sharply with the whip, much to the gentle creature's surprise, when the little boy, who was still looking back, caught his mother's sleeve and exclaimed excitedly:-- "look, look, mamma! the baby,--the baby!" janet turned instantly, and with a mother's instinct gave an involuntary cry of alarm. at the moment when mrs. carteret had turned away from the window, and while mammy jane was watching janet, clara had taken a step forward, and was leaning against the window-sill. the baby, convulsed with delight, had given a spasmodic spring and slipped from clara's arms. instinctively the young woman gripped the long skirt as it slipped through her hands, and held it tenaciously, though too frightened for an instant to do more. mammy jane, ashen with sudden dread, uttered an inarticulate scream, but retained self-possession enough to reach down and draw up the child, which hung dangerously suspended, head downward, over the brick pavement below. "oh, clara, clara, how could you!" exclaimed mrs. carteret reproachfully; "you might have killed my child!" she had snatched the child from jane's arms, and was holding him closely to her own breast. struck by a sudden thought, she drew near the window and looked out. twice within a few weeks her child had been in serious danger, and upon each occasion a member of the miller family had been involved, for she had heard of dr. miller's presumption in trying to force himself where he must have known he would be unwelcome. janet was just turning her head away as the buggy moved slowly off. olivia felt a violent wave of antipathy sweep over her toward this baseborn sister who had thus thrust herself beneath her eyes. if she had not cast her brazen glance toward the window, she herself would not have turned away and lost sight of her child. to this shameless intrusion, linked with clara's carelessness, had been due the catastrophe, so narrowly averted, which might have darkened her own life forever. she took to her bed for several days, and for a long time was cold toward clara, and did not permit her to touch the child. mammy jane entertained a theory of her own about the accident, by which the blame was placed, in another way, exactly where mrs. carteret had laid it. julia's daughter, janet, had been looking intently toward the window just before little dodie had sprung from clara's arms. might she not have cast the evil eye upon the baby, and sought thereby to draw him out of the window? one would not ordinarily expect so young a woman to possess such a power, but she might have acquired it, for this very purpose, from some more experienced person. by the same reasoning, the mockingbird might have been a familiar of the witch, and the two might have conspired to lure the infant to destruction. whether this were so or not, the transaction at least wore a peculiar look. there was no use telling mis' 'livy about it, for she didn't believe, or pretended not to believe, in witchcraft and conjuration. but one could not be too careful. the child was certainly born to be exposed to great dangers,--the mole behind the left ear was an unfailing sign,--and no precaution should be omitted to counteract its baleful influence. while adjusting the baby's crib, a few days later, mrs. carteret found fastened under one of the slats a small bag of cotton cloth, about half an inch long and tied with a black thread, upon opening which she found a few small roots or fibres and a pinch of dried and crumpled herbs. it was a good-luck charm which mammy jane had placed there to ward off the threatened evil from the grandchild of her dear old mistress. mrs. carteret's first impulse was to throw the bag into the fire, but on second thoughts she let it remain. to remove it would give unnecessary pain to the old nurse. of course these old negro superstitions were absurd,--but if the charm did no good, it at least would do no harm. xii another southern product one morning shortly after the opening of the hospital, while dr. miller was making his early rounds, a new patient walked in with a smile on his face and a broken arm hanging limply by his side. miller recognized in him a black giant by the name of josh green, who for many years had worked on the docks for miller's father,--and simultaneously identified him as the dust-begrimed negro who had stolen a ride to wellington on the trucks of a passenger car. "well, josh," asked the doctor, as he examined the fracture, "how did you get this? been fighting again?" "no, suh, i don' s'pose you could ha'dly call it a fight. one er dem dagoes off'n a souf american boat gimme some er his jaw, an' i give 'im a back answer, an' here i is wid a broken arm. he got holt er a belayin'-pin befo' i could hit 'im." "what became of the other man?" demanded miller suspiciously. he perceived, from the indifference with which josh bore the manipulation of the fractured limb, that such an accident need not have interfered seriously with the use of the remaining arm, and he knew that josh had a reputation for absolute fearlessness. "lemme see," said josh reflectively, "ef i kin 'member w'at _did_ become er him! oh, yes, i 'member now! dey tuck him ter de marine horspittle in de amberlance, 'cause his leg wuz broke, an' i reckon somethin' must 'a' accident'ly hit 'im in de jaw, fer he wuz scatt'rin' teeth all de way 'long de street. i didn' wan' ter kill de man, fer he might have somebody dependin' on 'im, an' i knows how dat'd be ter dem. but no man kin call me a damn' low-down nigger and keep on enjoyin' good health right along." "it was considerate of you to spare his life," said miller dryly, "but you'll hit the wrong man some day. these are bad times for bad negroes. you'll get into a quarrel with a white man, and at the end of it there'll be a lynching, or a funeral. you'd better be peaceable and endure a little injustice, rather than run the risk of a sudden and violent death." "i expec's ter die a vi'lent death in a quarrel wid a w'ite man," replied josh, in a matter-of-fact tone, "an' fu'thermo', he's gwine ter die at the same time, er a little befo'. i be'n takin' my own time 'bout killin' 'im; i ain' be'n crowdin' de man, but i'll be ready after a w'ile, an' den he kin look out!" "and i suppose you're merely keeping in practice on these other fellows who come your way. when i get your arm dressed, you'd better leave town till that fellow's boat sails; it may save you the expense of a trial and three months in the chain-gang. but this talk about killing a man is all nonsense. what has any man in this town done to you, that you should thirst for his blood?" "no, suh, it ain' nonsense,--it's straight, solem' fac'. i'm gwine ter kill dat man as sho' as i'm settin' in dis cheer; an' dey ain' nobody kin say i ain' got a right ter kill 'im. does you 'member de ku-klux?" "yes, but i was a child at the time, and recollect very little about them. it is a page of history which most people are glad to forget." "yas, suh; i was a chile, too, but i wuz right in it, an' so i 'members mo' erbout it 'n you does. my mammy an' daddy lived 'bout ten miles f'm here, up de river. one night a crowd er w'ite men come ter ou' house an' tuck my daddy out an' shot 'im ter death, an' skeered my mammy so she ain' be'n herse'f f'm dat day ter dis. i wa'n't mo' 'n ten years ole at de time, an' w'en my mammy seed de w'ite men comin', she tol' me ter run. i hid in de bushes an' seen de whole thing, an' it wuz branded on my mem'ry, suh, like a red-hot iron bran's de skin. de w'ite folks had masks on, but one of 'em fell off,--he wuz de boss, he wuz de head man, an' tol' de res' w'at ter do,--an' i seen his face. it wuz a easy face ter 'member; an' i swo' den, 'way down deep in my hea't, little ez i wuz, dat some day er 'nother i'd kill dat man. i ain't never had no doubt erbout it; it's jus' w'at i'm livin' fer, an' i know i ain' gwine ter die till i've done it. some lives fer one thing an' some fer another, but dat's my job. i ain' be'n in no has'e, fer i'm not ole yit, an' dat man is in good health. i'd like ter see a little er de worl' befo' i takes chances on leavin' it sudden; an', mo'over, somebody's got ter take keer er de ole 'oman. but her time'll come some er dese days, an den _his_ time'll be come--an' prob'ly mine. but i ain' keerin' 'bout myse'f: w'en i git thoo wid him, it won' make no diff'ence 'bout me." josh was evidently in dead earnest. miller recalled, very vividly, the expression he had seen twice on his patient's face, during the journey to wellington. he had often seen josh's mother, old aunt milly,--"silly milly," the children called her,--wandering aimlessly about the street, muttering to herself incoherently. he had felt a certain childish awe at the sight of one of god's creatures who had lost the light of reason, and he had always vaguely understood that she was the victim of human cruelty, though he had dated it farther back into the past. this was his first knowledge of the real facts of the case. he realized, too, for a moment, the continuity of life, how inseparably the present is woven with the past, how certainly the future will be but the outcome of the present. he had supposed this old wound healed. the negroes were not a vindictive people. if, swayed by passion or emotion, they sometimes gave way to gusts of rage, these were of brief duration. absorbed in the contemplation of their doubtful present and their uncertain future, they gave little thought to the past,--it was a dark story, which they would willingly forget. he knew the timeworn explanation that the ku-klux movement, in the main, was merely an ebullition of boyish spirits, begun to amuse young white men by playing upon the fears and superstitions of ignorant negroes. here, however, was its tragic side,--the old wound still bleeding, the fruit of one tragedy, the seed of another. he could not approve of josh's application of the mosaic law of revenge, and yet the incident was not without significance. here was a negro who could remember an injury, who could shape his life to a definite purpose, if not a high or holy one. when his race reached the point where they would resent a wrong, there was hope that they might soon attain the stage where they would try, and, if need be, die, to defend a right. this man, too, had a purpose in life, and was willing to die that he might accomplish it. miller was willing to give up his life to a cause. would he be equally willing, he asked himself, to die for it? miller had no prophetic instinct to tell him how soon he would have the opportunity to answer his own question. but he could not encourage josh to carry out this dark and revengeful purpose. every worthy consideration required him to dissuade his patient from such a desperate course. "you had better put away these murderous fancies, josh," he said seriously. "the bible says that we should 'forgive our enemies, bless them that curse us, and do good to them that despitefully use us.'" "yas, suh, i've l'arnt all dat in sunday-school, an' i've heared de preachers say it time an' time ag'in. but it 'pears ter me dat dis fergitfulniss an' fergivniss is mighty one-sided. de w'ite folks don' fergive nothin' de niggers does. dey got up de ku-klux, dey said, on 'count er de kyarpit-baggers. dey be'n talkin' 'bout de kyarpit-baggers ever sence, an' dey 'pears ter fergot all 'bout de ku-klux. but i ain' fergot. de niggers is be'n train' ter fergiveniss; an' fer fear dey might fergit how ter fergive, de w'ite folks gives 'em somethin' new ev'y now an' den, ter practice on. a w'ite man kin do w'at he wants ter a nigger, but de minute de nigger gits back at 'im, up goes de nigger, an' don' come down tell somebody cuts 'im down. if a nigger gits a' office, er de race 'pears ter be prosperin' too much, de w'ite folks up an' kills a few, so dat de res' kin keep on fergivin' an' bein' thankful dat dey're lef alive. don' talk ter me 'bout dese w'ite folks,--i knows 'em, i does! ef a nigger wants ter git down on his marrow-bones, an' eat dirt, an' call 'em 'marster,' _he's_ a good nigger, dere's room fer _him_. but i ain' no w'ite folks' nigger, i ain'. i don' call no man 'marster.' i don' wan' nothin' but w'at i wo'k fer, but i wants all er dat. i never moles's no w'ite man, 'less 'n he moles's me fus'. but w'en de ole 'oman dies, doctuh, an' i gits a good chance at dat w'ite man,--dere ain' no use talkin', suh!--dere's gwine ter be a mix-up, an' a fune'al, er two fune'als--er may be mo', ef anybody is keerliss enough to git in de way." "josh," said the doctor, laying a cool hand on the other's brow, "you 're feverish, and don't know what you're talking about. i shouldn't let my mind dwell on such things, and you must keep quiet until this arm is well, or you may never be able to hit any one with it again." miller determined that when josh got better he would talk to him seriously and dissuade him from this dangerous design. he had not asked the name of josh's enemy, but the look of murderous hate which the dust-begrimed tramp of the railway journey had cast at captain george mcbane rendered any such question superfluous. mcbane was probably deserving of any evil fate which might befall him; but such a revenge would do no good, would right no wrong; while every such crime, committed by a colored man, would be imputed to the race, which was already staggering under a load of obloquy because, in the eyes of a prejudiced and undiscriminating public, it must answer as a whole for the offenses of each separate individual. to die in defense of the right was heroic. to kill another for revenge was pitifully human and weak: "vengeance is mine, i will repay," saith the lord. xiii the cakewalk old mr. delamere's servant, sandy campbell, was in deep trouble. a party of northern visitors had been staying for several days at the st. james hotel. the gentlemen of the party were concerned in a projected cotton mill, while the ladies were much interested in the study of social conditions, and especially in the negro problem. as soon as their desire for information became known, they were taken courteously under the wing of prominent citizens and their wives, who gave them, at elaborate luncheons, the southern white man's views of the negro, sighing sentimentally over the disappearance of the good old negro of before the war, and gravely deploring the degeneracy of his descendants. they enlarged upon the amount of money the southern whites had spent for the education of the negro, and shook their heads over the inadequate results accruing from this unexampled generosity. it was sad, they said, to witness this spectacle of a dying race, unable to withstand the competition of a superior type. the severe reprisals taken by white people for certain crimes committed by negroes were of course not the acts of the best people, who deplored them; but still a certain charity should be extended towards those who in the intense and righteous anger of the moment should take the law into their own hands and deal out rough but still substantial justice; for no negro was ever lynched without incontestable proof of his guilt. in order to be perfectly fair, and give their visitors an opportunity to see both sides of the question, they accompanied the northern visitors to a colored church where they might hear a colored preacher, who had won a jocular popularity throughout the whole country by an oft-repeated sermon intended to demonstrate that the earth was flat like a pancake. this celebrated divine could always draw a white audience, except on the days when his no less distinguished white rival in the field of sensationalism preached his equally famous sermon to prove that hell was exactly one half mile, linear measure, from the city limits of wellington. whether accidentally or not, the northern visitors had no opportunity to meet or talk alone with any colored person in the city except the servants at the hotel. when one of the party suggested a visit to the colored mission school, a southern friend kindly volunteered to accompany them. the visitors were naturally much impressed by what they learned from their courteous hosts, and felt inclined to sympathize with the southern people, for the negro is not counted as a southerner, except to fix the basis of congressional representation. there might of course be things to criticise here and there, certain customs for which they did not exactly see the necessity, and which seemed in conflict with the highest ideals of liberty but surely these courteous, soft-spoken ladies and gentlemen, entirely familiar with local conditions, who descanted so earnestly and at times pathetically upon the grave problems confronting them, must know more about it than people in the distant north, without their means of information. the negroes who waited on them at the hotel seemed happy enough, and the teachers whom they had met at the mission school had been well-dressed, well-mannered, and apparently content with their position in life. surely a people who made no complaints could not be very much oppressed. in order to give the visitors, ere they left wellington, a pleasing impression of southern customs, and particularly of the joyous, happy-go-lucky disposition of the southern darky and his entire contentment with existing conditions, it was decided by the hotel management to treat them, on the last night of their visit, to a little diversion, in the shape of a genuine negro cakewalk. on the afternoon of this same day tom delamere strolled into the hotel, and soon gravitated to the bar, where he was a frequent visitor. young men of leisure spent much of their time around the hotel, and no small part of it in the bar. delamere had been to the club, but had avoided the card-room. time hanging heavy on his hands, he had sought the hotel in the hope that some form of distraction might present itself. "have you heard the latest, mr. delamere?" asked the bartender, as he mixed a cocktail for his customer. "no, billy; what is it?" "there's to be a big cakewalk upstairs to-night. the no'the'n gentlemen an' ladies who are down here to see about the new cotton fact'ry want to study the nigger some more, and the boss has got up a cakewalk for 'em, 'mongst the waiters and chambermaids, with a little outside talent." "is it to be public?" asked delamere. "oh, no, not generally, but friends of the house won't be barred out. the clerk 'll fix it for you. ransom, the head waiter, will be floor manager." delamere was struck with a brilliant idea. the more he considered it, the brighter it seemed. another cocktail imparted additional brilliancy to the conception. he had been trying, after a feeble fashion, to keep his promise to clara, and was really suffering from lack of excitement. he left the bar-room, found the head waiter, held with him a short conversation, and left in his intelligent and itching palm a piece of money. the cakewalk was a great success. the most brilliant performer was a late arrival, who made his appearance just as the performance was about to commence. the newcomer was dressed strikingly, the conspicuous features of his attire being a long blue coat with brass buttons and a pair of plaid trousers. he was older, too, than the other participants, which made his agility the more remarkable. his partner was a new chambermaid, who had just come to town, and whom the head waiter introduced to the newcomer upon his arrival. the cake was awarded to this couple by a unanimous vote. the man presented it to his partner with a grandiloquent flourish, and returned thanks in a speech which sent the northern visitors into spasms of delight at the quaintness of the darky dialect and the darky wit. to cap the climax, the winner danced a buck dance with a skill and agility that brought a shower of complimentary silver, which he gathered up and passed to the head waiter. ellis was off duty for the evening. not having ventured to put in an appearance at carteret's since his last rebuff, he found himself burdened with a superfluity of leisure, from which he essayed to find relief by dropping into the hotel office at about nine o'clock. he was invited up to see the cakewalk, which he rather enjoyed, for there was some graceful dancing and posturing. but the grotesque contortions of one participant had struck him as somewhat overdone, even for the comical type of negro. he recognized the fellow, after a few minutes' scrutiny, as the body-servant of old mr. delamere. the man's present occupation, or choice of diversion, seemed out of keeping with his employment as attendant upon an invalid old gentleman, and strangely inconsistent with the gravity and decorum which had been so noticeable when this agile cakewalker had served as butler at major carteret's table, upon the occasion of the christening dinner. there was a vague suggestion of unreality about this performance, too, which ellis did not attempt to analyze, but which recurred vividly to his memory upon a subsequent occasion. ellis had never pretended to that intimate knowledge of negro thought and character by which some of his acquaintances claimed the ability to fathom every motive of a negro's conduct, and predict in advance what any one of the darker race would do under a given set of circumstances. he would not have believed that a white man could possess two so widely varying phases of character; but as to negroes, they were as yet a crude and undeveloped race, and it was not safe to make predictions concerning them. no one could tell at what moment the thin veneer of civilization might peel off and reveal the underlying savage. the champion cakewalker, much to the surprise of his sable companions, who were about equally swayed by admiration and jealousy, disappeared immediately after the close of the performance. any one watching him on his way home through the quiet streets to old mr. delamere's would have seen him now and then shaking with laughter. it had been excellent fun. nevertheless, as he neared home, a certain aspect of the affair, hitherto unconsidered, occurred to him, and it was in a rather serious frame of mind that he cautiously entered the house and sought his own room. * * * * * the cakewalk had results which to sandy were very serious. the following week he was summoned before the disciplinary committee of his church and charged with unchristian conduct, in the following particulars, to wit: dancing, and participating in a sinful diversion called a cakewalk, which was calculated to bring the church into disrepute and make it the mockery of sinners. sandy protested his innocence vehemently, but in vain. the proof was overwhelming. he was positively identified by sister 'manda patterson, the hotel cook, who had watched the whole performance from the hotel corridor for the sole, single, solitary, and only purpose, she averred, of seeing how far human wickedness could be carried by a professing christian. the whole thing had been shocking and offensive to her, and only a stern sense of duty had sustained her in looking on, that she might be qualified to bear witness against the offender. she had recognized his face, his clothes, his voice, his walk--there could be no shadow of doubt that it was brother sandy. this testimony was confirmed by one of the deacons, whose son, a waiter at the hotel, had also seen sandy at the cakewalk. sandy stoutly insisted that he was at home the whole evening; that he had not been near the hotel for three months; that he had never in his life taken part in a cakewalk, and that he did not know how to dance. it was replied that wickedness, like everything else, must have a beginning; that dancing was an art that could be acquired in secret, and came natural to some people. in the face of positive proof, sandy's protestations were of no avail; he was found guilty, and suspended from church fellowship until he should have repented and made full confession. sturdily refusing to confess a fault of which he claimed to be innocent, sandy remained in contumacy, thereby falling somewhat into disrepute among the members of his church, the largest in the city. the effect of a bad reputation being subjective as well as objective, and poor human nature arguing that one may as well have the game as the name, sandy insensibly glided into habits of which the church would not have approved, though he took care that they should not interfere with his duties to mr. delamere. the consolation thus afforded, however, followed as it was by remorse of conscience, did not compensate him for the loss of standing in the church, which to him was a social club as well as a religious temple. at times, in conversation with young delamere, he would lament his hard fate. tom laughed until he cried at the comical idea which sandy's plaint always brought up, of half-a-dozen negro preachers sitting in solemn judgment upon that cakewalk,--it had certainly been a good cakewalk!--and sending poor sandy to spiritual coventry. "cheer up, sandy, cheer up!" he would say when sandy seemed most depressed. "go into my room and get yourself a good drink of liquor. the devil's church has a bigger congregation than theirs, and we have the consolation of knowing that when we die, we'll meet all our friends on the other side. brace up, sandy, and be a man, or, if you can't be a man, be as near a man as you can!" hoping to revive his drooping spirits, sandy too often accepted the proffered remedy. xiv the maunderings of old mrs. ochiltree when mrs. carteret had fully recovered from the shock attendant upon the accident at the window, where little dodie had so narrowly escaped death or serious injury, she ordered her carriage one afternoon and directed the coachman to drive her to mrs. ochiltree's. mrs. carteret had discharged her young nurse only the day before, and had sent for mammy jane, who was now recovered from her rheumatism, to stay until she could find another girl. the nurse had been ordered not to take the child to negroes' houses. yesterday, in driving past the old homestead of her husband's family, now occupied by dr. miller and his family, mrs. carteret had seen her own baby's carriage standing in the yard. when the nurse returned home, she was immediately discharged. she offered some sort of explanation, to the effect that her sister worked for mrs. miller, and that some family matter had rendered it necessary for her to see her sister. the explanation only aggravated the offense: if mrs. carteret could have overlooked the disobedience, she would by no means have retained in her employment a servant whose sister worked for the miller woman. old mrs. ochiltree had within a few months begun to show signs of breaking up. she was over seventy years old, and had been of late, by various afflictions, confined to the house much of the time. more than once within the year, mrs. carteret had asked her aunt to come and live with her; but mrs. ochiltree, who would have regarded such a step as an acknowledgment of weakness, preferred her lonely independence. she resided in a small, old-fashioned house, standing back in the middle of a garden on a quiet street. two old servants made up her modest household. this refusal to live with her niece had been lightly borne, for mrs. ochiltree was a woman of strong individuality, whose comments upon her acquaintance, present or absent, were marked by a frankness at times no less than startling. this characteristic caused her to be more or less avoided. mrs. ochiltree was aware of this sentiment on the part of her acquaintance, and rather exulted in it. she hated fools. only fools ran away from her, and that because they were afraid she would expose their folly. if most people were fools, it was no fault of hers, and she was not obliged to indulge them by pretending to believe that they knew anything. she had once owned considerable property, but was reticent about her affairs, and told no one how much she was worth, though it was supposed that she had considerable ready money, besides her house and some other real estate. mrs. carteret was her nearest living relative, though her grand-nephew tom delamere had been a great favorite with her. if she did not spare him her tongue-lashings, it was nevertheless expected in the family that she would leave him something handsome in her will. mrs. ochiltree had shared in the general rejoicing upon the advent of the carteret baby. she had been one of his godmothers, and had hinted at certain intentions held by her concerning him. during mammy jane's administration she had tried the old nurse's patience more or less by her dictatorial interference. since her partial confinement to the house, she had gone, when her health and the weather would permit, to see the child, and at other times had insisted that it be sent to her in charge of the nurse at least every other day. mrs. ochiltree's faculties had shared insensibly in the decline of her health. this weakness manifested itself by fits of absent-mindedness, in which she would seemingly lose connection with the present, and live over again, in imagination, the earlier years of her life. she had buried two husbands, had tried in vain to secure a third, and had never borne any children. long ago she had petrified into a character which nothing under heaven could change, and which, if death is to take us as it finds us, and the future life to keep us as it takes us, promised anything but eternal felicity to those with whom she might associate after this life. tom delamere had been heard to say, profanely, that if his aunt polly went to heaven, he would let his mansion in the skies on a long lease, at a low figure. when the carriage drove up with mrs. carteret, her aunt was seated on the little front piazza, with her wrinkled hands folded in her lap, dozing the afternoon away in fitful slumber. "tie the horse, william," said mrs. carteret, "and then go in and wake aunt polly, and tell her i want her to come and drive with me." mrs. ochiltree had not observed her niece's approach, nor did she look up when william drew near. her eyes were closed, and she would let her head sink slowly forward, recovering it now and then with a spasmodic jerk. "colonel ochiltree," she muttered, "was shot at the battle of culpepper court house, and left me a widow for the second time. but i would not have married any man on earth after him." "mis' ochiltree!" cried william, raising his voice, "oh, mis' ochiltree!" "if i had found a man,--a real man,--i might have married again. i did not care for weaklings. i could have married john delamere if i had wanted him. but pshaw! i could have wound him round"-- "go round to the kitchen, william," interrupted mrs. carteret impatiently, "and tell aunt dinah to come and wake her up." william returned in a few moments with a fat, comfortable looking black woman, who curtsied to mrs. carteret at the gate, and then going up to her mistress seized her by the shoulder and shook her vigorously. "wake up dere, mis' polly," she screamed, as harshly as her mellow voice would permit. "mis' 'livy wants you ter go drivin' wid 'er!" "dinah," exclaimed the old lady, sitting suddenly upright with a defiant assumption of wakefulness, "why do you take so long to come when i call? bring me my bonnet and shawl. don't you see my niece waiting for me at the gate?" "hyuh dey is, hyuh dey is!" returned dinah, producing the bonnet and shawl, and assisting mrs. ochiltree to put them on. leaning on william's arm, the old lady went slowly down the walk, and was handed to the rear seat with mrs. carteret. "how's the baby to-day, olivia, and why didn't you bring him?" "he has a cold to-day, and is a little hoarse," replied mrs. carteret, "so i thought it best not to bring him out. drive out the weldon road, william, and back by pine street." the drive led past an eminence crowned by a handsome brick building of modern construction, evidently an institution of some kind, surrounded on three sides by a grove of venerable oaks. "hugh poindexter," mrs. ochiltree exclaimed explosively, after a considerable silence, "has been building a new house, in place of the old family mansion burned during the war." "it isn't mr. poindexter's house, aunt polly. that is the new colored hospital built by the colored doctor." "the new colored hospital, indeed, and the colored doctor! before the war the negroes were all healthy, and when they got sick we took care of them ourselves! hugh poindexter has sold the graves of his ancestors to a negro,--i should have starved first!" "he had his grandfather's grave opened, and there was nothing to remove, except a few bits of heart-pine from the coffin. all the rest had crumbled into dust." "and he sold the dust to a negro! the world is upside down." "he had the tombstone transferred to the white cemetery, aunt polly, and he has moved away." "esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. when i die, if you outlive me, olivia, which is not likely, i shall leave my house and land to this child! he is a carteret,--he would never sell them to a negro. i can't trust tom delamere, i'm afraid." the carriage had skirted the hill, passing to the rear of the new building. "turn to the right, william," ordered mrs. carteret, addressing the coachman, "and come back past the other side of the hospital." a turn to the right into another road soon brought them to the front of the building, which stood slightly back from the street, with no intervening fence or inclosure. a sorrel pony in a light buggy was fastened to a hitching-post near the entrance. as they drove past, a lady came out of the front door and descended the steps, holding by the hand a very pretty child about six years old. "who is that woman, olivia?" asked mrs. ochiltree abruptly, with signs of agitation. the lady coming down the steps darted at the approaching carriage a look which lingered involuntarily. mrs. carteret, perceiving this glance, turned away coldly. with a sudden hardening of her own features the other woman lifted the little boy into the buggy and drove sharply away in the direction opposite to that taken by mrs. carteret's carriage. "who is that woman, olivia?" repeated mrs. ochiltree, with marked emotion. "i have not the honor of her acquaintance," returned mrs. carteret sharply. "drive faster, william." "i want to know who that woman is," persisted mrs. ochiltree querulously. "william," she cried shrilly, poking the coachman in the back with the end of her cane, "who is that woman?" "dat's mis' miller, ma'am," returned the coachman, touching his hat; "doctuh miller's wife." "what was her mother's name?" "her mother's name wuz julia brown. she's be'n dead dese twenty years er mo'. why, you knowed julia, mis' polly!--she used ter b'long ter yo' own father befo' de wah; an' after de wah she kep' house fer"-- "look to your horses, william!" exclaimed mrs. carteret sharply. "it's that hussy's child," said mrs. ochiltree, turning to her niece with great excitement. "when your father died, i turned the mother and the child out into the street. the mother died and went to--the place provided for such as she. if i hadn't been just in time, olivia, they would have turned you out. i saved the property for you and your son! you can thank me for it all!" "hush, aunt polly, for goodness' sake! william will hear you. tell me about it when you get home." mrs. ochiltree was silent, except for a few incoherent mumblings. what she might say, what distressing family secret she might repeat in william's hearing, should she take another talkative turn, was beyond conjecture. olivia looked anxiously around for something to distract her aunt's attention, and caught sight of a colored man, dressed in sober gray, who was coming toward the carriage. "there's mr. delamere's sandy!" exclaimed mrs. carteret, touching her aunt on the arm. "i wonder how his master is? sandy, oh, sandy!" sandy approached the carriage, lifting his hat with a slight exaggeration of chesterfieldian elegance. sandy, no less than his master, was a survival of an interesting type. he had inherited the feudal deference for his superiors in position, joined to a certain self-respect which saved him from sycophancy. his manners had been formed upon those of old mr. delamere, and were not a bad imitation; for in the man, as in the master, they were the harmonious reflection of a mental state. "how is mr. delamere, sandy?" asked mrs. carteret, acknowledging sandy's salutation with a nod and a smile. "he ain't ez peart ez he has be'n, ma'am," replied sandy, "but he's doin' tol'able well. de doctuh say he's good fer a dozen years yit, ef he'll jes' take good keer of hisse'f an' keep f'm gittin' excited; fer sence dat secon' stroke, excitement is dange'ous fer 'im." "i'm sure you take the best care of him," returned mrs. carteret kindly. "you can't do anything for him, sandy," interposed old mrs. ochiltree, shaking her head slowly to emphasize her dissent. "all the doctors in creation couldn't keep him alive another year. i shall outlive him by twenty years, though we are not far from the same age." "lawd, ma'am!" exclaimed sandy, lifting his hands in affected amazement,--his study of gentle manners had been more than superficial,--"whoever would 'a' s'picion' dat you an' mars john wuz nigh de same age? i'd 'a' 'lowed you wuz ten years younger 'n him, easy, ef you wuz a day!" "give my compliments to the poor old gentleman," returned mrs. ochiltree, with a simper of senile vanity, though her back was weakening under the strain of the effort to sit erect that she might maintain this illusion of comparative youthfulness. "bring him to see me some day when he is able to walk." "yas'm, i will," rejoined sandy. "he's gwine out ter belleview nex' week, fer ter stay a mont' er so, but i'll fetch him 'roun' w'en he comes back. i'll tell 'im dat you ladies 'quired fer 'im." sandy made another deep bow, and held his hat in his hand until the carriage had moved away. he had not condescended to notice the coachman at all, who was one of the young negroes of the new generation; while sandy regarded himself as belonging to the quality, and seldom stooped to notice those beneath him. it would not have been becoming in him, either, while conversing with white ladies, to have noticed a colored servant. moreover, the coachman was a baptist, while sandy was a methodist, though under a cloud, and considered a methodist in poor standing as better than a baptist of any degree of sanctity. "lawd, lawd!" chuckled sandy, after the carriage had departed, "i never seed nothin' lack de way dat ole lady do keep up her temper! wid one foot in de grave, an' de other hov'rin' on de edge, she talks 'bout my ole marster lack he wuz in his secon' chil'hood. but i'm jes' willin' ter bet dat he'll outlas' her! she ain't half de woman she wuz dat night i waited on de table at de christenin' pa'ty, w'en she 'lowed she wuzn' feared er no man livin'." xv mrs. carteret seeks an explanation as a stone dropped into a pool of water sets in motion a series of concentric circles which disturb the whole mass in varying degree, so mrs. ochiltree's enigmatical remark had started in her niece's mind a disturbing train of thought. had her words, mrs. carteret asked herself, any serious meaning, or were they the mere empty babblings of a clouded intellect? "william," she said to the coachman when they reached mrs. ochiltree's house, "you may tie the horse and help us out. i shall be here a little while." william helped the ladies down, assisted mrs. ochiltree into the house, and then went round to the kitchen. dinah was an excellent hand at potato-pone and other culinary delicacies dear to the southern heart, and william was a welcome visitor in her domain. "now, aunt polly," said mrs. carteret resolutely, as soon as they were alone, "i want to know what you meant by what you said about my father and julia, and this--this child of hers?" the old woman smiled cunningly, but her expression soon changed to one more grave. "why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously. "you've got the land, the houses, and the money. you've nothing to complain of. enjoy yourself, and be thankful!" "i'm thankful to god," returned olivia, "for all his good gifts,--and he has blessed me abundantly,--but why should i be thankful to _you_ for the property my father left me?" "why should you be thankful to me?" rejoined mrs. ochiltree with querulous indignation. "you'd better ask why _shouldn't_ you be thankful to me. what have i not done for you?" "yes, aunt polly, i know you've done a great deal. you reared me in your own house when i had been cast out of my father's; you have been a second mother to me, and i am very grateful,--you can never say that i have not shown my gratitude. but if you have done anything else for me, i wish to know it. why should i thank you for my inheritance?" "why should you thank me? well, because i drove that woman and her brat away." "but she had no right to stay, aunt polly, after father died. of course she had no moral right before, but it was his house, and he could keep her there if he chose. but after his death she surely had no right." "perhaps not so surely as you think,--if she had not been a negro. had she been white, there might have been a difference. when i told her to go, she said"-- "what did she say, aunt polly," demanded olivia eagerly. it seemed for a moment as though mrs. ochiltree would speak no further: but her once strong will, now weakened by her bodily infirmities, yielded to the influence of her niece's imperious demand. "i'll tell you the whole story," she said, "and then you'll know what i did for you and yours." mrs. ochiltree's eyes assumed an introspective expression, and her story, as it advanced, became as keenly dramatic as though memory had thrown aside the veil of intervening years and carried her back directly to the events which she now described. "your father," she said, "while living with that woman, left home one morning the picture of health. five minutes later he tottered into the house groaning with pain, stricken unto death by the hand of a just god, as a punishment for his sins." olivia gave a start of indignation, but restrained herself. "i was at once informed of what had happened, for i had means of knowing all that took place in the household. old jane--she was younger then--had come with you to my house; but her daughter remained, and through her i learned all that went on. "i hastened immediately to the house, entered without knocking, and approached mr. merkell's bedroom, which was on the lower floor and opened into the hall. the door was ajar, and as i stood there for a moment i heard your father's voice. "'listen, julia,' he was saying. 'i shall not live until the doctor comes. but i wish you to know, dear julia!'--he called her 'dear julia!'--'before i die, that i have kept my promise. you did me one great service, julia,--you saved me from polly ochiltree!' yes, olivia, that is what he said! 'you have served me faithfully and well, and i owe you a great deal, which i have tried to pay.' "'oh, mr. merkell, dear mr. merkell,' cried the hypocritical hussy, falling to her knees by his bedside, and shedding her crocodile tears, 'you owe me nothing. you have done more for me than i could ever repay. you will not die and leave me,--no, no, it cannot be!' "'yes, i am going to die,--i am dying now, julia. but listen,--compose yourself and listen, for this is a more important matter. take the keys from under my pillow, open the desk in the next room, look in the second drawer on the right, and you will find an envelope containing three papers: one of them is yours, one is the paper i promised to make, and the third is a letter which i wrote last night. as soon as the breath has left my body, deliver the envelope to the address indorsed upon it. do not delay one moment, or you may live to regret it. say nothing until you have delivered the package, and then be guided by the advice which you receive,--it will come from a friend of mine who will not see you wronged.' "i slipped away from the door without making my presence known and entered, by a door from the hall, the room adjoining the one where mr. merkell lay. a moment later there was a loud scream. returning quickly to the hall, i entered mr. merkell's room as though just arrived. "'how is mr. merkell?' i demanded, as i crossed the threshold. "'he is dead,' sobbed the woman, without lifting her head,--she had fallen on her knees by the bedside. she had good cause to weep, for my time had come. "'get up,' i said. 'you have no right here. you pollute mr. merkell's dead body by your touch. leave the house immediately,--your day is over!' "'i will not!' she cried, rising to her feet and facing me with brazen-faced impudence. 'i have a right to stay,--he has given me the right!' "'ha, ha!' i laughed. 'mr. merkell is dead, and i am mistress here henceforth. go, and go at once,--do you hear?' "'i hear, but i shall not heed. i can prove my rights! i shall not leave!' "'very well,' i replied, 'we shall see. the law will decide.' "i left the room, but did not leave the house. on the contrary, i concealed myself where i could see what took place in the room adjoining the death-chamber. "she entered the room a moment later, with her child on one arm and the keys in the other hand. placing the child on the floor, she put the key in the lock, and seemed surprised to find the desk already unfastened. she opened the desk, picked up a roll of money and a ladies' watch, which first caught her eye, and was reaching toward the drawer upon the right, when i interrupted her:-- "'well, thief, are you trying to strip the house before you leave it?' "she gave an involuntary cry, clasped one hand to her bosom and with the other caught up her child, and stood like a wild beast at bay. "'i am not a thief,' she panted. 'the things are mine!' "'you lie,' i replied. 'you have no right to them,--no more right than you have to remain in this house!' "'i have a right,' she persisted, 'and i can prove it!' "she turned toward the desk, seized the drawer, and drew it open. never shall i forget her look,--never shall i forget that moment; it was the happiest of my life. the drawer was empty! "pale as death she turned and faced me. "'the papers!' she shrieked, 'the papers! _you_ have stolen them!' "'papers?' i laughed, 'what papers? do you take me for a thief, like yourself?' "'there were papers here,' she cried, 'only a minute since. they are mine,--give them back to me!' "'listen, woman,' i said sternly, 'you are lying--or dreaming. my brother-in-law's papers are doubtless in his safe at his office, where they ought to be. as for the rest,--you are a thief.' "'i am not,' she screamed; 'i am his wife. he married me, and the papers that were in the desk will prove it.' "'listen,' i exclaimed, when she had finished,--'listen carefully, and take heed to what i say. you are a liar. you have no proofs,--there never were any proofs of what you say, because it never happened,--it is absurd upon the face of it. not one person in wellington would believe it. why should he marry you? he did not need to! you are merely lying,--you are not even self-deceived. if he had really married you, you would have made it known long ago. that you did not is proof that your story is false.' "she was hit so hard that she trembled and sank into a chair. but i had no mercy--she had saved your father from _me_--'dear julia,' indeed! "'stand up,' i ordered. 'do not dare to sit down in my presence. i have you on the hip, my lady, and will teach you your place.' "she struggled to her feet, and stood supporting herself with one hand on the chair. i could have killed her, olivia! she had been my father's slave; if it had been before the war, i would have had her whipped to death. "'you are a thief,' i said, 'and of that there _are_ proofs. i have caught you in the act. the watch in your bosom is my own, the money belongs to mr. merkell's estate, which belongs to my niece, his daughter olivia. i saw you steal them. my word is worth yours a hundred times over, for i am a lady, and you are--what? and now hear me: if ever you breathe to a living soul one word of this preposterous story, i will charge you with the theft, and have you sent to the penitentiary. your child will be taken from you, and you shall never see it again. i will give you now just ten minutes to take your brat and your rags out of this house forever. but before you go, put down your plunder there upon the desk!' "she laid down the money and the watch, and a few minutes later left the house with the child in her arms. "and now, olivia, you know how i saved your estate, and why you should be grateful to me." olivia had listened to her aunt's story with intense interest. having perceived the old woman's mood, and fearful lest any interruption might break the flow of her narrative, she had with an effort kept back the one question which had been hovering upon her lips, but which could now no longer be withheld. "what became of the papers, aunt polly?" "ha, ha!" chuckled mrs. ochiltree with a cunning look, "did i not tell you that she found no papers?" a change had come over mrs. ochiltree's face, marking the reaction from her burst of energy. her eyes were half closed, and she was muttering incoherently. olivia made some slight effort to arouse her, but in vain, and realizing the futility of any further attempt to extract information from her aunt at this time, she called william and drove homeward. xvi ellis takes a trick late one afternoon a handsome trap, drawn by two spirited bays, drove up to carteret's gate. three places were taken by mrs. carteret, clara, and the major, leaving the fourth seat vacant. "i've asked ellis to drive out with us," said the major, as he took the lines from the colored man who had the trap in charge. "we'll go by the office and pick him up." clara frowned, but perceiving mrs. carteret's eye fixed upon her, restrained any further expression of annoyance. the major's liking for ellis had increased within the year. the young man was not only a good journalist, but possessed sufficient cleverness and tact to make him excellent company. the major was fond of argument, but extremely tenacious of his own opinions. ellis handled the foils of discussion with just the requisite skill to draw out the major, permitting himself to be vanquished, not too easily, but, as it were, inevitably, by the major's incontrovertible arguments. olivia had long suspected ellis of feeling a more than friendly interest in clara. herself partial to tom, she had more than once thought it hardly fair to delamere, or even to clara, who was young and impressionable, to have another young man constantly about the house. true, there had seemed to be no great danger, for ellis had neither the family nor the means to make him a suitable match for the major's sister; nor had clara made any secret of her dislike for ellis, or of her resentment for his supposed depreciation of delamere. mrs. carteret was inclined to a more just and reasonable view of ellis's conduct in this matter, but nevertheless did not deem it wise to undeceive clara. dislike was a stout barrier, which remorse might have broken down. the major, absorbed in schemes of empire and dreams of his child's future, had not become cognizant of the affair. his wife, out of friendship for tom, had refrained from mentioning it; while the major, with a delicate regard for clara's feelings, had said nothing at home in regard to his interview with her lover. at the chronicle office ellis took the front seat beside the major. after leaving the city pavements, they bowled along merrily over an excellent toll-road, built of oyster shells from the neighboring sound, stopping at intervals to pay toll to the gate-keepers, most of whom were white women with tallow complexions and snuff-stained lips,--the traditional "poor-white." for part of the way the road was bordered with a growth of scrub oak and pine, interspersed with stretches of cleared land, white with the opening cotton or yellow with ripening corn. to the right, along the distant river-bank, were visible here and there groups of turpentine pines, though most of this growth had for some years been exhausted. twenty years before, wellington had been the world's greatest shipping port for naval stores. but as the turpentine industry had moved southward, leaving a trail of devastated forests in its rear, the city had fallen to a poor fifth or sixth place in this trade, relying now almost entirely upon cotton for its export business. occasionally our party passed a person, or a group of persons,--mostly negroes approximating the pure type, for those of lighter color grew noticeably scarcer as the town was left behind. now and then one of these would salute the party respectfully, while others glanced at them indifferently or turned away. there would have seemed, to a stranger, a lack, of spontaneous friendliness between the people of these two races, as though each felt that it had no part or lot in the other's life. at one point the carriage drew near a party of colored folks who were laughing and jesting among themselves with great glee. paying no attention to the white people, they continued to laugh and shout boisterously as the carriage swept by. major carteret's countenance wore an angry look. "the negroes around this town are becoming absolutely insufferable," he averred. "they are sadly in need of a lesson in manners." half an hour later they neared another group, who were also making merry. as the carriage approached, they became mute and silent as the grave until the major's party had passed. "the negroes are a sullen race," remarked the major thoughtfully. "they will learn their lesson in a rude school, and perhaps much sooner than they dream. by the way," he added, turning to the ladies, "what was the arrangement with tom? was he to come out this evening?" "he came out early in the afternoon," replied clara, "to go a-fishing. he is to join us at the hotel." after an hour's drive they reached the hotel, in front of which stretched the beach, white and inviting, along the shallow sound. mrs. carteret and clara found seats on the veranda. having turned the trap over to a hostler, the major joined a group of gentlemen, among whom was general belmont, and was soon deep in the discussion of the standing problem of how best to keep the negroes down. ellis remained by the ladies. clara seemed restless and ill at ease. half an hour elapsed and delamere had not appeared. "i wonder where tom is," said mrs. carteret. "i guess he hasn't come in yet from fishing," said clara. "i wish he would come. it's lonesome here. mr. ellis, would you mind looking about the hotel and seeing if there's any one here that we know?" for ellis the party was already one too large. he had accepted this invitation eagerly, hoping to make friends with clara during the evening. he had never been able to learn definitely the reason of her coldness, but had dated it from his meeting with old mrs. ochiltree, with which he felt it was obscurely connected. he had noticed delamere's scowling look, too, at their last meeting. clara's injustice, whatever its cause, he felt keenly. to delamere's scowl he had paid little attention,--he despised tom so much that, but for his engagement to clara, he would have held his opinions in utter contempt. he had even wished that clara might make some charge against him,--he would have preferred that to her attitude of studied indifference, the only redeeming feature about which was that it _was_ studied, showing that she, at least, had him in mind. the next best thing, he reasoned, to having a woman love you, is to have her dislike you violently,--the main point is that you should be kept in mind, and made the subject of strong emotions. he thought of the story of hall caine's, where the woman, after years of persecution at the hands of an unwelcome suitor, is on the point of yielding, out of sheer irresistible admiration for the man's strength and persistency, when the lover, unaware of his victory and despairing of success, seizes her in his arms and, springing into the sea, finds a watery grave for both. the analogy of this case with his own was, of course, not strong. he did not anticipate any tragedy in their relations; but he was glad to be thought of upon almost any terms. he would not have done a mean thing to make her think of him; but if she did so because of a misconception, which he was given no opportunity to clear up, while at the same time his conscience absolved him from evil and gave him the compensating glow of martyrdom, it was at least better than nothing. he would, of course, have preferred to be upon a different footing. it had been a pleasure to have her speak to him during the drive,--they had exchanged a few trivial remarks in the general conversation. it was a greater pleasure to have her ask a favor of him,--a pleasure which, in this instance, was partly offset when he interpreted her request to mean that he was to look for tom delamere. he accepted the situation gracefully, however, and left the ladies alone. knowing delamere's habits, he first went directly to the bar-room,--the atmosphere would be congenial, even if he were not drinking. delamere was not there. stepping next into the office, he asked the clerk if young mr. delamere had been at the hotel. "yes, sir," returned the man at the desk, "he was here at luncheon, and then went out fishing in a boat with several other gentlemen. i think they came back about three o'clock. i'll find out for you." he rang the bell, to which a colored boy responded. "front," said the clerk, "see if young mr. delamere's upstairs. look in or , and let me know at once." the bell-boy returned in a moment. "yas, suh," he reported, with a suppressed grin, "he's in , suh. de do' was open, an' i seed 'im from de hall, suh." "i wish you'd go up and tell him," said ellis, "that--what are you grinning about?" he asked suddenly, noticing the waiter's expression. "nothin', suh, nothin' at all, suh," responded the negro, lapsing into the stolidity of a wooden indian. "what shall i tell mr. delamere, suh?" "tell him," resumed ellis, still watching the boy suspiciously,--"no, i'll tell him myself." he ascended the broad stair to the second floor. there was an upper balcony and a parlor, with a piano for the musically inclined. to reach these one had to pass along the hall upon which the room mentioned by the bell-boy opened. ellis was quite familiar with the hotel. he could imagine circumstances under which he would not care to speak to delamere; he would merely pass through the hall and glance into the room casually, as any one else might do, and see what the darky downstairs might have meant by his impudence. it required but a moment to reach the room. the door was not wide open, but far enough ajar for him to see what was going on within. two young men, members of the fast set at the clarendon club, were playing cards at a small table, near which stood another, decorated with an array of empty bottles and glasses. sprawling on a lounge, with flushed face and disheveled hair, his collar unfastened, his vest buttoned awry, lay tom delamere, breathing stertorously, in what seemed a drunken sleep. lest there should be any doubt of the cause of his condition, the fingers of his right hand had remained clasped mechanically around the neck of a bottle which lay across his bosom. ellis turned away in disgust, and went slowly back to the ladies. "there seems to be no one here yet," he reported. "we came a little early for the evening crowd. the clerk says tom delamere was here to luncheon, but he hasn't seen him for several hours." "he's not a very gallant cavalier," said mrs. carteret severely. "he ought to have been waiting for us." clara was clearly disappointed, and made no effort to conceal her displeasure, leaving ellis in doubt as to whether or not he were its object. perhaps she suspected him of not having made a very thorough search. her next remark might have borne such a construction. "sister olivia," she said pettishly, "let's go up to the parlor. i can play the piano anyway, if there's no one to talk to." "i find it very comfortable here, clara," replied her sister placidly. "mr. ellis will go with you. you'll probably find some one in the parlor, or they'll come when you begin to play." clara's expression was not cordial, but she rose as if to go. ellis was in a quandary. if she went through the hall, the chances were at least even that she would see delamere. he did not care a rap for delamere,--if he chose to make a public exhibition of himself, it was his own affair; but to see him would surely spoil miss pemberton's evening, and, in her frame of mind, might lead to the suspicion that ellis had prearranged the exposure. even if she should not harbor this unjust thought, she would not love the witness of her discomfiture. we had rather not meet the persons who have seen, even though they never mention, the skeletons in our closets. delamere had disposed of himself for the evening. ellis would have a fairer field with delamere out of sight and unaccounted for, than with delamere in evidence in his present condition. "wouldn't you rather take a stroll on the beach, miss clara?" he asked, in the hope of creating a diversion. "no, i'm going to the parlor. _you_ needn't come, mr. ellis, if you'd rather go down to the beach. i can quite as well go alone." "i'd rather go with you," he said meekly. they were moving toward the door opening into the hall, from which the broad staircase ascended. ellis, whose thoughts did not always respond quickly to a sudden emergency, was puzzling his brain as to how he should save her from any risk of seeing delamere. through the side door leading from the hall into the office, he saw the bell-boy to whom he had spoken seated on the bench provided for the servants. "won't you wait for me just a moment, miss clara, while i step into the office? i'll be with you in an instant." clara hesitated. "oh, certainly," she replied nonchalantly. ellis went direct to the bell-boy. "sit right where you are," he said, "and don't move a hair. what is the lady in the hall doing?" "she's got her back tu'ned this way, suh. i 'spec' she's lookin' at the picture on the opposite wall, suh." "all right," whispered ellis, pressing a coin into the servant's hand. "i'm going up to the parlor with the lady. you go up ahead of us, and keep in front of us along the hall. don't dare to look back. i shall keep on talking to the lady, so that you can tell by my voice where we are. when you get to room , go in and shut the door behind you: pretend that you were called,--ask the gentlemen what they want,--tell any kind of a lie you like,--but keep the door shut until you're sure we've got by. do you hear?" "yes, suh," replied the negro intelligently. the plan worked without a hitch. ellis talked steadily, about the hotel, the furnishings, all sorts of irrelevant subjects, to which miss pemberton paid little attention. she was angry with delamere, and took no pains to conceal her feelings. the bell-boy entered room just before they reached the door. ellis had heard loud talking as they approached, and as they were passing there was a crash of broken glass, as though some object had been thrown at the door. "what is the matter there?" exclaimed clara, quickening her footsteps and instinctively drawing closer to ellis. "some one dropped a glass, i presume," replied ellis calmly. miss pemberton glanced at him suspiciously. she was in a decidedly perverse mood. seating herself at the piano, she played brilliantly for a quarter of an hour. quite a number of couples strolled up to the parlor, but delamere was not among them. "oh dear!" exclaimed miss pemberton, as she let her fingers fall upon the keys with a discordant crash, after the last note, "i don't see why we came out here to-night. let's go back downstairs." ellis felt despondent. he had done his utmost to serve and to please miss pemberton, but was not likely, he foresaw, to derive much benefit from his opportunity. delamere was evidently as much or more in her thoughts by reason of his absence than if he had been present. if the door should have been opened, and she should see him from the hall upon their return, ellis could not help it. he took the side next to the door, however, meaning to hurry past the room so that she might not recognize delamere. fortunately the door was closed and all quiet within the room. on the stairway they met the bellboy, rubbing his head with one hand and holding a bottle of seltzer upon a tray in the other. the boy was well enough trained to give no sign of recognition, though ellis guessed the destination of the bottle. ellis hardly knew whether to feel pleased or disappointed at the success of his manoeuvres. he had spared miss pemberton some mortification, but he had saved tom delamere from merited exposure. clara ought to know the truth, for her own sake. on the beach, a few rods away, fires were burning, around which several merry groups had gathered. the smoke went mostly to one side, but a slight whiff came now and then to where mrs. carteret sat awaiting them. "they're roasting oysters," said mrs. carteret. "i wish you'd bring me some, mr. ellis." ellis strolled down to the beach. a large iron plate, with a turned-up rim like a great baking-pan, supported by legs which held it off the ground, was set over a fire built upon the sand. this primitive oven was heaped with small oysters in the shell, taken from the neighboring sound, and hauled up to the hotel by a negro whose pony cart stood near by. a wet coffee-sack of burlaps was spread over the oysters, which, when steamed sufficiently, were opened by a colored man and served gratis to all who cared for them. ellis secured a couple of plates of oysters, which he brought to mrs. carteret and clara; they were small, but finely flavored. meanwhile delamere, who possessed a remarkable faculty of recuperation from the effects of drink, had waked from his sleep, and remembering his engagement, had exerted himself to overcome the ravages of the afternoon's debauch. a dash of cold water braced him up somewhat. a bottle of seltzer and a big cup of strong coffee still further strengthened his nerves. when ellis returned to the veranda, after having taken away the plates, delamere had joined the ladies and was explaining the cause of his absence. he had been overcome by the heat, he said, while out fishing, and had been lying down ever since. perhaps he ought to have sent for a doctor, but the fellows had looked after him. he hadn't sent word to his friends because he hadn't wished to spoil their evening. "that was very considerate of you, tom," said mrs. carteret dryly, "but you ought to have let us know. we have been worrying about you very much. clara has found the evening dreadfully dull." "indeed, no, sister olivia," said the young lady cheerfully, "i've been having a lovely time. mr. ellis and i have been up in the parlor; i played the piano; and we've been eating oysters and having a most delightful time. won't you take me down there to the beach, mr. ellis? i want to see the fires. come on." "can't i go?" asked tom jealously. "no, indeed, you mustn't stir a foot! you must not overtax yourself so soon; it might do you serious injury. stay here with sister olivia." she took ellis's arm with exaggerated cordiality. delamere glared after them angrily. ellis did not stop to question her motives, but took the goods the gods provided. with no very great apparent effort, miss pemberton became quite friendly, and they strolled along the beach, in sight of the hotel, for nearly half an hour. as they were coming up she asked him abruptly,-- "mr. ellis, did you know tom was in the hotel?" ellis was looking across the sound, at the lights of a distant steamer which was making her way toward the harbor. "i wonder," he said musingly, as though he had not heard her question, "if that is the ocean belle?" "and was he really sick?" she demanded. "she's later than usual this trip," continued ellis, pursuing his thought. "she was due about five o'clock." miss pemberton, under cover of the darkness, smiled a fine smile, which foreboded ill for some one. when they joined the party on the piazza, the major had come up and was saying that it was time to go. he had been engaged in conversation, for most of the evening, with general belmont and several other gentlemen. "here comes the general now. let me see. there are five of us. the general has offered me a seat in his buggy, and tom can go with you-all." the general came up and spoke to the ladies. tom murmured his thanks; it would enable him to make up a part of the delightful evening he had missed. when mrs. carteret had taken the rear seat, clara promptly took the place beside her. ellis and delamere sat in front. when delamere, who had offered to drive, took the reins, ellis saw that his hands were shaking. "give me the lines," he whispered. "your nerves are unsteady and the road is not well lighted." delamere prudently yielded the reins. he did not like ellis's tone, which seemed sneering rather than expressive of sympathy with one who had been suffering. he wondered if the beggar knew anything about his illness. clara had been acting strangely. it would have been just like ellis to have slandered him. the upstart had no business with clara anyway. he would cheerfully have strangled ellis, if he could have done so with safety to himself and no chance of discovery. the drive homeward through the night was almost a silent journey. mrs. carteret was anxious about her baby. clara did not speak, except now and then to ellis with reference to some object in or near the road. occasionally they passed a vehicle in the darkness, sometimes barely avoiding a collision. far to the north the sky was lit up with the glow of a forest fire. the breeze from the sound was deliciously cool. soon the last toll-gate was passed and the lights of the town appeared. ellis threw the lines to william, who was waiting, and hastened to help the ladies out. "good-night, mr. ellis," said clara sweetly, as she gave ellis her hand. "thank you for a very pleasant evening. come up and see us soon." she ran into the house without a word to tom. xvii the social aspirations of captain mcbane it was only eleven o'clock, and delamere, not being at all sleepy, and feeling somewhat out of sorts as the combined results of his afternoon's debauch and the snubbing he had received at clara's hands, directed the major's coachman, who had taken charge of the trap upon its arrival, to drive him to the st. james hotel before returning the horses to the stable. first, however, the coachman left ellis at his boarding-house, which was near by. the two young men parted with as scant courtesy as was possible without an open rupture. delamere hoped to find at the hotel some form of distraction to fill in an hour or two before going home. ill fortune favored him by placing in his way the burly form of captain george mcbane, who was sitting in an armchair alone, smoking a midnight cigar, under the hotel balcony. upon delamere's making known his desire for amusement, the captain proposed a small game of poker in his own room. mcbane had been waiting for some such convenient opportunity. we have already seen that the captain was desirous of social recognition, which he had not yet obtained beyond the superficial acquaintance acquired by association with men about town. he had determined to assault society in its citadel by seeking membership in the clarendon club, of which most gentlemen of the best families of the city were members. the clarendon club was a historic institution, and its membership a social cult, the temple of which was located just off the main street of the city, in a dignified old colonial mansion which had housed it for the nearly one hundred years during which it had maintained its existence unbroken. there had grown up around it many traditions and special usages. membership in the clarendon was the _sine qua non_ of high social standing, and was conditional upon two of three things,--birth, wealth, and breeding. breeding was the prime essential, but, with rare exceptions, must be backed by either birth or money. having decided, therefore, to seek admission into this social arcanum, the captain, who had either not quite appreciated the standard of the clarendon's membership, or had failed to see that he fell beneath it, looked about for an intermediary through whom to approach the object of his desire. he had already thought of tom delamere in this connection, having with him such an acquaintance as one forms around a hotel, and having long ago discovered that delamere was a young man of superficially amiable disposition, vicious instincts, lax principles, and a weak will, and, which was quite as much to the purpose, a member of the clarendon club. possessing mental characteristics almost entirely opposite, delamere and the captain had certain tastes in common, and had smoked, drunk, and played cards together more than once. still more to his purpose, mcbane had detected delamere trying to cheat him at cards. he had said nothing about this discovery, but had merely noted it as something which at some future time might prove useful. the captain had not suffered by delamere's deviation from the straight line of honor, for while tom was as clever with the cards as might be expected of a young man who had devoted most of his leisure for several years to handling them, mcbane was past master in their manipulation. during a stormy career he had touched more or less pitch, and had escaped few sorts of defilement. the appearance of delamere at a late hour, unaccompanied, and wearing upon his countenance an expression in which the captain read aright the craving for mental and physical excitement, gave him the opportunity for which he had been looking. mcbane was not the man to lose an opportunity, nor did delamere require a second invitation. neither was it necessary, during the progress of the game, for the captain to press upon his guest the contents of the decanter which stood upon the table within convenient reach. the captain permitted delamere to win from him several small amounts, after which he gradually increased the stakes and turned the tables. delamere, with every instinct of a gamester, was no more a match for mcbane in self-control than in skill. when the young man had lost all his money, the captain expressed his entire willingness to accept notes of hand, for which he happened to have convenient blanks in his apartment. when delamere, flushed with excitement and wine, rose from the gaming table at two o'clock, he was vaguely conscious that he owed mcbane a considerable sum, but could not have stated how much. his opponent, who was entirely cool and collected, ran his eye carelessly over the bits of paper to which delamere had attached his signature. "just one thousand dollars even," he remarked. the announcement of this total had as sobering an effect upon delamere as though he had been suddenly deluged with a shower of cold water. for a moment he caught his breath. he had not a dollar in the world with which to pay this sum. his only source of income was an allowance from his grandfather, the monthly installment of which, drawn that very day, he had just lost to mcbane, before starting in upon the notes of hand. "i'll give you your revenge another time," said mcbane, as they rose. "luck is against you to-night, and i'm unwilling to take advantage of a clever young fellow like you. meantime," he added, tossing the notes of hand carelessly on a bureau, "don't worry about these bits of paper. such small matters shouldn't cut any figure between friends; but if you are around the hotel to-morrow, i should like to speak to you upon another subject." "very well, captain," returned tom somewhat ungraciously. delamere had been completely beaten with his own weapons. he had tried desperately to cheat mcbane. he knew perfectly well that mcbane had discovered his efforts and had cheated him in turn, for the captain's play had clearly been gauged to meet his own. the biter had been bit, and could not complain of the outcome. the following afternoon mcbane met delamere at the hotel, and bluntly requested the latter to propose him for membership in the clarendon club. delamere was annoyed at this request. his aristocratic gorge rose at the presumption of this son of an overseer and ex-driver of convicts. mcbane was good enough to win money from, or even to lose money to, but not good enough to be recognized as a social equal. he would instinctively have blackballed mcbane had he been proposed by some one else; with what grace could he put himself forward as the sponsor for this impossible social aspirant? moreover, it was clearly a vulgar, cold-blooded attempt on mcbane's part to use his power over him for a personal advantage. "well, now, captain mcbane," returned delamere diplomatically, "i've never put any one up yet, and it's not regarded as good form for so young a member as myself to propose candidates. i'd much rather you'd ask some older man." "oh, well," replied mcbane, "just as you say, only i thought you had cut your eye teeth." delamere was not pleased with mcbane's tone. his remark was not acquiescent, though couched in terms of assent. there was a sneering savagery about it, too, that left delamere uneasy. he was, in a measure, in mcbane's power. he could not pay the thousand dollars, unless it fell from heaven, or he could win it from some one else. he would not dare go to his grandfather for help. mr. delamere did not even know that his grandson gambled. he might not have objected, perhaps, to a gentleman's game, with moderate stakes, but he would certainly, tom knew very well, have looked upon a thousand dollars as a preposterous sum to be lost at cards by a man who had nothing with which to pay it. it was part of mr. delamere's creed that a gentleman should not make debts that he was not reasonably able to pay. there was still another difficulty. if he had lost the money to a gentleman, and it had been his first serious departure from mr. delamere's perfectly well understood standard of honor, tom might have risked a confession and thrown himself on his grandfather's mercy; but he owed other sums here and there, which, to his just now much disturbed imagination, loomed up in alarming number and amount. he had recently observed signs of coldness, too, on the part of certain members of the club. moreover, like most men with one commanding vice, he was addicted to several subsidiary forms of iniquity, which in case of a scandal were more than likely to come to light. he was clearly and most disagreeably caught in the net of his own hypocrisy. his grandfather believed him a model of integrity, a pattern of honor; he could not afford to have his grandfather undeceived. he thought of old mrs. ochiltree. if she were a liberal soul, she could give him a thousand dollars now, when he needed it, instead of making him wait until she died, which might not be for ten years or more, for a legacy which was steadily growing less and might be entirely exhausted if she lived long enough,--some old people were very tenacious of life! she was a careless old woman, too, he reflected, and very foolishly kept her money in the house. latterly she had been growing weak and childish. some day she might be robbed, and then his prospective inheritance from that source would vanish into thin air! with regard to this debt to mcbane, if he could not pay it, he could at least gain a long respite by proposing the captain at the club. true, he would undoubtedly be blackballed, but before this inevitable event his name must remain posted for several weeks, during which interval mcbane would be conciliatory. on the other hand, to propose mcbane would arouse suspicion of his own motives; it might reach his grandfather's ears, and lead to a demand for an explanation, which it would be difficult to make. clearly, the better plan would be to temporize with mcbane, with the hope that something might intervene to remove this cursed obligation. "suppose, captain," he said affably, "we leave the matter open for a few days. this is a thing that can't be rushed. i'll feel the pulse of my friends and yours, and when we get the lay of the land, the affair can be accomplished much more easily." "well, that's better," returned mcbane, somewhat mollified,--"if you'll do that." "to be sure i will," replied tom easily, too much relieved to resent, if not too preoccupied to perceive, the implied doubt of his veracity. mcbane ordered and paid for more drinks, and they parted on amicable terms. "we'll let these notes stand for the time being, tom," said mcbane, with significant emphasis, when they separated. delamere winced at the familiarity. he had reached that degree of moral deterioration where, while principles were of little moment, the externals of social intercourse possessed an exaggerated importance. mcbane had never before been so personal. he had addressed the young aristocrat first as "mr. delamere," then, as their acquaintance advanced, as "delamere." he had now reached the abbreviated christian name stage of familiarity. there was no lower depth to which tom could sink, unless mcbane should invent a nickname by which to address him. he did not like mcbane's manner,--it was characterized by a veiled insolence which was exceedingly offensive. he would go over to the club and try his luck with some honest player,--perhaps something might turn up to relieve him from his embarrassment. he put his hand in his pocket mechanically,--and found it empty! in the present state of his credit, he could hardly play without money. a thought struck him. leaving the hotel, he hastened home, where he found sandy dusting his famous suit of clothes on the back piazza. mr. delamere was not at home, having departed for belleview about two o'clock, leaving sandy to follow him in the morning. "hello, sandy," exclaimed tom, with an assumed jocularity which he was very far from feeling, "what are you doing with those gorgeous garments?" "i'm a-dustin' of 'em, mistuh tom, dat's w'at i'm a-doin'. dere's somethin' wrong 'bout dese clo's er mine--i don' never seem ter be able ter keep 'em clean no mo'. ef i b'lieved in dem ole-timey sayin's, i'd 'low dere wuz a witch come here eve'y night an' tuk 'em out an' wo' 'em, er tuk me out an' rid me in 'em. dere wuz somethin' wrong 'bout dat cakewalk business, too, dat i ain' never unde'stood an' don' know how ter 'count fer, 'less dere wuz some kin' er dev'lishness goin' on dat don' show on de su'face." "sandy," asked tom irrelevantly, "have you any money in the house?" "yas, suh, i got de money mars john give me ter git dem things ter take out ter belleview in de mawnin." "i mean money of your own." "i got a qua'ter ter buy terbacker wid," returned sandy cautiously. "is that all? haven't you some saved up?" "well, yas, mistuh tom," returned sandy, with evident reluctance, "dere's a few dollahs put away in my bureau drawer fer a rainy day,--not much, suh." "i'm a little short this afternoon, sandy, and need some money right away. grandfather isn't here, so i can't get any from him. let me take what you have for a day or two, sandy, and i'll return it with good interest." "now, mistuh tom," said sandy seriously, "i don' min' lettin' you take my money, but i hopes you ain' gwine ter use it fer none er dem rakehelly gwines-on er yo'n,--gamblin' an' bettin' an' so fo'th. yo' grandaddy 'll fin' out 'bout you yit, ef you don' min' yo' p's an' q's. i does my bes' ter keep yo' misdoin's f'm 'im, an' sense i b'en tu'ned out er de chu'ch--thoo no fault er my own, god knows!--i've tol' lies 'nuff 'bout you ter sink a ship. but it ain't right, mistuh tom, it ain't right! an' i only does it fer de sake er de fam'ly honuh, dat mars john sets so much sto' by, an' ter save his feelin's; fer de doctuh says he mus'n' git ixcited 'bout nothin', er it mought bring on another stroke." "that's right, sandy," replied tom approvingly; "but the family honor is as safe in my hands as in grandfather's own, and i'm going to use the money for an excellent purpose, in fact to relieve a case of genuine distress; and i'll hand it back to you in a day or two,--perhaps to-morrow. fetch me the money, sandy,--that's a good darky!" "all right, mistuh tom, you shill have de money; but i wants ter tell you, suh, dat in all de yeahs i has wo'ked fer yo' gran'daddy, he has never called me a 'darky' ter my face, suh. co'se i knows dere's w'ite folks an' black folks,--but dere's manners, suh, dere's manners, an' gent'emen oughter be de ones ter use 'em, suh, ef dey ain't ter be fergot enti'ely!" "there, there, sandy," returned tom in a conciliatory tone, "i beg your pardon! i've been associating with some northern white folks at the hotel, and picked up the word from them. you're a high-toned colored gentleman, sandy,--the finest one on the footstool." still muttering to himself, sandy retired to his own room, which was in the house, so that he might be always near his master. he soon returned with a time-stained leather pocket-book and a coarse-knit cotton sock, from which two receptacles he painfully extracted a number of bills and coins. "you count dat, mistuh tom, so i'll know how much i'm lettin' you have." "this isn't worth anything," said tom, pushing aside one roll of bills. "it's confederate money." "so it is, suh. it ain't wuth nothin' now; but it has be'n money, an' who kin tell but what it mought be money agin? de rest er dem bills is greenbacks,--dey'll pass all right, i reckon." the good money amounted to about fifty dollars, which delamere thrust eagerly into his pocket. "you won't say anything to grandfather about this, will you, sandy," he said, as he turned away. "no, suh, co'se i won't! does i ever tell 'im 'bout yo' gwines-on? ef i did," he added to himself, as the young man disappeared down the street, "i wouldn' have time ter do nothin' e'se ha'dly. i don' know whether i'll ever see dat money agin er no, do' i 'magine de ole gent'eman wouldn' lemme lose it ef he knowed. but i ain' gwine ter tell him, whether i git my money back er no, fer he is jes' so wrop' up in dat boy dat i b'lieve it'd jes' break his hea't ter fin' out how he's be'n gwine on. doctuh price has tol' me not ter let de ole gent'eman git ixcited, er e'se dere's no tellin' w'at mought happen. he's be'n good ter me, he has, an' i'm gwine ter take keer er him,--dat's w'at i is, ez long ez i has de chance." * * * * * delamere went directly to the club, and soon lounged into the card-room, where several of the members were engaged in play. he sauntered here and there, too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that the greetings he received were less cordial than those usually exchanged between the members of a small and select social club. finally, when augustus, commonly and more appropriately called "gus," davidson came into the room, tom stepped toward him. "will you take a hand in a game, gus?" "don't care if i do," said the other. "let's sit over here." davidson led the way to a table near the fireplace, near which stood a tall screen, which at times occupied various places in the room. davidson took the seat opposite the fireplace, leaving delamere with his back to the screen. delamere staked half of sandy's money, and lost. he staked the rest, and determined to win, because he could not afford to lose. he had just reached out his hand to gather in the stakes, when he was charged with cheating at cards, of which two members, who had quietly entered the room and posted themselves behind the screen, had secured specific proof. a meeting of the membership committee was hastily summoned, it being an hour at which most of them might be found at the club. to avoid a scandal, and to save the feelings of a prominent family, delamere was given an opportunity to resign quietly from the club, on condition that he paid all his gambling debts within three days, and took an oath never to play cards again for money. this latter condition was made at the suggestion of an elderly member, who apparently believed that a man who would cheat at cards would stick at perjury. delamere acquiesced very promptly. the taking of the oath was easy. the payment of some fifteen hundred dollars of debts was a different matter. he went away from the club thoughtfully, and it may be said, in full justice to a past which was far from immaculate, that in his present thoughts he touched a depth of scoundrelism far beyond anything of which he had as yet deemed himself capable. when a man of good position, of whom much is expected, takes to evil courses, his progress is apt to resemble that of a well-bred woman who has started on the downward path,--the pace is all the swifter because of the distance which must be traversed to reach the bottom. delamere had made rapid headway; having hitherto played with sin, his servant had now become his master, and held him in an iron grip. xviii sandy sees his own ha'nt having finished cleaning his clothes, sandy went out to the kitchen for supper, after which he found himself with nothing to do. mr. delamere's absence relieved him from attendance at the house during the evening. he might have smoked his pipe tranquilly in the kitchen until bedtime, had not the cook intimated, rather pointedly, that she expected other company. to a man of sandy's tact a word was sufficient, and he resigned himself to seeking companionship elsewhere. under normal circumstances, sandy would have attended prayer-meeting on this particular evening of the week; but being still in contumacy, and cherishing what he considered the just resentment of a man falsely accused, he stifled the inclination which by long habit led him toward the church, and set out for the house of a friend with whom it occurred to him that he might spend the evening pleasantly. unfortunately, his friend proved to be not at home, so sandy turned his footsteps toward the lower part of the town, where the streets were well lighted, and on pleasant evenings quite animated. on the way he met josh green, whom he had known for many years, though their paths did not often cross. in his loneliness sandy accepted an invitation to go with josh and have a drink,--a single drink. when sandy was going home about eleven o'clock, three sheets in the wind, such was the potent effect of the single drink and those which had followed it, he was scared almost into soberness by a remarkable apparition. as it seemed to sandy, he saw himself hurrying along in front of himself toward the house. possibly the muddled condition of sandy's intellect had so affected his judgment as to vitiate any conclusion he might draw, but sandy was quite sober enough to perceive that the figure ahead of him wore his best clothes and looked exactly like him, but seemed to be in something more of a hurry, a discrepancy which sandy at once corrected by quickening his own pace so as to maintain as nearly as possible an equal distance between himself and his double. the situation was certainly an incomprehensible one, and savored of the supernatural. "ef dat's me gwine 'long in front," mused sandy, in vinous perplexity, "den who is dis behin' here? dere ain' but one er me, an' my ha'nt wouldn' leave my body 'tel i wuz dead. ef dat's me in front, den i mus' be my own ha'nt; an' whichever one of us is de ha'nt, de yuther must be dead an' don' know it. i don' know what ter make er no sech gwines-on, i don't. maybe it ain' me after all, but it certainly do look lack me." when the apparition disappeared in the house by the side door, sandy stood in the yard for several minutes, under the shade of an elm-tree, before he could make up his mind to enter the house. he took courage, however, upon the reflection that perhaps, after all, it was only the bad liquor he had drunk. bad liquor often made people see double. he entered the house. it was dark, except for a light in tom delamere's room. sandy tapped softly at the door. "who's there?" came delamere's voice, in a somewhat startled tone, after a momentary silence. "it's me, suh; sandy." they both spoke softly. it was the rule of the house when mr. delamere had retired, and though he was not at home, habit held its wonted sway. "just a moment, sandy." sandy waited patiently in the hall until the door was opened. if the room showed any signs of haste or disorder, sandy was too full of his own thoughts--and other things--to notice them. "what do you want, sandy," asked tom. "mistuh tom," asked sandy solemnly, "ef i wuz in yo' place, an' you wuz in my place, an' we wuz bofe in de same place, whar would i be?" tom looked at sandy keenly, with a touch of apprehension. did sandy mean anything in particular by this enigmatical inquiry, and if so, what? but sandy's face clearly indicated a state of mind in which consecutive thought was improbable; and after a brief glance delamere breathed more freely. "i give it up, sandy," he responded lightly. "that's too deep for me." "'scuse me, mistuh tom, but is you heared er seed anybody er anything come in de house fer de las' ten minutes?" "why, no, sandy, i haven't heard any one. i came from the club an hour ago. i had forgotten my key, and sally got up and let me in, and then went back to bed. i've been sitting here reading ever since. i should have heard any one who came in." "mistuh tom," inquired sandy anxiously, "would you 'low dat i'd be'n drinkin' too much?" "no, sandy, i should say you were sober enough, though of course you may have had a few drinks. perhaps you'd like another? i've got something good here." "no, suh, mistuh tom, no, suh! no mo' liquor fer me, suh, never! when liquor kin make a man see his own ha'nt, it's 'bout time fer dat man ter quit drinkin', it sho' is! good-night, mistuh tom." as sandy turned to go, delamere was struck by a sudden and daring thought. the creature of impulse, he acted upon it immediately. "by the way, sandy," he exclaimed carelessly, "i can pay you back that money you were good enough to lend me this afternoon. i think i'll sleep better if i have the debt off my mind, and i shouldn't wonder if you would. you don't mind having it in gold, do you?" "no, indeed, suh," replied sandy. "i ain' seen no gol' fer so long dat de sight er it'd be good fer my eyes." tom counted out ten five-dollar gold pieces upon the table at his elbow. "and here's another, sandy," he said, adding an eleventh, "as interest for the use of it." "thank y', mistuh tom. i didn't spec' no in-trus', but i don' never 'fuse gol' w'en i kin git it." "and here," added delamere, reaching carelessly into a bureau drawer, "is a little old silk purse that i've had since i was a boy. i'll put the gold in it, sandy; it will hold it very nicely." "thank y', mistuh tom. you're a gentleman, suh, an' wo'thy er de fam'ly name. good-night, suh, an' i hope yo' dreams 'll be pleasanter 'n' mine. ef it wa'n't fer dis gol' kinder takin' my min' off'n dat ha'nt, i don' s'pose i'd be able to do much sleepin' ter-night. good-night, suh." "good-night, sandy." whether or not delamere slept soundly, or was troubled by dreams, pleasant or unpleasant, it is nevertheless true that he locked his door, and sat up an hour later, looking through the drawers of his bureau, and burning several articles in the little iron stove which constituted part of the bedroom furniture. it is also true that he rose very early, before the household was stirring. the cook slept in a room off the kitchen, which was in an outhouse in the back yard. she was just stretching herself, preparatory to getting up, when tom came to her window and said that he was going off fishing, to be gone all day, and that he would not wait for breakfast. xix a midnight walk ellis left the office of the morning chronicle about eleven o'clock the same evening and set out to walk home. his boarding-house was only a short distance beyond old mr. delamere's residence, and while he might have saved time and labor by a slightly shorter route, he generally selected this one because it led also by major carteret's house. sometimes there would be a ray of light from clara's room, which was on one of the front corners; and at any rate he would have the pleasure of gazing at the outside of the casket that enshrined the jewel of his heart. it was true that this purely sentimental pleasure was sometimes dashed with bitterness at the thought of his rival; but one in love must take the bitter with the sweet, and who would say that a spice of jealousy does not add a certain zest to love? on this particular evening, however, he was in a hopeful mood. at the clarendon club, where he had gone, a couple of hours before, to verify a certain news item for the morning paper, he had heard a story about tom delamere which, he imagined, would spike that gentleman's guns for all time, so far as miss pemberton was concerned. so grave an affair as cheating at cards could never be kept secret,--it was certain to reach her ears; and ellis was morally certain that clara would never marry a man who had been proved dishonorable. in all probability there would be no great sensation about the matter. delamere was too well connected; too many prominent people would be involved--even clara, and the editor himself, of whom delamere was a distant cousin. the reputation of the club was also to be considered. ellis was not the man to feel a malicious delight in the misfortunes of another, nor was he a pessimist who welcomed scandal and disgrace with open arms, as confirming a gloomy theory of human life. but, with the best intentions in the world, it was no more than human nature that he should feel a certain elation in the thought that his rival had been practically disposed of, and the field left clear; especially since this good situation had been brought about merely by the unmasking of a hypocrite, who had held him at an unfair disadvantage in the race for clara's favor. the night was quiet, except for the faint sound of distant music now and then, or the mellow laughter of some group of revelers. ellis met but few pedestrians, but as he neared old mr. delamere's, he saw two men walking in the same direction as his own, on the opposite side of the street. he had observed that they kept at about an equal distance apart, and that the second, from the stealthy manner in which he was making his way, was anxious to keep the first in sight, without disclosing his own presence. this aroused ellis's curiosity, which was satisfied in some degree when the man in advance stopped beneath a lamp-post and stood for a moment looking across the street, with his face plainly visible in the yellow circle of light. it was a dark face, and ellis recognized it instantly as that of old mr. delamere's body servant, whose personal appearance had been very vividly impressed upon ellis at the christening dinner at major carteret's. he had seen sandy once since, too, at the hotel cakewalk. the negro had a small bundle in his hand, the nature of which ellis could not make out. when sandy had stopped beneath the lamp-post, the man who was following him had dodged behind a tree-trunk. when sandy moved on, ellis, who had stopped in turn, saw the man in hiding come out and follow sandy. when this second man came in range of the light, ellis wondered that there should be two men so much alike. the first of the two had undoubtedly been sandy. ellis had recognized the peculiar, old-fashioned coat that sandy had worn upon the two occasions when he had noticed him. barring this difference, and the somewhat unsteady gait of the second man, the two were as much alike as twin brothers. when they had entered mr. delamere's house, one after the other,--in the stillness of the night ellis could perceive that each of them tried to make as little noise as possible,--ellis supposed that they were probably relatives, both employed as servants, or that some younger negro, taking sandy for a model, was trying to pattern himself after his superior. why all this mystery, of course he could not imagine, unless the younger man had been out without permission and was trying to avoid the accusing eye of sandy. ellis was vaguely conscious that he had seen the other negro somewhere, but he could not for the moment place him,--there were so many negroes, nearly three negroes to one white man in the city of wellington! the subject, however, while curious, was not important as compared with the thoughts of his sweetheart which drove it from his mind. clara had been kind to him the night before,--whatever her motive, she had been kind, and could not consistently return to her attitude of coldness. with delamere hopelessly discredited, ellis hoped to have at least fair play,--with fair play, he would take his chances of the outcome. xx a shocking crime on friday morning, when old mrs. ochiltree's cook dinah went to wake her mistress, she was confronted with a sight that well-nigh blanched her ebony cheek and caused her eyes almost to start from her head with horror. as soon as she could command her trembling limbs sufficiently to make them carry her, she rushed out of the house and down the street, bareheaded, covering in an incredibly short time the few blocks that separated mrs. ochiltree's residence from that of her niece. she hastened around the house, and finding the back door open and the servants stirring, ran into the house and up the stairs with the familiarity of an old servant, not stopping until she reached the door of mrs. carteret's chamber, at which she knocked in great agitation. entering in response to mrs. carteret's invitation, she found the lady, dressed in a simple wrapper, superintending the morning toilet of little dodie, who was a wakeful child, and insisted upon rising with the birds, for whose music he still showed a great fondness, in spite of his narrow escape while listening to the mockingbird. "what is it, dinah?" asked mrs. carteret, alarmed at the frightened face of her aunt's old servitor. "o my lawd, mis' 'livy, my lawd, my lawd! my legs is trim'lin' so dat i can't ha'dly hol' my han's stiddy 'nough ter say w'at i got ter say! o lawd have mussy on us po' sinners! w'atever is gwine ter happen in dis worl' er sin an' sorrer!" "what in the world is the matter, dinah?" demanded mrs. carteret, whose own excitement had increased with the length of this preamble. "has anything happened to aunt polly?" "somebody done broke in de house las' night, mis' 'livy, an' kill' mis' polly, an' lef' her layin' dead on de flo', in her own blood, wid her cedar chis' broke' open, an' eve'thing scattered roun' de flo'! o my lawd, my lawd, my lawd, my lawd!" mrs. carteret was shocked beyond expression. perhaps the spectacle of dinah's unrestrained terror aided her to retain a greater measure of self-control than she might otherwise have been capable of. giving the nurse some directions in regard to the child, she hastily descended the stairs, and seizing a hat and jacket from the rack in the hall, ran immediately with dinah to the scene of the tragedy. before the thought of this violent death all her aunt's faults faded into insignificance, and only her good qualities were remembered. she had reared olivia; she had stood up for the memory of olivia's mother when others had seemed to forget what was due to it. to her niece she had been a second mother, and had never been lacking in affection. more than one motive, however, lent wings to mrs. carteret's feet. her aunt's incomplete disclosures on the day of the drive past the hospital had been weighing upon mrs. carteret's mind, and she had intended to make another effort this very day, to get an answer to her question about the papers which the woman had claimed were in existence. suppose her aunt had really found such papers,--papers which would seem to prove the preposterous claim made by her father's mulatto mistress? suppose that, with the fatuity which generally leads human beings to keep compromising documents, her aunt had preserved these papers? if they should be found there in the house, there might be a scandal, if nothing worse, and this was to be avoided at all hazards. guided by some fortunate instinct, dinah had as yet informed no one but mrs. carteret of her discovery. if they could reach the house before the murder became known to any third person, she might be the first to secure access to the remaining contents of the cedar chest, which would be likely to be held as evidence in case the officers of the law forestalled her own arrival. they found the house wrapped in the silence of death. mrs. carteret entered the chamber of the dead woman. upon the floor, where it had fallen, lay the body in a pool of blood, the strongly marked countenance scarcely more grim in the rigidity of death than it had been in life. a gaping wound in the head accounted easily for the death. the cedar chest stood open, its strong fastenings having been broken by a steel bar which still lay beside it. near it were scattered pieces of old lace, antiquated jewelry, tarnished silverware,--the various mute souvenirs of the joys and sorrows of a long and active life. kneeling by the open chest, mrs. carteret glanced hurriedly through its contents. there were no papers there except a few old deeds and letters. she had risen with a sigh of relief, when she perceived the end of a paper projecting from beneath the edge of a rug which had been carelessly rumpled, probably by the burglar in his hasty search for plunder. this paper, or sealed envelope as it proved to be, which evidently contained some inclosure, she seized, and at the sound of approaching footsteps thrust hastily into her own bosom. the sight of two agitated women rushing through the quiet streets at so early an hour in the morning had attracted attention and aroused curiosity, and the story of the murder, having once become known, spread with the customary rapidity of bad news. very soon a policeman, and a little later a sheriff's officer, arrived at the house and took charge of the remains to await the arrival of the coroner. by nine o'clock a coroner's jury had been summoned, who, after brief deliberation, returned a verdict of willful murder at the hands of some person or persons unknown, while engaged in the commission of a burglary. no sooner was the verdict announced than the community, or at least the white third of it, resolved itself spontaneously into a committee of the whole to discover the perpetrator of this dastardly crime, which, at this stage of the affair, seemed merely one of robbery and murder. suspicion was at once directed toward the negroes, as it always is when an unexplained crime is committed in a southern community. the suspicion was not entirely an illogical one. having been, for generations, trained up to thriftlessness, theft, and immorality, against which only thirty years of very limited opportunity can be offset, during which brief period they have been denied in large measure the healthful social stimulus and sympathy which holds most men in the path of rectitude, colored people might reasonably be expected to commit at least a share of crime proportionate to their numbers. the population of the town was at least two thirds colored. the chances were, therefore, in the absence of evidence, at least two to one that a man of color had committed the crime. the southern tendency to charge the negroes with all the crime and immorality of that region, unjust and exaggerated as the claim may be, was therefore not without a logical basis to the extent above indicated. it must not be imagined that any logic was needed, or any reasoning consciously worked out. the mere suggestion that the crime had been committed by a negro was equivalent to proof against any negro that might be suspected and could not prove his innocence. a committee of white men was hastily formed. acting independently of the police force, which was practically ignored as likely to favor the negroes, this committee set to work to discover the murderer. the spontaneous activity of the whites was accompanied by a visible shrinkage of the colored population. this could not be taken as any indication of guilt, but was merely a recognition of the palpable fact that the american habit of lynching had so whetted the thirst for black blood that a negro suspected of crime had to face at least the possibility of a short shrift and a long rope, not to mention more gruesome horrors, without the intervention of judge or jury. since to have a black face at such a time was to challenge suspicion, and since there was neither the martyr's glory nor the saint's renown in being killed for some one else's crime, and very little hope of successful resistance in case of an attempt at lynching, it was obviously the part of prudence for those thus marked to seek immunity in a temporary disappearance from public view. xxi the necessity of an example about ten o'clock on the morning of the discovery of the murder, captain mcbane and general belmont, as though moved by a common impulse, found themselves at the office of the morning chronicle. carteret was expecting them, though there had been no appointment made. these three resourceful and energetic minds, representing no organized body, and clothed with no legal authority, had so completely arrogated to themselves the leadership of white public sentiment as to come together instinctively when an event happened which concerned the public, and, as this murder presumably did, involved the matter of race. "well, gentlemen," demanded mcbane impatiently, "what are we going to do with the scoundrel when we catch him?" "they've got the murderer," announced a reporter, entering the room. "who is he?" they demanded in a breath. "a nigger by the name of sandy campbell, a servant of old mr. delamere." "how did they catch him?" "our jerry saw him last night, going toward mrs. ochiltree's house, and a white man saw him coming away, half an hour later." "has he confessed?" "no, but he might as well. when the posse went to arrest him, they found him cleaning the clothes he had worn last night, and discovered in his room a part of the plunder. he denies it strenuously, but it seems a clear case." "there can be no doubt," said ellis, who had come into the room behind the reporter. "i saw the negro last night, at twelve o'clock, going into mr. delamere's yard, with a bundle in his hand." "he is the last negro i should have suspected," said carteret. "mr. delamere had implicit confidence in him." "all niggers are alike," remarked mcbane sententiously. "the only way to keep them from stealing is not to give them the chance. a nigger will steal a cent off a dead man's eye. he has assaulted and murdered a white woman,--an example should be made of him." carteret recalled very distinctly the presence of this negro at his own residence on the occasion of little theodore's christening dinner. he remembered having questioned the prudence of letting a servant know that mrs. ochiltree kept money in the house. mr. delamere had insisted strenuously upon the honesty of this particular negro. the whole race, in the major's opinion, was morally undeveloped, and only held within bounds by the restraining influence of the white people. under mr. delamere's thumb this sandy had been a model servant,--faithful, docile, respectful, and self-respecting; but mr. delamere had grown old, and had probably lost in a measure his moral influence over his servant. left to his own degraded ancestral instincts, sandy had begun to deteriorate, and a rapid decline had culminated in this robbery and murder,--and who knew what other horror? the criminal was a negro, the victim a white woman;--it was only reasonable to expect the worst. "he'll swing for it," observed the general. ellis went into another room, where his duty called him. "he should burn for it," averred mcbane. "i say, burn the nigger." "this," said carteret, "is something more than an ordinary crime, to be dealt with by the ordinary processes of law. it is a murderous and fatal assault upon a woman of our race,--upon our race in the person of its womanhood, its crown and flower. if such crimes are not punished with swift and terrible directness, the whole white womanhood of the south is in danger." "burn the nigger," repeated mcbane automatically. "neither is this a mere sporadic crime," carteret went on. "it is symptomatic; it is the logical and inevitable result of the conditions which have prevailed in this town for the past year. it is the last straw." "burn the nigger," reiterated mcbane. "we seem to have the right nigger, but whether we have or not, burn _a_ nigger. it is an assault upon the white race, in the person of old mrs. ochiltree, committed by the black race, in the person of some nigger. it would justify the white people in burning _any_ nigger. the example would be all the more powerful if we got the wrong one. it would serve notice on the niggers that we shall hold the whole race responsible for the misdeeds of each individual." "in ancient rome," said the general, "when a master was killed by a slave, all his slaves were put to the sword." "we couldn't afford that before the war," said mcbane, "but the niggers don't belong to anybody now, and there's nothing to prevent our doing as we please with them. a dead nigger is no loss to any white man. i say, burn the nigger." "i do not believe," said carteret, who had gone to the window and was looking out,--"i do not believe that we need trouble ourselves personally about his punishment. i should judge, from the commotion in the street, that the public will take the matter into its own hands. i, for one, would prefer that any violence, however justifiable, should take place without my active intervention." "it won't take place without mine, if i know it," exclaimed mcbane, starting for the door. "hold on a minute, captain," exclaimed carteret. "there's more at stake in this matter than the life of a black scoundrel. wellington is in the hands of negroes and scalawags. what better time to rescue it?" "it's a trifle premature," replied the general. "i should have preferred to have this take place, if it was to happen, say three months hence, on the eve of the election,--but discussion always provokes thirst with me; i wonder if i could get jerry to bring us some drinks?" carteret summoned the porter. jerry's usual manner had taken on an element of self-importance, resulting in what one might describe as a sort of condescending obsequiousness. though still a porter, he was also a hero, and wore his aureole. "jerry," said the general kindly, "the white people are very much pleased with the assistance you have given them in apprehending this scoundrel campbell. you have rendered a great public service, jerry, and we wish you to know that it is appreciated." "thank y', gin'l, thank y', suh! i alluz tries ter do my duty, suh, an' stan' by dem dat stan's by me. dat low-down nigger oughter be lynch', suh, don't you think, er e'se bu'nt? dere ain' nothin' too bad ter happen ter 'im." "no doubt he will be punished as he deserves, jerry," returned the general, "and we will see that you are suitably rewarded. go across the street and get me three calhoun cocktails. i seem to have nothing less than a two-dollar bill, but you may keep the change, jerry,--all the change." jerry was very happy. he had distinguished himself in the public view, for to jerry, as to the white people themselves, the white people were the public. he had won the goodwill of the best people, and had already begun to reap a tangible reward. it is true that several strange white men looked at him with lowering brows as he crossed the street, which was curiously empty of colored people; but he nevertheless went firmly forward, panoplied in the consciousness of his own rectitude, and serenely confident of the protection of the major and the major's friends. "jerry is about the only negro i have seen since nine o'clock," observed the general when the porter had gone. "if this were election day, where would the negro vote be?" "in hiding, where most of the negro population is to-day," answered mcbane. "it's a pity, if old mrs. ochiltree had to go this way, that it couldn't have been deferred a month or six weeks." carteret frowned at this remark, which, coming from mcbane, seemed lacking in human feeling, as well as in respect to his wife's dead relative. "but," resumed the general, "if this negro is lynched, as he well deserves to be, it will not be without its effect. we still have in reserve for the election a weapon which this affair will only render more effective. what became of the piece in the negro paper?" "i have it here," answered carteret. "i was just about to use it as the text for an editorial." "save it awhile longer," responded the general. "this crime itself will give you text enough for a four-volume work." when this conference ended, carteret immediately put into press an extra edition of the morning chronicle, which was soon upon the streets, giving details of the crime, which was characterized as an atrocious assault upon a defenseless old lady, whose age and sex would have protected her from harm at the hands of any one but a brute in the lowest human form. this event, the chronicle suggested, had only confirmed the opinion, which had been of late growing upon the white people, that drastic efforts were necessary to protect the white women of the south against brutal, lascivious, and murderous assaults at the hands of negro men. it was only another significant example of the results which might have been foreseen from the application of a false and pernicious political theory, by which ignorance, clothed in a little brief authority, was sought to be exalted over knowledge, vice over virtue, an inferior and degraded race above the heaven-crowned anglo-saxon. if an outraged people, justly infuriated, and impatient of the slow processes of the courts, should assert their inherent sovereignty, which the law after all was merely intended to embody, and should choose, in obedience to the higher law, to set aside, temporarily, the ordinary judicial procedure, it would serve as a warning and an example to the vicious elements of the community, of the swift and terrible punishment which would fall, like the judgment of god, upon any one who laid sacrilegious hands upon white womanhood. xxii how not to prevent a lynching dr. miller, who had sat up late the night before with a difficult case at the hospital, was roused, about eleven o'clock, from a deep and dreamless sleep. struggling back into consciousness, he was informed by his wife, who stood by his bedside, that mr. watson, the colored lawyer, wished to see him upon a matter of great importance. "nothing but a matter of life and death would make me get up just now," he said with a portentous yawn. "this is a matter of life and death," replied janet. "old mrs. polly ochiltree was robbed and murdered last night, and sandy campbell has been arrested for the crime,--and they are going to lynch him!" "tell watson to come right up," exclaimed miller, springing out of bed. "we can talk while i'm dressing." while miller made a hasty toilet watson explained the situation. campbell had been arrested on the charge of murder. he had been seen, during the night, in the neighborhood of the scene of the crime, by two different persons, a negro and a white man, and had been identified later while entering mr. delamere's house, where he lived, and where damning proofs of his guilt had been discovered; the most important item of which was an old-fashioned knit silk purse, recognized as mrs. ochiltree's, and several gold pieces of early coinage, of which the murdered woman was known to have a number. watson brought with him one of the first copies procurable of the extra edition of the chronicle, which contained these facts and further information. they were still talking when mrs. miller, knocking at the door, announced that big josh green wished to see the doctor about sandy campbell. miller took his collar and necktie in his hand and went downstairs, where josh sat waiting. "doctuh," said green, "de w'ite folks is talkin' 'bout lynchin' sandy campbell fer killin' ole mis' ochiltree. he never done it, an' dey oughtn' ter be 'lowed ter lynch 'im." "they ought not to lynch him, even if he committed the crime," returned miller, "but still less if he didn't. what do you know about it?" "i know he was wid me, suh, las' night, at de time when dey say ole mis' ochiltree wuz killed. we wuz down ter sam taylor's place, havin' a little game of kyards an' a little liquor. den we lef dere an' went up ez fur ez de corner er main an' vine streets, where we pa'ted, an' sandy went 'long to'ds home. mo'over, dey say he had on check' britches an' a blue coat. when sandy wuz wid me he had on gray clo's, an' when we sep'rated he wa'n't in no shape ter be changin' his clo's, let 'lone robbin' er killin' anybody." "your testimony ought to prove an alibi for him," declared miller. "dere ain' gwine ter be no chance ter prove nothin', 'less'n we kin do it mighty quick! dey say dey're gwine ter lynch 'im ter-night,--some on 'em is talkin' 'bout burnin' 'im. my idee is ter hunt up de niggers an' git 'em ter stan' tergether an' gyard de jail." "why shouldn't we go to the principal white people of the town and tell them josh's story, and appeal to them to stop this thing until campbell can have a hearing?" "it wouldn't do any good," said watson despondently; "their blood is up. it seems that some colored man attacked mrs. ochiltree,--and he was a murderous villain, whoever he may be. to quote josh would destroy the effect of his story,--we know he never harmed any one but himself"-- "an' a few keerliss people w'at got in my way," corrected josh. "he has been in court several times for fighting,--and that's against him. to have been at sam taylor's place is against sandy, too, rather than in his favor. no, josh, the white people would believe that you were trying to shield sandy, and you would probably be arrested as an accomplice." "but look a-here, mr. watson,--dr. miller, is we-all jes' got ter set down here, widout openin' ou' mouths, an' let dese w'ite folks hang er bu'n a man w'at we _know_ ain' guilty? dat ain't no law, ner jestice, ner nothin'! ef you-all won't he'p, i'll do somethin' myse'f! dere's two niggers ter one white man in dis town, an' i'm sho' i kin fin' fifty of 'em w'at 'll fight, ef dey kin fin' anybody ter lead 'em." "now hold on, josh," argued miller; "what is to be gained by fighting? suppose you got your crowd together and surrounded the jail,--what then?" "there'd be a clash," declared watson, "and instead of one dead negro there'd be fifty. the white people are claiming now that campbell didn't stop with robbery and murder. a special edition of the morning chronicle, just out, suggests a further purpose, and has all the old shopworn cant about race purity and supremacy and imperative necessity, which always comes to the front whenever it is sought to justify some outrage on the colored folks. the blood of the whites is up, i tell you!" "is there anything to that suggestion?" asked miller incredulously. "it doesn't matter whether there is or not," returned watson. "merely to suggest it proves it. "nothing was said about this feature until the paper came out,--and even its statement is vague and indefinite,--but now the claim is in every mouth. i met only black looks as i came down the street. white men with whom i have long been on friendly terms passed me without a word. a negro has been arrested on suspicion,--the entire race is condemned on general principles." "the whole thing is profoundly discouraging," said miller sadly. "try as we may to build up the race in the essentials of good citizenship and win the good opinion of the best people, some black scoundrel comes along, and by a single criminal act, committed in the twinkling of an eye, neutralizes the effect of a whole year's work." "it's mighty easy neut'alize', er whatever you call it," said josh sullenly. "de w'ite folks don' want too good an opinion er de niggers,--ef dey had a good opinion of 'em, dey wouldn' have no excuse f er 'busin' an' hangin' an' burnin' 'em. but ef dey can't keep from doin' it, let 'em git de right man! dis way er pickin' up de fus' nigger dey comes across, an' stringin' 'im up rega'dliss, ought ter be stop', an' stop' right now!" "yes, that's the worst of lynch law," said watson; "but we are wasting valuable time,--it's hardly worth while for us to discuss a subject we are all agreed upon. one of our race, accused of certain acts, is about to be put to death without judge or jury, ostensibly because he committed a crime,--really because he is a negro, for if he were white he would not be lynched. it is thus made a race issue, on the one side as well as on the other. what can we do to protect him?" "we kin fight, ef we haf ter," replied josh resolutely. "well, now, let us see. suppose the colored people armed themselves? messages would at once be sent to every town and county in the neighborhood. white men from all over the state, armed to the teeth, would at the slightest word pour into town on every railroad train, and extras would be run for their benefit." "they're already coming in," said watson. "we might go to the sheriff," suggested miller, "and demand that he telegraph the governor to call out the militia." "i spoke to the sheriff an hour ago," replied watson. "he has a white face and a whiter liver. he does not dare call out the militia to protect a negro charged with such a brutal crime;--and if he did, the militia are white men, and who can say that their efforts would not be directed to keeping the negroes out of the way, in order that the white devils might do their worst? the whole machinery of the state is in the hands of white men, elected partly by our votes. when the color line is drawn, if they choose to stand together with the rest of their race against us, or to remain passive and let the others work their will, we are helpless,--our cause is hopeless." "we might call on the general government," said miller. "surely the president would intervene." "such a demand would be of no avail," returned watson. "the government can only intervene under certain conditions, of which it must be informed through designated channels. it never sees anything that is not officially called to its attention. the whole negro population of the south might be slaughtered before the necessary red tape could be spun out to inform the president that a state of anarchy prevailed. there's no hope there." "den w'at we gwine ter do?" demanded josh indignantly; "jes' set here an' let 'em hang sandy, er bu'n 'im?" "god knows!" exclaimed miller. "the outlook is dark, but we should at least try to do something. there must be some white men in the town who would stand for law and order,--there's no possible chance for sandy to escape hanging by due process of law, if he is guilty. we might at least try half a dozen gentlemen." "we'd better leave josh here," said watson. "he's too truculent. if he went on the street he'd make trouble, and if he accompanied us he'd do more harm than good. wait for us here, josh, until we 'we seen what we can do. we'll be back in half an hour." in half an hour they had both returned. "it's no use," reported watson gloomily. "i called at the mayor's office and found it locked. he is doubtless afraid on his own account, and would not dream of asserting his authority. i then looked up judge everton, who has always seemed to be fair. my reception was cold. he admitted that lynching was, as a rule, unjustifiable, but maintained that there were exceptions to all rules,--that laws were made, after all, to express the will of the people in regard to the ordinary administration of justice, but that in an emergency the sovereign people might assert itself and take the law into its own hands,--the creature was not greater than the creator. he laughed at my suggestion that sandy was innocent. 'if he is innocent,' he said, 'then produce the real criminal. you negroes are standing in your own light when you try to protect such dastardly scoundrels as this campbell, who is an enemy of society and not fit to live. i shall not move in the matter. if a negro wants the protection of the law, let him obey the law.' a wise judge,--a second daniel come to judgment! if this were the law, there would be no need of judges or juries." "i called on dr. price," said miller, "my good friend dr. price, who would rather lie than hurt my feelings. 'miller,' he declared, 'this is no affair of mine, or yours. i have too much respect for myself and my profession to interfere in such a matter, and you will accomplish nothing, and only lessen your own influence, by having anything to say.' 'but the man may be innocent,' i replied; 'there is every reason to believe that he is.' he shook his head pityingly. 'you are self-deceived, miller; your prejudice has warped your judgment. the proof is overwhelming that he robbed this old lady, laid violent hands upon her, and left her dead. if he did no more, he has violated the written and unwritten law of the southern states. i could not save him if i would, miller, and frankly, i would not if i could. if he is innocent, his people can console themselves with the reflection that mrs. ochiltree was also innocent, and balance one crime against the other, the white against the black. of course i shall take no part in whatever may be done,--but it is not my affair, nor yours. take my advice, miller, and keep out of it.' "that is the situation," added miller, summing up. "their friendship for us, a slender stream at the best, dries up entirely when it strikes their prejudices. there is seemingly not one white man in wellington who will speak a word for law, order, decency, or humanity. those who do not participate will stand idly by and see an untried man deliberately and brutally murdered. race prejudice is the devil unchained." "well, den, suh," said josh, "where does we stan' now? w'at is we gwine ter do? i wouldn' min' fightin', fer my time ain't come yit,--i feels dat in my bones. w'at we gwine ter do, dat's w'at i wanter know." "what does old mr. delamere have to say about the matter?" asked miller suddenly. "why haven't we thought of him before? has he been seen?" "no," replied watson gloomily, "and for a good reason,--he is not in town. i came by the house just now, and learned that he went out to his country place yesterday afternoon, to remain a week. sandy was to have followed him out there this morning,--it's a pity he didn't go yesterday. the old gentleman has probably heard nothing about the matter." "how about young delamere?" "he went away early this morning, down the river, to fish. he'll probably not hear of it before night, and he's only a boy anyway, and could very likely do nothing," said watson. miller looked at his watch. "belleview is ten miles away," he said. "it is now eleven o'clock. i can drive out there in an hour and a half at the farthest. i'll go and see mr. delamere,--he can do more than any living man, if he is able to do anything at all. there's never been a lynching here, and one good white man, if he choose, may stem the flood long enough to give justice a chance. keep track of the white people while i'm gone, watson; and you, josh, learn what the colored folks are saying, and do nothing rash until i return. in the meantime, do all that you can to find out who did commit this most atrocious murder." xxiii belleview miller did not reach his destination without interruption. at one point a considerable stretch of the road was under repair, which made it necessary for him to travel slowly. his horse cast a shoe, and threatened to go lame; but in the course of time he arrived at the entrance gate of belleview, entering which he struck into a private road, bordered by massive oaks, whose multitudinous branches, hung with long streamers of trailing moss, formed for much of the way a thick canopy above his head. it took him only a few minutes to traverse the quarter of a mile that lay between the entrance gate and the house itself. this old colonial plantation, rich in legendary lore and replete with historic distinction, had been in the delamere family for nearly two hundred years. along the bank of the river which skirted its domain the famous pirate blackbeard had held high carnival, and was reputed to have buried much treasure, vague traditions of which still lingered among the negroes and poor-whites of the country roundabout. the beautiful residence, rising white and stately in a grove of ancient oaks, dated from , and was built of brick which had been brought from england. enlarged and improved from generation to generation, it stood, like a baronial castle, upon a slight eminence from which could be surveyed the large demesne still belonging to the estate, which had shrunk greatly from its colonial dimensions. while still embracing several thousand acres, part forest and part cleared land, it had not of late years been profitable; in spite of which mr. delamere, with the conservatism of his age and caste, had never been able to make up his mind to part with any considerable portion of it. his grandson, he imagined, could make the estate pay and yet preserve it in its integrity. here, in pleasant weather, surrounded by the scenes which he loved, old mr. delamere spent much of the time during his declining years. dr. miller had once passed a day at belleview, upon mr. delamere's invitation. for this old-fashioned gentleman, whose ideals not even slavery had been able to spoil, regarded himself as a trustee for the great public, which ought, in his opinion, to take as much pride as he in the contemplation of this historic landmark. in earlier years mr. delamere had been a practicing lawyer, and had numbered miller's father among his clients. he had always been regarded as friendly to the colored people, and, until age and ill health had driven him from active life, had taken a lively interest in their advancement since the abolition of slavery. upon the public opening of miller's new hospital, he had made an effort to be present, and had made a little speech of approval and encouragement which had manifested his kindliness and given miller much pleasure. it was with the consciousness, therefore, that he was approaching a friend, as well as sandy's master, that miller's mind was chiefly occupied as his tired horse, scenting the end of his efforts, bore him with a final burst of speed along the last few rods of the journey; for the urgency of miller's errand, involving as it did the issues of life and death, did not permit him to enjoy the charm of mossy oak or forest reaches, or even to appreciate the noble front of belleview house when it at last loomed up before him. "well, william," said mr. delamere, as he gave his hand to miller from the armchair in which he was seated under the broad and stately portico, "i didn't expect to see you out here. you'll excuse my not rising,--i'm none too firm on my legs. did you see anything of my man sandy back there on the road? he ought to have been here by nine o'clock, and it's now one. sandy is punctuality itself, and i don't know how to account for his delay." clearly there need be no time wasted in preliminaries. mr. delamere had gone directly to the subject in hand. "he will not be here to-day, sir," replied miller. "i have come to you on his account." in a few words miller stated the situation. "preposterous!" exclaimed the old gentleman, with more vigor than miller had supposed him to possess. "sandy is absolutely incapable of such a crime as robbery, to say nothing of murder; and as for the rest, that is absurd upon the face of it! and so the poor old woman is dead! well, well, well! she could not have lived much longer anyway; but sandy did not kill her,--it's simply impossible! why, _i_ raised that boy! he was born on my place. i'd as soon believe such a thing of my own grandson as of sandy! no negro raised by a delamere would ever commit such a crime. i really believe, william, that sandy has the family honor of the delameres quite as much at heart as i have. just tell them i say sandy is innocent, and it will be all right." "i'm afraid, sir," rejoined miller, who kept his voice up so that the old gentleman could understand without having it suggested that miller knew he was hard of hearing, "that you don't quite appreciate the situation. _i_ believe sandy innocent; _you_ believe him innocent; but there are suspicious circumstances which do not explain themselves, and the white people of the city believe him guilty, and are going to lynch him before he has a chance to clear himself." "why doesn't he explain the suspicious circumstances?" asked mr. delamere. "sandy is truthful and can be believed. i would take sandy's word as quickly as another man's oath." "he has no chance to explain," said miller. "the case is prejudged. a crime has been committed. sandy is charged with it. he is black, and therefore he is guilty. no colored lawyer would be allowed in the jail, if one should dare to go there. no white lawyer will intervene. he'll be lynched to-night, without judge, jury, or preacher, unless we can stave the thing off for a day or two." "have you seen my grandson?" asked the old gentleman. "is he not looking after sandy?" "no, sir. it seems he went down the river this morning to fish, before the murder was discovered; no one knows just where he has gone, or at what hour he will return." "well, then," said mr. delamere, rising from his chair with surprising vigor, "i shall have to go myself. no faithful servant of mine shall be hanged for a crime he didn't commit, so long as i have a voice to speak or a dollar to spend. there'll be no trouble after i get there, william. the people are naturally wrought up at such a crime. a fine old woman,--she had some detestable traits, and i was always afraid she wanted to marry me, but she was of an excellent family and had many good points,--an old woman of one of the best families, struck down by the hand of a murderer! you must remember, william, that blood is thicker than water, and that the provocation is extreme, and that a few hotheads might easily lose sight of the great principles involved and seek immediate vengeance, without too much discrimination. but they are good people, william, and when i have spoken, and they have an opportunity for the sober second thought, they will do nothing rashly, but will wait for the operation of the law, which will, of course, clear sandy." "i'm sure i hope so," returned miller. "shall i try to drive you back, sir, or will you order your own carriage?" "my horses are fresher, william, and i'll have them brought around. you can take the reins, if you will,--i'm rather old to drive,--and my man will come behind with your buggy." in a few minutes they set out along the sandy road. having two fresh horses, they made better headway than miller had made coming out, and reached wellington easily by three o'clock. "i think, william," said mr. delamere, as they drove into the town, "that i had first better talk with sandy. he may be able to explain away the things that seem to connect him with this atrocious affair; and that will put me in a better position to talk to other people about it." miller drove directly to the county jail. thirty or forty white men, who seemed to be casually gathered near the door, closed up when the carriage approached. the sheriff, who had seen them from the inside, came to the outer door and spoke to the visitor through a grated wicket. "mr. wemyss," said mr. delamere, when he had made his way to the entrance with the aid of his cane, "i wish to see my servant, sandy campbell, who is said to be in your custody." the sheriff hesitated. meantime there was some parleying in low tones among the crowd outside. no one interfered, however, and in a moment the door opened sufficiently to give entrance to the old gentleman, after which it closed quickly and clangorously behind him. feeling no desire to linger in the locality, miller, having seen his companion enter the jail, drove the carriage round to mr. delamere's house, and leaving it in charge of a servant with instructions to return for his master in a quarter of an hour, hastened to his own home to meet watson and josh and report the result of his efforts. xxiv two southern gentlemen the iron bolt rattled in the lock, the door of a cell swung open, and when mr. delamere had entered was quickly closed again. "well, sandy!" "oh, mars john! is you fell from hebben ter he'p me out er here? i prayed de lawd ter sen' you, an' he answered my prayer, an' here you is, mars john,--here you is! oh, mars john, git me out er dis place!" "tut, tut, sandy!" answered his master; "of course i'll get you out. that's what i've come for. how in the world did such a mistake ever happen? you would no more commit such a crime than i would!" "no, suh, 'deed i wouldn', an' you know i wouldn'! i wouldn' want ter bring no disgrace on de fam'ly dat raise' me, ner ter make no trouble fer you, suh; but here i is, suh, lock' up in jail, an' folks talkin' 'bout hangin' me fer somethin' dat never entered my min', suh. i swea' ter god i never thought er sech a thing!" "of course you didn't, sandy," returned mr. delamere soothingly; "and now the next thing, and the simplest thing, is to get you out of this. i'll speak to the officers, and at the preliminary hearing to-morrow i'll tell them all about you, and they will let you go. you won't mind spending one night in jail for your sins." "no, suh, ef i wuz sho' i'd be 'lowed ter spen' it here. but dey say dey 're gwine ter lynch me ternight,--i kin hear 'em talkin' f'm de winders er de cell, suh." "well, _i_ say, sandy, that they shall do no such thing! lynch a man brought up by a delamere, for a crime of which he is innocent? preposterous! i'll speak to the authorities and see that you are properly protected until this mystery is unraveled. if tom had been here, he would have had you out before now, sandy. my grandson is a genuine delamere, is he not, sandy?" "yas, suh, yas, suh," returned sandy, with a lack of enthusiasm which he tried to conceal from his master. "an' i s'pose ef he hadn' gone fishin' so soon dis mawnin', he'd 'a' be'n lookin' after me, suh." "it has been my love for him and your care of me, sandy," said the old gentleman tremulously, "that have kept me alive so long; but now explain to me everything concerning this distressing matter, and i shall then be able to state your case to better advantage." "well, suh," returned sandy, "i mought's well tell de whole tale an' not hol' nothin' back. i wuz kind er lonesome las' night, an' sence i be'n tu'ned outen de chu'ch on account er dat cakewalk i didn' go ter, so he'p me god! i didn' feel like gwine ter prayer-meetin', so i went roun' ter see solomon williams, an' he wa'n't home, an' den i walk' down street an' met josh green, an' he ax' me inter sam taylor's place, an' i sot roun' dere wid josh till 'bout 'leven o'clock, w'en i sta'ted back home. i went straight ter de house, suh, an' went ter bed an' ter sleep widout sayin' a wo'd ter a single soul excep' mistuh tom, who wuz settin' up readin' a book w'en i come in. i wish i may drap dead in my tracks, suh, ef dat ain't de god's truf, suh, eve'y wo'd of it!" "i believe every word of it, sandy; now tell me about the clothes that you are said to have been found cleaning, and the suspicious articles that were found in your room?" "dat's w'at beats me, mars john," replied sandy, shaking his head mournfully. "wen i lef home las' night after supper, my clo's wuz all put erway in de closet in my room, folded up on de she'f ter keep de moths out. dey wuz my good clo's,--de blue coat dat you wo' ter de weddin' fo'ty years ago, an' dem dere plaid pants i gun mistuh cohen fo' dollars fer three years ago; an' w'en i looked in my closet dis mawnin', suh, befo' i got ready ter sta't fer belleview, dere wuz my clo's layin' on de flo', all muddy an' crumple' up, des lack somebody had wo' 'em in a fight! somebody e'se had wo' my clo's,--er e'se dere'd be'n some witchcraf, er some sort er devilment gwine on dat i can't make out, suh, ter save my soul!" "there was no witchcraft, sandy, but that there was some deviltry might well be. now, what other negro, who might have been mistaken for you, could have taken your clothes? surely no one about the house?" "no, suh, no, suh. it couldn't 'a' be'n jeff, fer he wuz at belleview wid you; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n billy, fer he wuz too little ter wear my clo's; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n sally, fer she's a 'oman. it's a myst'ry ter me, suh!" "have you no enemies? is there any one in wellington whom you imagine would like to do you an injury?" "not a livin' soul dat i knows of, suh. i've be'n tu'ned out'n de chu'ch, but i don' know who my enemy is dere, er ef it wuz all a mistake, like dis yer jailin' is; but de debbil is in dis somewhar, mars john,--an' i got my reasons fer sayin' so." "what do you mean, sandy?" sandy related his experience of the preceding evening: how he had seen the apparition preceding him to the house, and how he had questioned tom upon the subject. "there's some mystery here, sandy," said mr. delamere reflectively. "have you told me all, now, upon your honor? i am trying to save your life, sandy, and i must be able to trust your word implicitly. you must tell me every circumstance; a very little and seemingly unimportant bit of evidence may sometimes determine the issue of a great lawsuit. there is one thing especially, sandy: where did you get the gold which was found in your trunk?" sandy's face lit up with hopefulness. "why, mars john, i kin 'splain dat part easy. dat wuz money i had lent out, an' i got back f'm--but no, suh, i promise' not ter tell." "circumstances absolve you from your promise, sandy. your life is of more value to you than any other thing. if you will explain where you got the gold, and the silk purse that contained it, which is said to be mrs. ochiltree's, you will be back home before night." old mr. delamere's faculties, which had been waning somewhat in sympathy with his health, were stirred to unusual acuteness by his servant's danger. he was watching sandy with all the awakened instincts of the trial lawyer. he could see clearly enough that, in beginning to account for the possession of the gold, sandy had started off with his explanation in all sincerity. at the mention of the silk purse, however, his face had blanched to an ashen gray, and the words had frozen upon his lips. a less discerning observer might have taken these things as signs of guilt, but not so mr. delamere. "well, sandy," said his master encouragingly, "go on. you got the gold from"-- sandy remained silent. he had had a great shock, and had taken a great resolution. "mars john," he asked dreamily, "you don' b'lieve dat i done dis thing?" "certainly not, sandy, else why should i be here?" "an' nothin' wouldn' make you b'lieve it, suh?" "no, sandy,--i could not believe it of you. i've known you too long and too well." "an' you wouldn' b'lieve it, not even ef i wouldn' say one wo'd mo' about it?" "no, sandy, i believe you no more capable of this crime than i would be,--or my grandson, tom. i wish tom were here, that he might help me overcome your stubbornness; but you'll not be so foolish, so absurdly foolish, sandy, as to keep silent and risk your life merely to shield some one else, when by speaking you might clear up this mystery and be restored at once to liberty. just tell me where you got the gold," added the old gentleman persuasively. "come, now, sandy, that's a good fellow!" "mars john," asked sandy softly, "w'en my daddy, 'way back yander befo' de wah, wuz about ter be sol' away f'm his wife an' child'en, you bought him an' dem, an' kep' us all on yo' place tergether, didn't you, suh?" "yes, sandy, and he was a faithful servant, and proved worthy of all i did for him." "and w'en he had wo'ked fer you ten years, suh, you sot 'im free?" "yes, sandy, he had earned his freedom." "an' w'en de wah broke out, an' my folks wuz scattered, an' i didn' have nothin' ter do ner nowhar ter go, you kep' me on yo' place, and tuck me ter wait on you, suh, didn't you?" "yes, sandy, and you have been a good servant and a good friend; but tell me now about this gold, and i'll go and get you out of this, right away, for i need you, sandy, and you'll not be of any use to me shut up here!" "jes' hol' on a minute befo' you go, mars john; fer ef dem people outside should git holt er me befo' you _does_ git me out er here, i may never see you no mo', suh, in dis worl'. w'en mars billy mclean shot me by mistake, w'ile we wuz out huntin' dat day, who wuz it boun' up my woun's an' kep' me from bleedin' ter def, an' kyar'ed me two miles on his own shoulders ter a doctuh?" "yes, sandy, and when black sally ran away with your young mistress and tom, when tom was a baby, who stopped the runaway, and saved their lives at the risk of his own?" "dat wa'n't nothin', suh; anybody could 'a' done dat, w'at wuz strong ernuff an' swif' ernuff. you is be'n good ter me, suh, all dese years, an' i've tried ter do my duty by you, suh, an' by mistuh tom, who wuz yo' own gran'son, an' de las' one er de fam'ly." "yes, you have, sandy, and when i am gone, which will not be very long, tom will take care of you, and see that you never want. but we are wasting valuable time, sandy, in these old reminiscences. let us get back to the present. tell me about the gold, now, so that i may at once look after your safety. it may not even be necessary for you to remain here all night." "jes' one wo'd mo', mars john, befo' you go! i know you're gwine ter do de bes' you kin fer me, an' i'm sorry i can't he'p you no mo' wid it; but ef dere should be any accident, er ef you _can't_ git me out er here, don' bother yo' min' 'bout it no mo', suh, an' don' git yo'se'f ixcited, fer you know de doctuh says, suh, dat you can't stan' ixcitement; but jes' leave me in de han's er de lawd, suh,--_he'll_ look after me, here er hereafter. i know i've fell f'm grace mo' d'n once, but i've done made my peace wid him in dis here jail-house, suh, an' i ain't 'feared ter die--ef i haf ter. i ain' got no wife ner child'n ter mo'n fer me, an' i'll die knowin' dat i've done my duty ter dem dat hi'ed me, an' trusted me, an' had claims on me. fer i wuz raise' by a delamere, suh, an' all de ole delameres wuz gent'emen, an' deir principles spread ter de niggers 'round 'em, suh; an' ef i has ter die fer somethin' i didn' do,--i kin die, suh, like a gent'eman! but ez fer dat gol', suh, i ain' gwine ter say one wo'd mo' 'bout it ter nobody in dis worl'!" nothing could shake sandy's determination. mr. delamere argued, expostulated, but all in vain. sandy would not speak. more and more confident of some mystery, which would come out in time, if properly investigated, mr. delamere, strangely beset by a vague sense of discomfort over and beyond that occasioned by his servant's danger, hurried away upon his errand of mercy. he felt less confident of the outcome than when he had entered the jail, but was quite as much resolved that no effort should be spared to secure protection for sandy until there had been full opportunity for the truth to become known. "take good care of your prisoner, sheriff," he said sternly, as he was conducted to the door. "he will not be long in your custody, and i shall see that you are held strictly accountable for his safety." "i'll do what i can, sir," replied the sheriff in an even tone and seemingly not greatly impressed by this warning. "if the prisoner is taken from me, it will be because the force that comes for him is too strong for resistance." "there should be no force too strong for an honest man in your position to resist,--whether successfully or not is beyond the question. the officer who is intimidated by threats, or by his own fears, is recreant to his duty, and no better than the mob which threatens him. but you will have no such test, mr. wemyss! i shall see to it myself that there is no violence!" xxv the honor of a family mr. delamere's coachman, who, in accordance with instructions left by miller, had brought the carriage around to the jail and was waiting anxiously at the nearest corner, drove up with some trepidation as he saw his master emerge from the prison. the old gentleman entered the carriage and gave the order to be driven to the office of the morning chronicle. according to jerry, the porter, whom he encountered at the door, carteret was in his office, and mr. delamere, with the aid of his servant, climbed the stairs painfully and found the editor at his desk. "carteret," exclaimed mr. delamere, "what is all this talk about lynching my man for murder and robbery and criminal assault? it's perfectly absurd! the man was raised by me; he has lived in my house forty years. he has been honest, faithful, and trustworthy. he would no more be capable of this crime than you would, or my grandson tom. sandy has too much respect for the family to do anything that would reflect disgrace upon it." "my dear mr. delamere," asked carteret, with an indulgent smile, "how could a negro possibly reflect discredit upon a white family? i should really like to know." "how, sir? a white family raised him. like all the negroes, he has been clay in the hands of the white people. they are what we have made them, or permitted them to become." "we are not god, mr. delamere! we do not claim to have created these--masterpieces." "no; but we thought to overrule god's laws, and we enslaved these people for our greed, and sought to escape the manstealer's curse by laying to our souls the flattering unction that we were making of barbarous negroes civilized and christian men. if we did not, if instead of making them christians we have made some of them brutes, we have only ourselves to blame, and if these prey upon society, it is our just punishment! but my negroes, carteret, were well raised and well behaved. this man is innocent of this offense, i solemnly affirm, and i want your aid to secure his safety until a fair trial can be had." "on your bare word, sir?" asked carteret, not at all moved by this outburst. old mr. delamere trembled with anger, and his withered cheek flushed darkly, but he restrained his feelings, and answered with an attempt at calmness:-- "time was, sir, when the word of a delamere was held as good as his bond, and those who questioned it were forced to maintain their skepticism upon the field of honor. time was, sir, when the law was enforced in this state in a manner to command the respect of the world! our lawyers, our judges, our courts, were a credit to humanity and civilization. i fear i have outlasted my epoch,--i have lived to hear of white men, the most favored of races, the heirs of civilization, the conservators of liberty, howling like red indians around a human being slowly roasting at the stake." "my dear sir," said carteret soothingly, "you should undeceive yourself. this man is no longer your property. the negroes are no longer under our control, and with their emancipation ceased our responsibility. their insolence and disregard for law have reached a point where they must be sternly rebuked." "the law," retorted mr. delamere, "furnishes a sufficient penalty for any crime, however heinous, and our code is by no means lenient. to my old-fashioned notions, death would seem an adequate punishment for any crime, and torture has been abolished in civilized countries for a hundred years. it would be better to let a crime go entirely unpunished, than to use it as a pretext for turning the whole white population into a mob of primitive savages, dancing in hellish glee around the mangled body of a man who has never been tried for a crime. all this, however, is apart from my errand, which is to secure your assistance in heading off this mob until sandy can have a fair hearing and an opportunity to prove his innocence." "how can i do that, mr. delamere?" "you are editor of the morning chronicle. the chronicle is the leading newspaper of the city. this morning's issue practically suggested the mob; the same means will stop it. i will pay the expense of an extra edition, calling off the mob, on the ground that newly discovered evidence has shown the prisoner's innocence." "but where is the evidence?" asked carteret. again mr. delamere flushed and trembled. "my evidence, sir! i say the negro was morally incapable of the crime. a man of forty-five does not change his nature over-night. he is no more capable of a disgraceful deed than my grandson would be!" carteret smiled sadly. "i am sorry, mr. delamere," he said, "that you should permit yourself to be so exercised about a worthless scoundrel who has forfeited his right to live. the proof against him is overwhelming. as to his capability of crime, we will apply your own test. you have been kept in the dark too long, mr. delamere,--indeed, we all have,--about others as well as this negro. listen, sir: last night, at the clarendon club, tom delamere was caught cheating outrageously at cards. he had been suspected for some time; a trap was laid for him, and be fell into it. out of regard for you and for my family, he has been permitted to resign quietly, with the understanding that he first pay off his debts, which are considerable." mr. delamere's face, which had taken on some color in the excitement of the interview, had gradually paled to a chalky white while carteret was speaking. his head sunk forward; already an old man, he seemed to have aged ten years in but little more than as many seconds. "can this be true?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "is it--entirely authentic?" "true as gospel; true as it is that mrs. ochiltree has been murdered, and that this negro killed her. ellis was at the club a few minutes after the affair happened, and learned the facts from one of the participants. tom made no attempt at denial. we have kept the matter out of the other papers, and i would have spared your feelings,--i surely would not wish to wound them,--but the temptation proved too strong for me, and it seemed the only way to convince you: it was your own test. if a gentleman of a distinguished name and an honorable ancestry, with all the restraining forces of social position surrounding him, to hold him in check, can stoop to dishonor, what is the improbability of an illiterate negro's being at least capable of crime?" "enough, sir," said the old gentleman. "you have proved enough. my grandson may be a scoundrel,--i can see, in the light of this revelation, how he might be; and he seems not to have denied it. i maintain, nevertheless, that my man sandy is innocent of the charge against him. he has denied it, and it has not been proved. carteret, i owe that negro my life; he, and his father before him, have served me and mine faithfully and well. i cannot see him killed like a dog, without judge or jury,--no, not even if he were guilty, which i do not believe!" carteret felt a twinge of remorse for the pain he had inflicted upon this fine old man, this ideal gentleman of the ideal past,--the past which he himself so much admired and regretted. he would like to spare his old friend any further agitation; he was in a state of health where too great excitement might prove fatal. but how could he? the negro was guilty, and sure to die sooner or later. he had not meant to interfere, and his intervention might be fruitless. "mr. delamere," he said gently, "there is but one way to gain time. you say the negro is innocent. appearances are against him. the only way to clear him is to produce the real criminal, or prove an alibi. if you, or some other white man of equal standing, could swear that the negro was in your presence last night at any hour when this crime could have taken place, it might be barely possible to prevent the lynching for the present; and when he is tried, which will probably be not later than next week, he will have every opportunity to defend himself, with you to see that he gets no less than justice. i think it can be managed, though there is still a doubt. i will do my best, for your sake, mr. delamere,--solely for your sake, be it understood, and not for that of the negro, in whom you are entirely deceived." "i shall not examine your motives, carteret," replied the other, "if you can bring about what i desire." "whatever is done," added carteret, "must be done quickly. it is now four o'clock; no one can answer for what may happen after seven. if he can prove an alibi, there may yet be time to save him. white men might lynch a negro on suspicion; they would not kill a man who was proven, by the word of white men, to be entirely innocent." "i do not know," returned mr. delamere, shaking his head sadly. "after what you have told me, it is no longer safe to assume what white men will or will not do;--what i have learned here has shaken my faith in humanity. i am going away, but shall return in a short time. shall i find you here?" "i will await your return," said carteret. he watched mr. delamere pityingly as the old man moved away on the arm of the coachman waiting in the hall. he did not believe that mr. delamere could prove an alibi for his servant, and without some positive proof the negro would surely die,--as he well deserved to die. xxvi the discomfort of ellis mr. ellis was vaguely uncomfortable. in the first excitement following the discovery of the crime, he had given his bit of evidence, and had shared the universal indignation against the murderer. when public feeling took definite shape in the intention to lynch the prisoner, ellis felt a sudden sense of responsibility growing upon himself. when he learned, an hour later, that it was proposed to burn the negro, his part in the affair assumed a still graver aspect; for his had been the final word to fix the prisoner's guilt. ellis did not believe in lynch law. he had argued against it, more than once, in private conversation, and had written several editorials against the practice, while in charge of the morning chronicle during major carteret's absence. a young man, however, and merely representing another, he had not set up as a reformer, taking rather the view that this summary method of punishing crime, with all its possibilities of error, to say nothing of the resulting disrespect of the law and contempt for the time-honored methods of establishing guilt, was a mere temporary symptom of the unrest caused by the unsettled relations of the two races at the south. there had never before been any special need for any vigorous opposition to lynch law, so far as the community was concerned, for there had not been a lynching in wellington since ellis had come there, eight years before, from a smaller town, to seek a place for himself in the world of action. twenty years before, indeed, there had been wild doings, during the brief ku-klux outbreak, but that was before ellis's time,--or at least when he was but a child. he had come of a quaker family,--the modified quakers of the south,--and while sharing in a general way the southern prejudice against the negro, his prejudices had been tempered by the peaceful tenets of his father's sect. his father had been a whig, and a non-slaveholder; and while he had gone with the south in the civil war so far as a man of peace could go, he had not done so for love of slavery. as the day wore on, ellis's personal responsibility for the intended _auto-da-fé_ bore more heavily upon him. suppose he had been wrong? he had seen the accused negro; he had recognized him by his clothes, his whiskers, his spectacles, and his walk; but he had also seen another man, who resembled sandy so closely that but for the difference in their clothes, he was forced to acknowledge, he could not have told them apart. had he not seen the first man, he would have sworn with even greater confidence that the second was sandy. there had been, he recalled, about one of the men--he had not been then nor was he now able to tell which--something vaguely familiar, and yet seemingly discordant to whichever of the two it was, or, as it seemed to him now, to any man of that race. his mind reverted to the place where he had last seen sandy, and then a sudden wave of illumination swept over him, and filled him with a thrill of horror. the cakewalk,--the dancing,--the speech,--they were not sandy's at all, nor any negro's! it was a white man who had stood in the light of the street lamp, so that the casual passer-by might see and recognize in him old mr. delamere's servant. the scheme was a dastardly one, and worthy of a heart that was something worse than weak and vicious. ellis resolved that the negro should not, if he could prevent it, die for another's crime; but what proof had he himself to offer in support of his theory? then again, if he denounced tom delamere as the murderer, it would involve, in all probability, the destruction of his own hopes with regard to clara. of course she could not marry delamere after the disclosure,--the disgraceful episode at the club would have been enough to make that reasonably certain; it had put a nail in delamere's coffin, but this crime had driven it in to the head and clinched it. on the other hand, would miss pemberton ever speak again to the man who had been the instrument of bringing disgrace upon the family? spies, detectives, police officers, may be useful citizens, but they are rarely pleasant company for other people. we fee the executioner, but we do not touch his bloody hand. we might feel a certain tragic admiration for brutus condemning his sons to death, but we would scarcely invite brutus to dinner after the event. it would harrow our feelings too much. perhaps, thought ellis, there might be a way out of the dilemma. it might be possible to save this innocent negro without, for the time being, involving delamere. he believed that murder will out, but it need not be through his initiative. he determined to go to the jail and interview the prisoner, who might give such an account of himself as would establish his innocence beyond a doubt. if so, ellis would exert himself to stem the tide of popular fury. if, as a last resort, he could save sandy only by denouncing delamere, he would do his duty, let it cost him what it might. the gravity of his errand was not lessened by what he saw and heard on the way to the jail. the anger of the people was at a white heat. a white woman had been assaulted and murdered by a brutal negro. neither advanced age, nor high social standing, had been able to protect her from the ferocity of a black savage. her sex, which should have been her shield and buckler, had made her an easy mark for the villainy of a black brute. to take the time to try him would be a criminal waste of public money. to hang him would be too slight a punishment for so dastardly a crime. an example must be made. already the preparations were under way for the impending execution. a t-rail from the railroad yard had been procured, and men were burying it in the square before the jail. others were bringing chains, and a load of pine wood was piled in convenient proximity. some enterprising individual had begun the erection of seats from which, for a pecuniary consideration, the spectacle might be the more easily and comfortably viewed. ellis was stopped once or twice by persons of his acquaintance. from one he learned that the railroads would run excursions from the neighboring towns in order to bring spectators to the scene; from another that the burning was to take place early in the evening, so that the children might not be kept up beyond their usual bedtime. in one group that he passed he heard several young men discussing the question of which portions of the negro's body they would prefer for souvenirs. ellis shuddered and hastened forward. whatever was to be done must be done quickly, or it would be too late. he saw that already it would require a strong case in favor of the accused to overcome the popular verdict. going up the steps of the jail, he met mr. delamere, who was just coming out, after a fruitless interview with sandy. "mr. ellis," said the old gentleman, who seemed greatly agitated, "this is monstrous!" "it is indeed, sir!" returned the younger man. "i mean to stop it if i can. the negro did not kill mrs. ochiltree." mr. delamere looked at ellis keenly, and, as ellis recalled afterwards, there was death in his eyes. unable to draw a syllable from sandy, he had found his servant's silence more eloquent than words. ellis felt a presentiment that this affair, however it might terminate, would be fatal to this fine old man, whom the city could ill spare, in spite of his age and infirmities. "mr. ellis," asked mr. delamere, in a voice which trembled with ill-suppressed emotion, "do you know who killed her?" ellis felt a surging pity for his old friend; but every step that he had taken toward the jail had confirmed and strengthened his own resolution that this contemplated crime, which he dimly felt to be far more atrocious than that of which sandy was accused, in that it involved a whole community rather than one vicious man, should be stopped at any cost. deplorable enough had the negro been guilty, it became, in view of his certain innocence, an unspeakable horror, which for all time would cover the city with infamy. "mr. delamere," he replied, looking the elder man squarely in the eyes, "i think i do,--and i am very sorry." "and who was it, mr. ellis?" he put the question hopelessly, as though the answer were a foregone conclusion. "i do not wish to say at present," replied ellis, with a remorseful pang, "unless it becomes absolutely necessary, to save the negro's life. accusations are dangerous,--as this case proves,--unless the proof, be certain." for a moment it seemed as though mr. delamere would collapse upon the spot. rallying almost instantly, however, he took the arm which ellis involuntarily offered, and said with an effort:-- "mr. ellis, you are a gentleman whom it is an honor to know. if you have time, i wish you would go with me to my house,--i can hardly trust myself alone,--and thence to the chronicle office. this thing shall be stopped, and you will help me stop it." it required but a few minutes to cover the half mile that lay between the prison and mr. delamere's residence. xxvii the vagaries of the higher law mr. delamere went immediately to his grandson's room, which he entered alone, closing and locking the door behind him. he had requested ellis to wait in the carriage. the bed had been made, and the room was apparently in perfect order. there was a bureau in the room, through which mr. delamere proceeded to look thoroughly. finding one of the drawers locked, he tried it with a key of his own, and being unable to unlock it, took a poker from beside the stove and broke it ruthlessly open. the contents served to confirm what he had heard concerning his grandson's character. thrown together in disorderly confusion were bottles of wine and whiskey; soiled packs of cards; a dice-box with dice; a box of poker chips, several revolvers, and a number of photographs and paper-covered books at which the old gentleman merely glanced to ascertain their nature. so far, while his suspicion had been strengthened, he had found nothing to confirm it. he searched the room more carefully, and found, in the wood-box by the small heating-stove which stood in the room, a torn and crumpled bit of paper. stooping to pick this up, his eye caught a gleam of something yellow beneath the bureau, which lay directly in his line of vision. first he smoothed out the paper. it was apparently the lower half of a label, or part of the cover of a small box, torn diagonally from corner to corner. from the business card at the bottom, which gave the name, of a firm of manufacturers of theatrical supplies in a northern city, and from the letters remaining upon the upper and narrower half, the bit of paper had plainly formed part of the wrapper of a package of burnt cork. closing his fingers spasmodically over this damning piece of evidence, mr. delamere knelt painfully, and with the aid of his cane drew out from under the bureau the yellow object which, had attracted his attention. it was a five-dollar gold piece of a date back toward the beginning of the century. to make assurance doubly sure, mr. delamere summoned the cook from the kitchen in the back yard. in answer to her master's questions, sally averred that mr. tom had got up very early, had knocked at her window,--she slept in a room off the kitchen in the yard,--and had told her that she need not bother about breakfast for him, as he had had a cold bite from the pantry; that he was going hunting and fishing, and would be gone all day. according to sally, mr. tom had come in about ten o'clock the night before. he had forgotten his night-key, sandy was out, and she had admitted him with her own key. he had said that he was very tired and was going, immediately to bed. mr. delamere seemed perplexed; the crime had been committed later in the evening than ten o'clock. the cook cleared up the mystery. "i reckon he must 'a' be'n dead ti'ed, suh, fer i went back ter his room fifteen er twenty minutes after he come in fer ter fin' out w'at he wanted fer breakfus'; an' i knock' two or three times, rale ha'd, an' mistuh tom didn' wake up no mo' d'n de dead. he sho'ly had a good sleep, er he'd never 'a' got up so ea'ly." "thank you, sally," said mr. delamere, when the woman had finished, "that will do." "will you be home ter suppah, suh?" asked the cook. "yes." it was a matter of the supremest indifference to mr. delamere whether he should ever eat again, but he would not betray his feelings to a servant. in a few minutes he was driving rapidly with ellis toward the office of the morning chronicle. ellis could see that mr. delamere had discovered something of tragic import. neither spoke. ellis gave all his attention to the horses, and mr. delamere remained wrapped in his own sombre reflections. when they reached the office, they were informed by jerry that major carteret was engaged with general belmont and captain mcbane. mr. delamere knocked peremptorily at the door of the inner office, which was opened by carteret in person. "oh, it is you, mr. delamere." "carteret," exclaimed mr. delamere, "i must speak to you immediately, and alone." "excuse me a moment, gentlemen," said carteret, turning to those within the room. "i'll be back in a moment--don't go away." ellis had left the room, closing the door behind him. mr. delamere and carteret were quite alone. "carteret," declared the old gentleman, "this murder must not take place." "'murder' is a hard word," replied the editor, frowning slightly. "it is the right word," rejoined mr. delamere, decidedly. "it would be a foul and most unnatural murder, for sandy did not kill mrs. ochiltree." carteret with difficulty restrained a smile of pity. his old friend was very much excited, as the tremor in his voice gave proof. the criminal was his trusted servant, who had proved unworthy of confidence. no one could question mr. delamere's motives; but he was old, his judgment was no longer to be relied upon. it was a great pity that he should so excite and overstrain himself about a worthless negro, who had forfeited his life for a dastardly crime. mr. delamere had had two paralytic strokes, and a third might prove fatal. he must be dealt with gently. "mr. delamere," he said, with patient tolerance, "i think you are deceived. there is but one sure way to stop this execution. if your servant is innocent, you must produce the real criminal. if the negro, with such overwhelming proofs against him, is not guilty, who is?" "i will tell you who is," replied mr. delamere. "the murderer is,"--the words came with a note of anguish, as though torn from his very heart,--"the murderer is tom delamere, my own grandson!" "impossible, sir!" exclaimed carteret, starting back involuntarily. "that could not be! the man was seen leaving the house, and he was black!" "all cats are gray in the dark, carteret; and, moreover, nothing is easier than for a white man to black his face. god alone knows how many crimes have been done in this guise! tom delamere, to get the money to pay his gambling debts, committed this foul murder, and then tried to fasten it upon as honest and faithful a soul as ever trod the earth." carteret, though at first overwhelmed by this announcement, perceived with quick intuition that it might easily be true. it was but a step from fraud to crime, and in delamere's need of money there lay a palpable motive for robbery,--the murder may have been an afterthought. delamere knew as much about the cedar chest as the negro could have known, and more. but a white man must not be condemned without proof positive. "what foundation is there, sir," he asked, "for this astounding charge?" mr. delamere related all that had taken place since he had left belleview a couple of hours before, and as he proceeded, step by step, every word carried conviction to carteret. tom delamere's skill as a mimic and a negro impersonator was well known; he had himself laughed at more than one of his performances. there had been a powerful motive, and mr. delamere's discoveries had made clear the means. tom's unusual departure, before breakfast, on a fishing expedition was a suspicious circumstance. there was a certain devilish ingenuity about the affair which he would hardly have expected of tom delamere, but for which the reason was clear enough. one might have thought that tom would have been satisfied with merely blacking his face, and leaving to chance the identification of the negro who might be apprehended. he would hardly have implicated, out of pure malignity, his grandfather's old servant, who had been his own care-taker for many years. here, however, carteret could see where tom's own desperate position operated to furnish a probable motive for the crime. the surest way to head off suspicion from himself was to direct it strongly toward some particular person, and this he had been able to do conclusively by his access to sandy's clothes, his skill in making up to resemble him, and by the episode of the silk purse. by placing himself beyond reach during the next day, he would not be called upon to corroborate or deny any inculpating statements which sandy might make, and in the very probable case that the crime should be summarily avenged, any such statements on sandy's part would be regarded as mere desperate subterfuges of the murderer to save his own life. it was a bad affair. "the case seems clear," said carteret reluctantly but conclusively. "and now, what shall we do about it?" "i want you to print a handbill," said mr. delamere, "and circulate it through the town, stating that sandy campbell is innocent and tom delamere guilty of this crime. if this is not done, i will go myself and declare it to all who will listen, and i will publicly disown the villain who is no more grandson of mine. there is no deeper sink of iniquity into which he could fall." carteret's thoughts were chasing one another tumultuously. there could be no doubt that the negro was innocent, from the present aspect of affairs, and he must not be lynched; but in what sort of position would the white people be placed, if mr. delamere carried out his spartan purpose of making the true facts known? the white people of the city had raised the issue of their own superior morality, and had themselves made this crime a race question. the success of the impending "revolution," for which he and his _confrères_ had labored so long, depended in large measure upon the maintenance of their race prestige, which would be injured in the eyes of the world by such a fiasco. while they might yet win by sheer force, their cause would suffer in the court of morals, where they might stand convicted as pirates, instead of being applauded as patriots. even the negroes would have the laugh on them,--the people whom they hoped to make approve and justify their own despoilment. to be laughed at by the negroes was a calamity only less terrible than failure or death. such an outcome of an event which had already been heralded to the four corners of the earth would throw a cloud of suspicion upon the stories of outrage which had gone up from the south for so many years, and had done so much to win the sympathy of the north for the white south and to alienate it from the colored people. the reputation of the race was threatened. they must not lynch the negro, and yet, for the credit of the town, its aristocracy, and the race, the truth of this ghastly story must not see the light,--at least not yet. "mr. delamere," he exclaimed, "i am shocked and humiliated. the negro must be saved, of course, but--consider the family honor." "tom is no longer a member of my family. i disown him. he has covered the family name--my name, sir--with infamy. we have no longer a family honor. i wish never to hear his name spoken again!" for several minutes carteret argued with his old friend. then he went into the other room and consulted with general belmont. as a result of these conferences, and of certain urgent messages sent out, within half an hour thirty or forty of the leading citizens of wellington were gathered in the morning chronicle office. several other curious persons, observing that there was something in the wind, and supposing correctly that it referred to the projected event of the evening, crowded in with those who had been invited. carteret was in another room, still arguing with mr. delamere. "it's a mere formality, sir," he was saying suavely, "accompanied by a mental reservation. we know the facts; but this must be done to justify us, in the eyes of the mob, in calling them off before they accomplish their purpose." "carteret," said the old man, in a voice eloquent of the struggle through which he had passed, "i would not perjure myself to prolong my own miserable existence another day, but god will forgive a sin committed to save another's life. upon your head be it, carteret, and not on mine!" "gentlemen," said carteret, entering with mr. delamere the room where the men were gathered, and raising his hand for silence, "the people of wellington were on the point of wreaking vengeance upon a negro who was supposed to have been guilty of a terrible crime. the white men of this city, impelled by the highest and holiest sentiments, were about to take steps to defend their hearthstones and maintain the purity and ascendency of their race. your purpose sprung from hearts wounded in their tenderest susceptibilities." "'rah, 'rah!" shouted a tipsy sailor, who had edged in with the crowd. "but this same sense of justice," continued carteret oratorically, "which would lead you to visit swift and terrible punishment upon the guilty, would not permit you to slay an innocent man. even a negro, as long as he behaves himself and keeps in his place, is entitled to the protection of the law. we may be stern and unbending in the punishment of crime, as befits our masterful race, but we hold the scales of justice with even and impartial hand." "'rah f' 'mpa'tial ban'!" cried the tipsy sailor, who was immediately ejected with slight ceremony. "we have discovered, beyond a doubt, that the negro sandy campbell, now in custody, did not commit this robbery and murder, but that it was perpetrated by some unknown man, who has fled from the city. our venerable and distinguished fellow townsman, mr. delamere, in whose employment this campbell has been for many years, will vouch for his character, and states, furthermore, that campbell was with him all last night, covering any hour at which this crime could have been committed." "if mr. delamere will swear to that," said some one in the crowd, "the negro should not be lynched." there were murmurs of dissent. the preparations had all been made. there would be great disappointment if the lynching did not occur. "let mr. delamere swear, if he wants to save the nigger," came again from the crowd. "certainly," assented carteret. "mr. delamere can have no possible objection to taking the oath. is there a notary public present, or a justice of the peace?" a man stepped forward. "i am a justice of the peace," he announced. "very well, mr. smith," said carteret, recognizing the speaker. "with your permission, i will formulate the oath, and mr. delamere may repeat it after me, if he will. i solemnly swear,"-- "i solemnly swear,"-- mr. delamere's voice might have come from the tomb, so hollow and unnatural did it sound. "so help me god,"-- "so help me god,"-- "that the negro sandy campbell, now in jail on the charge of murder, robbery, and assault, was in my presence last night between the hours of eight and two o'clock." mr. delamere repeated this statement in a firm voice; but to ellis, who was in the secret, his words fell upon the ear like clods dropping upon the coffin in an open grave. "i wish to add," said general belmont, stepping forward, "that it is not our intention to interfere, by anything which may be done at this meeting, with the orderly process of the law, or to advise the prisoner's immediate release. the prisoner will remain in custody, mr. delamere, major carteret, and i guaranteeing that he will be proved entirely innocent at the preliminary hearing to-morrow morning." several of those present looked relieved; others were plainly, disappointed; but when the meeting ended, the news went out that the lynching had been given up. carteret immediately wrote and had struck off a handbill giving a brief statement of the proceedings, and sent out a dozen boys to distribute copies among the people in the streets. that no precaution might be omitted, a call was issued to the wellington grays, the crack independent military company of the city, who in an incredibly short time were on guard at the jail. thus a slight change in the point of view had demonstrated the entire ability of the leading citizens to maintain the dignified and orderly processes of the law whenever they saw fit to do so. * * * * * the night passed without disorder, beyond the somewhat rough handling of two or three careless negroes that came in the way of small parties of the disappointed who had sought alcoholic consolation. at ten o'clock the next morning, a preliminary hearing of the charge against campbell was had before a magistrate. mr. delamere, perceptibly older and more wizened than he had seemed the day before, and leaning heavily on the arm of a servant, repeated his statement of the evening before. only one or two witnesses were called, among whom was mr. ellis, who swore positively that in his opinion the prisoner was not the man whom he had seen and at first supposed to be campbell. the most sensational piece of testimony was that of dr. price, who had examined the body, and who swore that the wound in the head was not necessarily fatal, and might have been due to a fall,--that she had more than likely died of shock attendant upon the robbery, she being of advanced age and feeble health. there was no evidence, he said, of any other personal violence. sandy was not even bound over to the grand jury, but was discharged upon the ground that there was not sufficient evidence upon which to hold him. upon his release he received the congratulations of many present, some of whom would cheerfully have done him to death a few hours before. with the childish fickleness of a mob, they now experienced a satisfaction almost as great as, though less exciting than, that attendant upon taking life. we speak of the mysteries of inanimate nature. the workings of the human heart are the profoundest mystery of the universe. one moment they make us despair of our kind, and the next we see in them the reflection of the divine image. sandy, having thus escaped from the mr. hyde of the mob, now received the benediction of its dr. jekyll. being no cynical philosopher, and realizing how nearly the jaws of death had closed upon him, he was profoundly grateful for his escape, and felt not the slightest desire to investigate or criticise any man's motives. with the testimony of dr. price, the worst feature of the affair came to an end. the murder eliminated or rendered doubtful, the crime became a mere vulgar robbery, the extent of which no one could estimate, since no living soul knew how much money mrs. ochiltree had had in the cedar chest. the absurdity of the remaining charge became more fully apparent in the light of the reaction from the excitement of the day before. nothing further was ever done about the case; but though the crime went unpunished, it carried evil in its train. as we have seen, the charge against campbell had been made against the whole colored race. all over the united states the associated press had flashed the report of another dastardly outrage by a burly black brute,--all black brutes it seems are burly,--and of the impending lynching with its prospective horrors. this news, being highly sensational in its character, had been displayed in large black type on the front pages of the daily papers. the dispatch that followed, to the effect that the accused had been found innocent and the lynching frustrated, received slight attention, if any, in a fine-print paragraph on an inside page. the facts of the case never came out at all. the family honor of the delameres was preserved, and the prestige of the white race in wellington was not seriously impaired. * * * * * upon leaving the preliminary hearing, old mr. delamere had requested general belmont to call at his house during the day upon professional business. this the general did in the course of the afternoon. "belmont," said mr. delamere, "i wish to make my will. i should have drawn it with my own hand; but you know my motives, and can testify to my soundness of mind and memory." he thereupon dictated a will, by the terms of which he left to his servant, sandy campbell, three thousand dollars, as a mark of the testator's appreciation of services rendered and sufferings endured by sandy on behalf of his master. after some minor dispositions, the whole remainder of the estate was devised to dr. william miller, in trust for the uses of his hospital and training-school for nurses, on condition that the institution be incorporated and placed under the management of competent trustees. tom delamere was not mentioned in the will. "there, belmont," he said, "that load is off my mind. now, if you will call in some witnesses,--most of my people can write,--i shall feel entirely at ease." the will was signed by mr. delamere, and witnessed by jeff and billy, two servants in the house, neither of whom received any information as to its contents, beyond the statement that they were witnessing their master's will. "i wish to leave that with you for safe keeping, belmont," said mr. delamere, after the witnesses had retired. "lock it up in your safe until i die, which will not be very long, since i have no further desire to live." an hour later mr. delamere suffered a third paralytic stroke, from which he died two days afterwards, without having in the meantime recovered the power of speech. the will was never produced. the servants stated, and general belmont admitted, that mr. delamere had made a will a few days before his death; but since it was not discoverable, it seemed probable that the testator had destroyed it. this was all the more likely, the general was inclined to think, because the will had been of a most unusual character. what the contents of the will were, he of course did not state, it having been made under the seal of professional secrecy. this suppression was justified by the usual race argument: miller's hospital was already well established, and, like most negro institutions, could no doubt rely upon northern philanthropy for any further support it might need. mr. delamere's property belonged of right to the white race, and by the higher law should remain in the possession of white people. loyalty to one's race was a more sacred principle than deference to a weak old man's whims. having reached this conclusion, general belmont's first impulse was to destroy the will; on second thoughts he locked it carefully away in his safe. he would hold it awhile. it might some time be advisable to talk the matter over with young delamere, who was of a fickle disposition and might wish to change his legal adviser. xxviii in season and out wellington soon resumed its wonted calm, and in a few weeks the intended lynching was only a memory. the robbery and assault, however, still remained a mystery to all but a chosen few. the affair had been dropped as absolutely as though it had never occurred. no colored man ever learned the reason of this sudden change of front, and sandy campbell's loyalty to his old employer's memory kept him silent. tom delamere did not offer to retain sandy in his service, though he presented him with most of the old gentleman's wardrobe. it is only justice to tom to state that up to this time he had not been informed of the contents of his grandfather's latest will. major carteret gave sandy employment as butler, thus making a sort of vicarious atonement, on the part of the white race, of which the major felt himself in a way the embodiment, for the risk to which sandy had been subjected. shortly after these events sandy was restored to the bosom of the church, and, enfolded by its sheltering arms, was no longer tempted to stray from the path of rectitude, but became even a more rigid methodist than before his recent troubles. tom delamere did not call upon clara again in the character of a lover. of course they could not help meeting, from time to time, but he never dared presume upon their former relations. indeed, the social atmosphere of wellington remained so frigid toward delamere that he left town, and did not return for several months. ellis was aware that delamere had been thrown over, but a certain delicacy restrained him from following up immediately the advantage which the absence of his former rival gave him. it seemed to him, with the quixotry of a clean, pure mind, that clara would pass through a period of mourning for her lost illusion, and that it would be indelicate, for the time being, to approach her with a lover's attentions. the work of the office had been unusually heavy of late. the major, deeply absorbed in politics, left the detail work of the paper to ellis. into the intimate counsels of the revolutionary committee ellis had not been admitted, nor would he have desired to be. he knew, of course, in a general way, the results that it was sought to achieve; and while he did not see their necessity, he deferred to the views of older men, and was satisfied to remain in ignorance of anything which he might disapprove. moreover, his own personal affairs occupied his mind to an extent that made politics or any other subject a matter of minor importance. as for dr. miller, he never learned of mr. delamere's good intentions toward his institution, but regretted the old gentleman's death as the loss of a sincere friend and well-wisher of his race in their unequal struggle. despite the untiring zeal of carteret and his associates, the campaign for the restriction of the suffrage, which was to form the basis of a permanent white supremacy, had seemed to languish for a while after the ochiltree affair. the lull, however, was only temporary, and more apparent than real, for the forces adverse to the negro were merely gathering strength for a more vigorous assault. while little was said in wellington, public sentiment all over the country became every day more favorable to the views of the conspirators. the nation was rushing forward with giant strides toward colossal wealth and world-dominion, before the exigencies of which mere abstract ethical theories must not be permitted to stand. the same argument that justified the conquest of an inferior nation could not be denied to those who sought the suppression of an inferior race. in the south, an obscure jealousy of the negro's progress, an obscure fear of the very equality so contemptuously denied, furnished a rich soil for successful agitation. statistics of crime, ingeniously manipulated, were made to present a fearful showing against the negro. vital statistics were made to prove that he had degenerated from an imaginary standard of physical excellence which had existed under the benign influence of slavery. constant lynchings emphasized his impotence, and bred everywhere a growing contempt for his rights. at the north, a new pharaoh had risen, who knew not israel,--a new generation, who knew little of the fierce passions which had played around the negro in a past epoch, and derived their opinions of him from the "coon song" and the police reports. those of his old friends who survived were disappointed that he had not flown with clipped wings; that he had not in one generation of limited opportunity attained the level of the whites. the whole race question seemed to have reached a sort of _impasse_, a blind alley, of which no one could see the outlet. the negro had become a target at which any one might try a shot. schoolboys gravely debated the question as to whether or not the negro should exercise the franchise. the pessimist gave him up in despair; while the optimist, smilingly confident that everything would come out all right in the end, also turned aside and went his buoyant way to more pleasing themes. for a time there were white men in the state who opposed any reactionary step unless it were of general application. they were conscientious men, who had learned the ten commandments and wished to do right; but this class was a small minority, and their objections were soon silenced by the all-powerful race argument. selfishness is the most constant of human motives. patriotism, humanity, or the love of god may lead to sporadic outbursts which sweep away the heaped-up wrongs of centuries; but they languish at times, while the love of self works on ceaselessly, unwearyingly, burrowing always at the very roots of life, and heaping up fresh wrongs for other centuries to sweep away. the state was at the mercy of venal and self-seeking politicians, bent upon regaining their ascendency at any cost, stultifying their own minds by vague sophistries and high-sounding phrases, which deceived none but those who wished to be deceived, and these but imperfectly; and dulling the public conscience by a loud clamor in which the calm voice of truth was for the moment silenced. so the cause went on. carteret, as spokesman of the campaign, and sincerest of all its leaders, performed prodigies of labor. the morning chronicle proclaimed, in season and out, the doctrine of "white supremacy." leaving the paper in charge of ellis, the major made a tour of the state, rousing the white people of the better class to an appreciation of the terrible danger which confronted them in the possibility that a few negroes might hold a few offices or dictate the terms upon which white men should fill them. difficulties were explained away. the provisions of the federal constitution, it was maintained, must yield to the "higher law," and if the constitution could neither be altered nor bent to this end, means must be found to circumvent it. the device finally hit upon for disfranchising the colored people in this particular state was the notorious "grandfather clause." after providing various restrictions of the suffrage, based upon education, character, and property, which it was deemed would in effect disfranchise the colored race, an exception was made in favor of all citizens whose fathers or grandfathers had been entitled to vote prior to . since none but white men could vote prior to , this exception obviously took in the poor and ignorant whites, while the same class of negroes were excluded. it was ingenious, but it was not fair. in due time a constitutional convention was called, in which the above scheme was adopted and submitted to a vote of the people for ratification. the campaign was fought on the color line. many white republicans, deluded with the hope that by the elimination of the negro vote their party might receive accessions from the democratic ranks, went over to the white party. by fraud in one place, by terrorism in another, and everywhere by the resistless moral force of the united whites, the negroes were reduced to the apathy of despair, their few white allies demoralized, and the amendment adopted by a large majority. the negroes were taught that this is a white man's country, and that the sooner they made up their minds to this fact, the better for all concerned. the white people would be good to them so long as they behaved themselves and kept their place. as theoretical equals,--practical equality being forever out of the question, either by nature or by law,--there could have been nothing but strife between them, in which the weaker party would invariably have suffered most. some colored men accepted the situation thus outlined, if not as desirable, at least as inevitable. most of them, however, had little faith in this condescending friendliness which was to take the place of constitutional rights. they knew they had been treated unfairly; that their enemies had prevailed against them; that their whilom friends had stood passively by and seen them undone. many of the most enterprising and progressive left the state, and those who remain still labor under a sense of wrong and outrage which renders them distinctly less valuable as citizens. the great steal was made, but the thieves did not turn honest,--the scheme still shows the mark of the burglar's tools. sins, like chickens, come home to roost. the south paid a fearful price for the wrong of negro slavery; in some form or other it will doubtless reap the fruits of this later iniquity. drastic as were these "reforms," the results of which we have anticipated somewhat, since the new constitution was not to take effect immediately, they moved all too slowly for the little coterie of wellington conspirators, whose ambitions and needs urged them to prompt action. under the new constitution it would be two full years before the "nigger amendment" became effective, and meanwhile the wellington district would remain hopelessly republican. the committee decided, about two months before the fall election, that an active local campaign must be carried on, with a view to discourage the negroes from attending the polls on election day. the question came up for discussion one forenoon in a meeting at the office of the morning chronicle, at which all of the "big three" were present. "something must be done," declared mcbane, "and that damn quick. too many white people are saying that it will be better to wait until the amendment goes into effect. that would mean to leave the niggers in charge of this town for two years after the state has declared for white supremacy! i'm opposed to leaving it in their hands one hour,--them's my sentiments!" this proved to be the general opinion, and the discussion turned to the subject of ways and means. "what became of that editorial in the nigger paper?" inquired the general in his blandest tones, cleverly directing a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "it lost some of its point back there, when we came near lynching that nigger; but now that that has blown over, why wouldn't it be a good thing to bring into play at the present juncture? let's read it over again." carteret extracted the paper from the pigeon-hole where he had placed it some months before. the article was read aloud with emphasis and discussed phrase by phrase. of its wording there could be little criticism,--it was temperately and even cautiously phrased. as suggested by the general, the ochiltree affair had proved that it was not devoid of truth. its great offensiveness lay in its boldness: that a negro should publish in a newspaper what white people would scarcely acknowledge to themselves in secret was much as though a russian _moujik_ or a german peasant should rush into print to question the divine right of the lord's anointed. the article was racial _lèse-majesté_ in the most aggravated form. a peg was needed upon which to hang a _coup d'état_, and this editorial offered the requisite opportunity. it was unanimously decided to republish the obnoxious article, with comment adapted to fire the inflammable southern heart and rouse it against any further self-assertion of the negroes in politics or elsewhere. "the time is ripe!" exclaimed mcbane. "in a month we can have the niggers so scared that they won't dare stick their heads out of doors on 'lection day." "i wonder," observed the general thoughtfully, after this conclusion had been reached, "if we couldn't have jerry fetch us some liquor?" jerry appeared in response to the usual summons. the general gave him the money, and ordered three calhoun cocktails. when jerry returned with the glasses on a tray, the general observed him with pointed curiosity. "what, in h--ll is the matter with you, jerry? your black face is splotched with brown and yellow patches, and your hair shines as though you had fallen head-foremost into a firkin of butter. what's the matter with you?" jerry seemed much embarrassed by this inquiry. "nothin', suh, nothin'," he stammered. "it's--it's jes' somethin' i be'n puttin' on my hair, suh, ter improve de quality, suh." "jerry," returned the general, bending a solemn look upon the porter, "you have been playing with edged tools, and your days are numbered. you have been reading the afro-american banner." he shook open the paper, which he had retained in his hand, and read from one of the advertisements:-- "'kinky, curly hair made straight in two applications. dark skins lightened two shades; mulattoes turned perfectly white.' "this stuff is rank poison, jerry," continued the general with a mock solemnity which did not impose upon jerry, who nevertheless listened with an air of great alarm. he suspected that the general was making fun of him; but he also knew that the general would like to think that jerry believed him in earnest; and to please the white folks was jerry's consistent aim in life. "i can see the signs of decay in your face, and your hair will all fall out in a week or two at the latest,--mark my words!" mcbane had listened to this pleasantry with a sardonic sneer. it was a waste of valuable time. to carteret it seemed in doubtful taste. these grotesque advertisements had their tragic side. they were proof that the negroes had read the handwriting on the wall. these pitiful attempts to change their physical characteristics were an acknowledgment, on their own part, that the negro was doomed, and that the white man was to inherit the earth and hold all other races under his heel. for, as the months had passed, carteret's thoughts, centring more and more upon the negro, had led him farther and farther, until now he was firmly convinced that there was no permanent place for the negro in the united states, if indeed anywhere in the world, except under the ground. more pathetic even than jerry's efforts to escape from the universal doom of his race was his ignorance that even if he could, by some strange alchemy, bleach his skin and straighten his hair, there would still remain, underneath it all, only the unbleached darky,--the ass in the lion's skin. when the general had finished his facetious lecture, jerry backed out of the room shamefacedly, though affecting a greater confusion than he really felt. jerry had not reasoned so closely as carteret, but he had realized that it was a distinct advantage to be white,--an advantage which white people had utilized to secure all the best things in the world; and he had entertained the vague hope that by changing his complexion he might share this prerogative. while he suspected the general's sincerity, he nevertheless felt a little apprehensive lest the general's prediction about the effects of the face-bleach and other preparations might prove true,--the general was a white gentleman and ought to know,--and decided to abandon their use. this purpose was strengthened by his next interview with the major. when carteret summoned him, an hour later, after the other gentlemen had taken their leave, jerry had washed his head thoroughly and there remained no trace of the pomade. an attempt to darken the lighter spots in his cuticle by the application of printer's ink had not proved equally successful,--the retouching left the spots as much too dark as they had formerly been too light. "jerry," said carteret sternly, "when i hired you to work for the chronicle, you were black. the word 'negro' means 'black.' the best negro is a black negro, of the pure type, as it came from the hand of god. if you wish to get along well with the white people, the blacker you are the better,--white people do not like negroes who want to be white. a man should be content to remain as god made him and where god placed him. so no more of this nonsense. are you going to vote at the next election?" "what would you 'vise me ter do, suh?" asked jerry cautiously. "i do not advise you. you ought to have sense enough to see where your own interests lie. i put it to you whether you cannot trust yourself more safely in the hands of white gentlemen, who are your true friends, than in the hands of ignorant and purchasable negroes and unscrupulous white scoundrels?" "dere's no doubt about it, suh," assented jerry, with a vehemence proportioned to his desire to get back into favor. "i ain' gwine ter have nothin' ter do wid de 'lection, suh! ef i don' vote, i kin keep my job, can't i, suh?" the major eyed jerry with an air of supreme disgust. what could be expected of a race so utterly devoid of tact? it seemed as though this negro thought a white gentleman might want to bribe him to remain away from the polls; and the negro's willingness to accept the imaginary bribe demonstrated the venal nature of the colored race,--its entire lack of moral principle! "you will retain your place, jerry," he said severely, "so long as you perform your duties to my satisfaction and behave yourself properly." with this grandiloquent subterfuge carteret turned to his next article on white supremacy. jerry did not delude himself with any fine-spun sophistry. he knew perfectly well that he held his job upon the condition that he stayed away from the polls at the approaching election. jerry was a fool-- "the world of fools hath such a store, that he who would not see an ass, must stay at home and shut his door and break his looking-glass." but while no one may be entirely wise, there are degrees of folly, and jerry was not all kinds of a fool. xxix mutterings of the storm events moved rapidly during the next few days. the reproduction, in the chronicle, of the article from the afro-american banner, with carteret's inflammatory comment, took immediate effect. it touched the southern white man in his most sensitive spot. to him such an article was an insult to white womanhood, and must be resented by some active steps,--mere words would be no answer at all. to meet words with words upon such a subject would be to acknowledge the equality of the negro and his right to discuss or criticise the conduct of the white people. the colored people became alarmed at the murmurings of the whites, which seemed to presage a coming storm. a number of them sought to arm themselves, but ascertained, upon inquiring at the stores, that no white merchant would sell a negro firearms. since all the dealers in this sort of merchandise were white men, the negroes had to be satisfied with oiling up the old army muskets which some of them possessed, and the few revolvers with which a small rowdy element generally managed to keep themselves supplied. upon an effort being made to purchase firearms from a northern city, the express company, controlled by local men, refused to accept the consignment. the white people, on the other hand, procured both arms and ammunition in large quantities, and the wellington grays drilled with great assiduity at their armory. all this went on without any public disturbance of the town's tranquillity. a stranger would have seen nothing to excite his curiosity. the white people did their talking among themselves, and merely grew more distant in their manner toward the colored folks, who instinctively closed their ranks as the whites drew away. with each day that passed the feeling grew more tense. the editor of the afro-american banner, whose office had been quietly garrisoned for several nights by armed negroes, became frightened, and disappeared from the town between two suns. the conspirators were jubilant at the complete success of their plans. it only remained for them to so direct this aroused public feeling that it might completely accomplish the desired end,--to change the political complexion of the city government and assure the ascendency of the whites until the amendment should go into effect. a revolution, and not a riot, was contemplated. with this end in view, another meeting was called at carteret's office. "we are now ready," announced general belmont, "for the final act of this drama. we must decide promptly, or events may run away from us." "what do you suggest?" asked carteret. "down in the american tropics," continued the general, "they have a way of doing things. i was in nicaragua, ten years ago, when paterno's revolution drove out igorroto's government. it was as easy as falling off a log. paterno had the arms and the best men. igorroto was not looking for trouble, and the guns were at his breast before he knew it. we have the guns. the negroes are not expecting trouble, and are easy to manage compared with the fiery mixture that flourishes in the tropics." "i should not advocate murder," returned carteret. "we are animated by high and holy principles. we wish to right a wrong, to remedy an abuse, to save our state from anarchy and our race from humiliation. i don't object to frightening the negroes, but i am opposed to unnecessary bloodshed." "i'm not quite so particular," struck in mcbane. "they need to be taught a lesson, and a nigger more or less wouldn't be missed. there's too many of 'em now." "of course," continued carteret, "if we should decide upon a certain mode of procedure, and the negroes should resist, a different reasoning might apply; but i will have no premeditated murder." "in central and south america," observed the general reflectively, "none are hurt except those who get in the way." "there'll be no niggers hurt," said mcbane contemptuously, "unless they strain themselves running. one white man can chase a hundred of 'em. i've managed five hundred at a time. i'll pay for burying all the niggers that are killed." the conference resulted in a well-defined plan, to be put into operation the following day, by which the city government was to be wrested from the republicans and their negro allies. "and now," said general belmont, "while we are cleansing the augean stables, we may as well remove the cause as the effect. there are several negroes too many in this town, which will be much the better without them. there's that yellow lawyer, watson. he's altogether too mouthy, and has too much business. every nigger that gets into trouble sends for watson, and white lawyers, with families to support and social positions to keep up, are deprived of their legitimate source of income." "there's that damn nigger real estate agent," blurted out mcbane. "billy kitchen used to get most of the nigger business, but this darky has almost driven him to the poorhouse. a white business man is entitled to a living in his own profession and his own home. that nigger don't belong here nohow. he came from the north a year or two ago, and is hand in glove with barber, the nigger editor, which is enough of itself to damn him. _he'll_ have to go!" "how about the collector of the port?" "we'd better not touch him. it would bring the government down upon us, which we want to avoid. we don't need to worry about the nigger preachers either. they want to stay here, where the loaves and the fishes are. we can make 'em write letters to the newspapers justifying our course, as a condition of their remaining." "what about billings?" asked mcbane. billings was the white republican mayor. "is that skunk to be allowed to stay in town?" "no," returned the general, "every white republican office-holder ought to be made to go. this town is only big enough for democrats, and negroes who can be taught to keep their place." "what about the colored doctor," queried mcbane, "with the hospital, and the diamond ring, and the carriage, and the other fallals?" "i shouldn't interfere with miller," replied the general decisively. "he's a very good sort of a negro, doesn't meddle with politics, nor tread on any one else's toes. his father was a good citizen, which counts in his favor. he's spending money in the community too, and contributes to its prosperity." "that sort of nigger, though, sets a bad example," retorted mcbane. "they make it all the harder to keep the rest of 'em down." "'one swallow does not make a summer,'" quoted the general. "when we get things arranged, there'll be no trouble. a stream cannot rise higher than its fountain, and a smart nigger without a constituency will no longer be an object of fear. i say, let the doctor alone." "he'll have to keep mighty quiet, though," muttered mcbane discontentedly. "i don't like smart niggers. i've had to shoot several of them, in the course of my life." "personally, i dislike the man," interposed carteret, "and if i consulted my own inclinations, would say expel him with the rest; but my grievance is a personal one, and to gratify it in that way would be a loss to the community. i wish to be strictly impartial in this matter, and to take no step which cannot be entirely justified by a wise regard for the public welfare." "what's the use of all this hypocrisy, gentlemen?" sneered mcbane. "every last one of us has an axe to grind! the major may as well put an edge on his. we'll never get a better chance to have things our way. if this nigger doctor annoys the major, we'll run him out with the rest. this is a white man's country, and a white man's city, and no nigger has any business here when a white man wants him gone!" carteret frowned darkly at this brutal characterization of their motives. it robbed the enterprise of all its poetry, and put a solemn act of revolution upon the plane of a mere vulgar theft of power. even the general winced. "i would not consent," he said irritably, "to miller's being disturbed." mcbane made no further objection. there was a discreet knock at the door. "come in," said carteret. jerry entered. "mistuh ellis wants ter speak ter you a minute, suh," he said. carteret excused himself and left the room. "jerry," said the general, "you lump of ebony, the sight of you reminds me! if your master doesn't want you for a minute, step across to mr. brown's and tell him to send me three cocktails." "yas, suh," responded jerry, hesitating. the general had said nothing about paying. "and tell him, jerry, to charge them. i'm short of change to-day." "yas, suh; yas, suh," replied jerry, as he backed out of the presence, adding, when he had reached the hall: "dere ain' no change fer jerry dis time, sho': i'll jes' make dat _fo_' cocktails, an' de gin'l won't never know de diffe'nce. i ain' gwine 'cross de road fer nothin', not ef i knows it." half an hour later, the conspirators dispersed. they had fixed the hour of the proposed revolution, the course to be pursued, the results to be obtained; but in stating their equation they had overlooked one factor,--god, or fate, or whatever one may choose to call the power that holds the destinies of man in the hollow of his hand. xxx the missing papers mrs. carteret was very much disturbed. it was supposed that the shock of her aunt's death had affected her health, for since that event she had fallen into a nervous condition which gave the major grave concern. much to the general surprise, mrs. ochiltree had left no will, and no property of any considerable value except her homestead, which descended to mrs. carteret as the natural heir. whatever she may have had on hand in the way of ready money had undoubtedly been abstracted from the cedar chest by the midnight marauder, to whose visit her death was immediately due. her niece's grief was held to mark a deep-seated affection for the grim old woman who had reared her. mrs. carteret's present state of mind, of which her nervousness was a sufficiently accurate reflection, did in truth date from her aunt's death, and also in part from the time of the conversation with mrs. ochiltree, one afternoon, during and after the drive past miller's new hospital. mrs. ochiltree had grown steadily more and more childish after that time, and her niece had never succeeded in making her pick up the thread of thought where it had been dropped. at any rate, mrs. ochiltree had made no further disclosure upon the subject. an examination, not long after her aunt's death, of the papers found near the cedar chest on the morning after the murder had contributed to mrs. carteret's enlightenment, but had not promoted her peace of mind. when mrs. carteret reached home, after her hurried exploration of the cedar chest, she thrust into a bureau drawer the envelope she had found. so fully was her mind occupied, for several days, with the funeral, and with the excitement attending the arrest of sandy campbell, that she deferred the examination of the contents of the envelope until near the end of the week. one morning, while alone in her chamber, she drew the envelope from the drawer, and was holding it in her hand, hesitating as to whether or not she should open it, when the baby in the next room began to cry. the child's cry seemed like a warning, and yielding to a vague uneasiness, she put the paper back. "phil," she said to her husband at luncheon, "aunt polly said some strange things to me one day before she died,--i don't know whether she was quite in her right mind or not; but suppose that my father had left a will by which it was provided that half his property should go to that woman and her child?" "it would never have gone by such a will," replied the major easily. "your aunt polly was in her dotage, and merely dreaming. your father would never have been such a fool; but even if he had, no such will could have stood the test of the courts. it would clearly have been due to the improper influence of a designing woman." "so that legally, as well as morally," said mrs. carteret, "the will would have been of no effect?" "not the slightest. a jury would soon have broken down the legal claim. as for any moral obligation, there would have been nothing moral about the affair. the only possible consideration for such a gift was an immoral one. i don't wish to speak harshly of your father, my dear, but his conduct was gravely reprehensible. the woman herself had no right or claim whatever; she would have been whipped and expelled from the town, if justice--blind, bleeding justice, then prostrate at the feet of slaves and aliens--could have had her way!" "but the child"-- "the child was in the same category. who was she, to have inherited the estate of your ancestors, of which, a few years before, she would herself have formed a part? the child of shame, it was hers to pay the penalty. but the discussion is all in the air, olivia. your father never did and never would have left such a will." this conversation relieved mrs. carteret's uneasiness. going to her room shortly afterwards, she took the envelope from her bureau drawer and drew out a bulky paper. the haunting fear that it might be such a will as her aunt had suggested was now removed; for such an instrument, in the light of what her husband had said confirming her own intuitions, would be of no valid effect. it might be just as well, she thought, to throw the paper in the fire without looking at it. she wished to think as well as might be of her father, and she felt that her respect for his memory would not be strengthened by the knowledge that he had meant to leave his estate away from her; for her aunt's words had been open to the construction that she was to have been left destitute. curiosity strongly prompted her to read the paper. perhaps the will contained no such provision as she had feared, and it might convey some request or direction which ought properly to be complied with. she had been standing in front of the bureau while these thoughts passed through her mind, and now, dropping the envelope back into the drawer mechanically, she unfolded the document. it was written on legal paper, in her father's own hand. mrs. carteret was not familiar with legal verbiage, and there were several expressions of which she did not perhaps appreciate the full effect; but a very hasty glance enabled her to ascertain the purport of the paper. it was a will, by which, in one item, her father devised to his daughter janet, the child of the woman known as julia brown, the sum of ten thousand dollars, and a certain plantation or tract of land a short distance from the town of wellington. the rest and residue of his estate, after deducting all legal charges and expenses, was bequeathed to his beloved daughter, olivia merkell. mrs. carteret breathed a sigh of relief. her father had not preferred another to her, but had left to his lawful daughter the bulk of his estate. she felt at the same time a growing indignation at the thought that that woman should so have wrought upon her father's weakness as to induce him to think of leaving so much valuable property to her bastard,--property which by right should go, and now would go, to her own son, to whom by every rule of law and decency it ought to descend. a fire was burning in the next room, on account of the baby,--there had been a light frost the night before, and the air was somewhat chilly. for the moment the room was empty. mrs. carteret came out from her chamber and threw the offending paper into the fire, and watched it slowly burn. when it had been consumed, the carbon residue of one sheet still retained its form, and she could read the words on the charred portion. a sentence, which had escaped her eye in her rapid reading, stood out in ghostly black upon the gray background:-- "all the rest and residue of my estate i devise and bequeath to my daughter olivia merkell, the child of my beloved first wife." mrs. carteret had not before observed the word "first." instinctively she stretched toward the fire the poker which she held in her hand, and at its touch the shadowy remnant fell to pieces, and nothing but ashes remained upon the hearth. not until the next morning did she think again of the envelope which had contained the paper she had burned. opening the drawer where it lay, the oblong blue envelope confronted her. the sight of it was distasteful. the indorsed side lay uppermost, and the words seemed like a mute reproach:-- "the last will and testament of samuel merkell." snatching up the envelope, she glanced into it mechanically as she moved toward the next room, and perceived a thin folded paper which had heretofore escaped her notice. when opened, it proved to be a certificate of marriage, in due form, between samuel merkell and julia brown. it was dated from a county in south carolina, about two years before her father's death. for a moment mrs. carteret stood gazing blankly at this faded slip of paper. her father _had_ married this woman!--at least he had gone through the form of marriage with her, for to him it had surely been no more than an empty formality. the marriage of white and colored persons was forbidden by law. only recently she had read of a case where both the parties to such a crime, a colored man and a white woman, had been sentenced to long terms in the penitentiary. she even recalled the circumstances. the couple had been living together unlawfully,--they were very low people, whose private lives were beneath the public notice,--but influenced by a religious movement pervading the community, had sought, they said at the trial, to secure the blessing of god upon their union. the higher law, which imperiously demanded that the purity and prestige of the white race be preserved at any cost, had intervened at this point. mechanically she moved toward the fireplace, so dazed by this discovery as to be scarcely conscious of her own actions. she surely had not formed any definite intention of destroying this piece of paper when her fingers relaxed unconsciously and let go their hold upon it. the draught swept it toward the fireplace. ere scarcely touching the flames it caught, blazed fiercely, and shot upward with the current of air. a moment later the record of poor julia's marriage was scattered to the four winds of heaven, as her poor body had long since mingled with the dust of earth. the letter remained unread. in her agitation at the discovery of the marriage certificate, olivia had almost forgotten the existence of the letter. it was addressed to "john delamere, esq., as executor of my last will and testament," while the lower left hand corner bore the direction: "to be delivered only after my death, with seal unbroken." the seal was broken already; mr. delamere was dead; the letter could never be delivered. mrs. carteret unfolded it and read:-- my dear delamere,--i have taken the liberty of naming you as executor of my last will, because you are my friend, and the only man of my acquaintance whom i feel that i can trust to carry out my wishes, appreciate my motives, and preserve the silence i desire. i have, first, a confession to make. inclosed in this letter you will find a certificate of marriage between my child janet's mother and myself. while i have never exactly repented of this marriage, i have never had the courage to acknowledge it openly. if i had not married julia, i fear polly ochiltree would have married me by main force,--as she would marry you or any other gentleman unfortunate enough to fall in the way of this twice-widowed man-hunter. when my wife died, three years ago, her sister polly offered to keep house for me and the child. i would sooner have had the devil in the house, and yet i trembled with alarm,--there seemed no way of escape,--it was so clearly and obviously the proper thing. but she herself gave me my opportunity. i was on the point of consenting, when she demanded, as a condition of her coming, that i discharge julia, my late wife's maid. she was laboring under a misapprehension in regard to the girl, but i grasped at the straw, and did everything to foster her delusion. i declared solemnly that nothing under heaven would induce me to part with julia. the controversy resulted in my permitting polly to take the child, while i retained the maid. before polly put this idea into my head, i had scarcely looked at julia, but this outbreak turned my attention toward her. she was a handsome girl, and, as i soon found out, a good girl. my wife, who raised her, was a christian woman, and had taught her modesty and virtue. she was free. the air was full of liberty, and equal rights, and all the abolition claptrap, and she made marriage a condition of her remaining longer in the house. in a moment of weakness i took her away to a place where we were not known, and married her. if she had left me, i should have fallen a victim to polly ochiltree,--to which any fate was preferable. and then, old friend, my weakness kept to the fore. i was ashamed of this marriage, and my new wife saw it. moreover, she loved me,--too well, indeed, to wish to make me unhappy. the ceremony had satisfied her conscience, had set her right, she said, with god; for the opinions of men she did not care, since i loved her,--she only wanted to compensate me, as best she could, for the great honor i had done my handmaiden,--for she had read her bible, and i was the abraham to her hagar, compared with whom she considered herself at a great advantage. it was her own proposition that nothing be said of this marriage. if any shame should fall on her, it would fall lightly, for it would be undeserved. when the child came, she still kept silence. no one, she argued, could blame an innocent child for the accident of birth, and in the sight of god this child had every right to exist; while among her own people illegitimacy would involve but little stigma. i need not say that i was easily persuaded to accept this sacrifice; but touched by her fidelity, i swore to provide handsomely for them both. this i have tried to do by the will of which i ask you to act as executor. had i left the child more, it might serve as a ground for attacking the will; my acknowledgment of the tie of blood is sufficient to justify a reasonable bequest. i have taken this course for the sake of my daughter olivia, who is dear to me, and whom i would not wish to make ashamed; and in deference to public opinion, which it is not easy to defy. if, after my death, julia should choose to make our secret known, i shall of course be beyond the reach of hard words; but loyalty to my memory will probably keep her silent. a strong man would long since have acknowledged her before the world and taken the consequences; but, alas! i am only myself, and the atmosphere i live in does not encourage moral heroism. i should like to be different, but it is god who hath made us, and not we ourselves! nevertheless, old friend, i will ask of you one favor. if in the future this child of julia's and of mine should grow to womanhood; if she should prove to have her mother's gentleness and love of virtue; if, in the new era which is opening up for her mother's race, to which, unfortunately, she must belong, she should become, in time, an educated woman; and if the time should ever come when, by virtue of her education or the development of her people, it would be to her a source of shame or unhappiness that she was an illegitimate child,--if you are still alive, old friend, and have the means of knowing or divining this thing, go to her and tell her, for me, that she is my lawful child, and ask her to forgive her father's weakness. when this letter comes to you, i shall have passed to--the beyond; but i am confident that you will accept this trust, for which i thank you now, in advance, most heartily. the letter was signed with her father's name, the same signature which had been attached to the will. having firmly convinced herself of the illegality of the papers, and of her own right to destroy them, mrs. carteret ought to have felt relieved that she had thus removed all traces of her dead father's folly. true, the other daughter remained,--she had seen her on the street only the day before. the sight of this person she had always found offensive, and now, she felt, in view of what she had just learned, it must be even more so. never, while this woman lived in the town, would she be able to throw the veil of forgetfulness over this blot upon her father's memory. as the day wore on, mrs. carteret grew still less at ease. to herself, marriage was a serious thing,--to a right-thinking woman the most serious concern of life. a marriage certificate, rightfully procured, was scarcely less solemn, so far as it went, than the bible itself. her own she cherished as the apple of her eye. it was the evidence of her wifehood, the seal of her child's legitimacy, her patent of nobility,--the token of her own and her child's claim to social place and consideration. she had burned this pretended marriage certificate because it meant nothing. nevertheless, she could not ignore the knowledge of another such marriage, of which every one in the town knew,--a celebrated case, indeed, where a white man, of a family quite as prominent as her father's, had married a colored woman during the military occupation of the state just after the civil war. the legality of the marriage had never been questioned. it had been fully consummated by twenty years of subsequent cohabitation. no amount of social persecution had ever shaken the position of the husband. with an iron will he had stayed on in the town, a living protest against the established customs of the south, so rudely interrupted for a few short years; and, though his children were negroes, though he had never appeared in public with his wife, no one had ever questioned the validity of his marriage or the legitimacy of his offspring. the marriage certificate which mrs. carteret had burned dated from the period of the military occupation. hence mrs. carteret, who was a good woman, and would not have done a dishonest thing, felt decidedly uncomfortable. she had destroyed the marriage certificate, but its ghost still haunted her. major carteret, having just eaten a good dinner, was in a very agreeable humor when, that same evening, his wife brought up again the subject of their previous discussion. "phil," she asked, "aunt polly told me that once, long before my father died, when she went to remonstrate with him for keeping that woman in the house, he threatened to marry julia if aunt polly ever said another word to him about the matter. suppose he _had_ married her, and had then left a will,--would the marriage have made any difference, so far as the will was concerned?" major carteret laughed. "your aunt polly," he said, "was a remarkable woman, with a wonderful imagination, which seems to have grown more vivid as her memory and judgment weakened. why should your father marry his negro housemaid? mr. merkell was never rated as a fool,--he had one of the clearest heads in wellington. i saw him only a day or two before he died, and i could swear before any court in christendom that he was of sound mind and memory to the last. these notions of your aunt were mere delusions. your father was never capable of such a folly." "of course i am only supposing a case," returned olivia. "imagining such a case, just for the argument, would the marriage have been legal?" "that would depend. if he had married her during the military occupation, or over in south carolina, the marriage would have been legally valid, though morally and socially outrageous." "and if he had died afterwards, leaving a will?" "the will would have controlled the disposition of his estate, in all probability." "suppose he had left no will?" "you are getting the matter down pretty fine, my dear! the woman would have taken one third of the real estate for life, and could have lived in the homestead until she died. she would also have had half the other property,--the money and goods and furniture, everything except the land,--and the negro child would have shared with you the balance of the estate. that, i believe, is according to the law of descent and distribution." mrs. carteret lapsed into a troubled silence. her father _had_ married the woman. in her heart she had no doubt of the validity of the marriage, so far as the law was concerned; if one marriage of such a kind would stand, another contracted under similar conditions was equally as good. if the marriage had been valid, julia's child had been legitimate. the will she had burned gave this sister of hers--she shuddered at the word--but a small part of the estate. under the law, which intervened now that there was no will, the property should have been equally divided. if the woman had been white,--but the woman had _not_ been white, and the same rule of moral conduct did not, _could_ not, in the very nature of things, apply, as between white people! for, if this were not so, slavery had been, not merely an economic mistake, but a great crime against humanity. if it had been such a crime, as for a moment she dimly perceived it might have been, then through the long centuries there had been piled up a catalogue of wrong and outrage which, if the law of compensation be a law of nature, must some time, somewhere, in some way, be atoned for. she herself had not escaped the penalty, of which, she realized, this burden placed upon her conscience was but another installment. if she should make known the facts she had learned, it would mean what?--a division of her father's estate, a recognition of the legality of her father's relations with julia. such a stain upon her father's memory would be infinitely worse than if he had _not_ married her. to have lived with her without marriage was a social misdemeanor, at which society in the old days had winked, or at most had frowned. to have married her was to have committed the unpardonable social sin. such a scandal mrs. carteret could not have endured. should she seek to make restitution, it would necessarily involve the disclosure of at least some of the facts. had she not destroyed the will, she might have compromised with her conscience by producing it and acting upon its terms, which had been so stated as not to disclose the marriage. this was now rendered impossible by her own impulsive act; she could not mention the will at all, without admitting that she had destroyed it. mrs. carteret found herself in what might be called, vulgarly, a moral "pocket." she could, of course, remain silent. mrs. carteret was a good woman, according to her lights, with a cultivated conscience, to which she had always looked as her mentor and infallible guide. hence mrs. carteret, after this painful discovery, remained for a long time ill at ease,--so disturbed, indeed, that her mind reacted upon her nerves, which had never been strong; and her nervousness affected her strength, which had never been great, until carteret, whose love for her had been deepened and strengthened by the advent of his son, became alarmed for her health, and spoke very seriously to dr. price concerning it. xxxi the shadow of a dream mrs. carteret awoke, with a start, from a troubled dream. she had been sailing across a sunlit sea, in a beautiful boat, her child lying on a bright-colored cushion at her feet. overhead the swelling sail served as an awning to keep off the sun's rays, which far ahead were reflected with dazzling brilliancy from the shores of a golden island. her son, she dreamed, was a fairy prince, and yonder lay his kingdom, to which he was being borne, lying there at her feet, in this beautiful boat, across the sunlit sea. suddenly and without warning the sky was overcast. a squall struck the boat and tore away the sail. in the distance a huge billow--a great white wall of water--came sweeping toward their frail craft, threatening it with instant destruction. she clasped her child to her bosom, and a moment later found herself struggling in the sea, holding the child's head above the water. as she floated there, as though sustained by some unseen force, she saw in the distance a small boat approaching over the storm-tossed waves. straight toward her it came, and she had reached out her hand to grasp its side, when the rower looked back, and she saw that it was her sister. the recognition had been mutual. with a sharp movement of one oar the boat glided by, leaving her clutching at the empty air. she felt her strength begin to fail. despairingly she signaled with her disengaged hand; but the rower, after one mute, reproachful glance, rowed on. mrs. carteret's strength grew less and less. the child became heavy as lead. herself floating in the water, as though it were her native element, she could no longer support the child. lower and lower it sank,--she was powerless to save it or to accompany it,--until, gasping wildly for breath, it threw up its little hands and sank, the cruel water gurgling over its head,--when she awoke with a start and a chill, and lay there trembling for several minutes before she heard little dodie in his crib, breathing heavily. she rose softly, went to the crib, and changed the child's position to an easier one. he breathed more freely, and she went back to bed, but not to sleep. she had tried to put aside the distressing questions raised by the discovery of her father's will and the papers accompanying it. why should she be burdened with such a responsibility, at this late day, when the touch of time had well-nigh healed these old sores? surely, god had put his curse not alone upon the slave, but upon the stealer of men! with other good people she had thanked him that slavery was no more, and that those who once had borne its burden upon their consciences could stand erect and feel that they themselves were free. the weed had been cut down, but its roots remained, deeply imbedded in the soil, to spring up and trouble a new generation. upon her weak shoulders was placed the burden of her father's weakness, her father's folly. it was left to her to acknowledge or not this shameful marriage and her sister's rights in their father's estate. balancing one consideration against another, she had almost decided that she might ignore this tie. to herself, olivia merkell,--olivia carteret,--the stigma of base birth would have meant social ostracism, social ruin, the averted face, the finger of pity or of scorn. all the traditional weight of public disapproval would have fallen upon her as the unhappy fruit of an unblessed union. to this other woman it could have had no such significance,--it had been the lot of her race. to them, twenty-five years before, sexual sin had never been imputed as more than a fault. she had lost nothing by her supposed illegitimacy; she would gain nothing by the acknowledgment of her mother's marriage. on the other hand, what would be the effect of this revelation upon mrs. carteret herself? to have it known that her father had married a negress would only be less dreadful than to have it appear that he had committed some terrible crime. it was a crime now, by the laws of every southern state, for white and colored persons to intermarry. she shuddered before the possibility that at some time in the future some person, none too well informed, might learn that her father had married a colored woman, and might assume that she, olivia carteret, or her child, had sprung from this shocking _mésalliance_,--a fate to which she would willingly have preferred death. no, this marriage must never be made known; the secret should remain buried forever in her own heart! but there still remained the question of her father's property and her father's will. this woman was her father's child,--of that there could be no doubt, it was written in her features no less than in her father's will. as his lawful child,--of which, alas! there could also be no question,--she was entitled by law to half his estate. mrs. carteret's problem had sunk from the realm of sentiment to that of material things, which, curiously enough, she found much more difficult. for, while the negro, by the traditions of her people, was barred from the world of sentiment, his rights of property were recognized. the question had become, with mrs. carteret, a question of _meum_ and _tuum_. had the girl janet been poor, ignorant, or degraded, as might well have been her fate, mrs. carteret might have felt a vicarious remorse for her aunt's suppression of the papers; but fate had compensated janet for the loss; she had been educated, she had married well; she had not suffered for lack of the money of which she had been defrauded, and did not need it now. she had a child, it is true, but this child's career would be so circumscribed by the accident of color that too much wealth would only be a source of unhappiness; to her own child, on the contrary, it would open every door of life. it would be too lengthy a task to follow the mind and conscience of this much-tried lady in their intricate workings upon this difficult problem; for she had a mind as logical as any woman's, and a conscience which she wished to keep void of offense. she had to confront a situation involving the element of race, upon which the moral standards of her people were hopelessly confused. mrs. carteret reached the conclusion, ere daylight dawned, that she would be silent upon the subject of her father's second marriage. neither party had wished it known,--neither julia nor her father,--and she would respect her father's wishes. to act otherwise would be to defeat his will, to make known what he had carefully concealed, and to give janet a claim of title to one half her father's estate, while he had only meant her to have the ten thousand dollars named in the will. by the same reasoning, she must carry out her father's will in respect to this bequest. here there was another difficulty. the mining investment into which they had entered shortly after the birth of little dodie had tied up so much of her property that it would have been difficult to procure ten thousand dollars immediately; while a demand for half the property at once would mean bankruptcy and ruin. moreover, upon what ground could she offer her sister any sum of money whatever? so sudden a change of heart, after so many years of silence, would raise the presumption of some right on the part of janet in her father's estate. suspicion once aroused, it might be possible to trace this hidden marriage, and establish it by legal proof. the marriage once verified, the claim for half the estate could not be denied. she could not plead her father's will to the contrary, for this would be to acknowledge the suppression of the will, in itself a criminal act. there was, however, a way of escape. this hospital which had recently been opened was the personal property of her sister's husband. some time in the future, when their investments matured, she would present to the hospital a sum of money equal to the amount her father had meant his colored daughter to have. thus indirectly both her father's will and her own conscience would be satisfied. mrs. carteret had reached this comfortable conclusion, and was falling asleep, when her attention was again drawn by her child's breathing. she took it in her own arms and soon fell asleep. "by the way, olivia," said the major, when leaving the house next morning for the office, "if you have any business down town to-day, transact it this forenoon. under no circumstances must you or clara or the baby leave the house after midday." "why, what's the matter, phil?" "nothing to alarm you, except that there may be a little political demonstration which may render the streets unsafe. you are not to say anything about it where the servants might hear." "will there be any danger for you, phil?" she demanded with alarm. "not the slightest, olivia dear. no one will be harmed; but it is best for ladies and children to stay indoors." mrs. carteret's nerves were still more or less unstrung from her mental struggles of the night, and the memory of her dream came to her like a dim foreboding of misfortune. as though in sympathy with its mother's feelings, the baby did not seem as well as usual. the new nurse was by no means an ideal nurse,--mammy jane understood the child much better. if there should be any trouble with the negroes, toward which her husband's remark seemed to point,--she knew the general political situation, though not informed in regard to her husband's plans,--she would like to have mammy jane near her, where the old nurse might be protected from danger or alarm. with this end in view she dispatched the nurse, shortly after breakfast, to mammy jane's house in the negro settlement on the other side of the town, with a message asking the old woman to come immediately to mrs. carteret's. unfortunately, mammy jane had gone to visit a sick woman in the country, and was not expected to return for several hours. xxxii the storm breaks the wellington riot began at three o'clock in the afternoon of a day as fair as was ever selected for a deed of darkness. the sky was clear, except for a few light clouds that floated, white and feathery, high in air, like distant islands in a sapphire sea. a salt-laden breeze from the ocean a few miles away lent a crisp sparkle to the air. at three o'clock sharp the streets were filled, as if by magic, with armed white men. the negroes, going about, had noted, with uneasy curiosity, that the stores and places of business, many of which closed at noon, were unduly late in opening for the afternoon, though no one suspected the reason for the delay; but at three o'clock every passing colored man was ordered, by the first white man he met, to throw up his hands. if he complied, he was searched, more or less roughly, for firearms, and then warned to get off the street. when he met another group of white men the scene was repeated. the man thus summarily held up seldom encountered more than two groups before disappearing across lots to his own home or some convenient hiding-place. if he resisted any demand of those who halted him--but the records of the day are historical; they may be found in the newspapers of the following date, but they are more firmly engraved upon the hearts and memories of the people of wellington. for many months there were negro families in the town whose children screamed with fear and ran to their mothers for protection at the mere sight of a white man. dr. miller had received a call, about one o'clock, to attend a case at the house of a well-to-do colored farmer, who lived some three or four miles from the town, upon the very road, by the way, along which miller had driven so furiously a few weeks before, in the few hours that intervened before sandy campbell would probably have been burned at the stake. the drive to his patient's home, the necessary inquiries, the filling of the prescription from his own medicine-case, which he carried along with him, the little friendly conversation about the weather and the crops, and, the farmer being an intelligent and thinking man, the inevitable subject of the future of their race,--these, added to the return journey, occupied at least two hours of miller's time. as he neared the town on his way back, he saw ahead of him half a dozen men and women approaching, with fear written in their faces, in every degree from apprehension to terror. women were weeping and children crying, and all were going as fast as seemingly lay in their power, looking behind now and then as if pursued by some deadly enemy. at sight of miller's buggy they made a dash for cover, disappearing, like a covey of frightened partridges, in the underbrush along the road. miller pulled up his horse and looked after them in startled wonder. "what on earth can be the matter?" he muttered, struck with a vague feeling of alarm. a psychologist, seeking to trace the effects of slavery upon the human mind, might find in the south many a curious illustration of this curse, abiding long after the actual physical bondage had terminated. in the olden time the white south labored under the constant fear of negro insurrections. knowing that they themselves, if in the negroes' place, would have risen in the effort to throw off the yoke, all their reiterated theories of negro subordination and inferiority could not remove that lurking fear, founded upon the obscure consciousness that the slaves ought to have risen. conscience, it has been said, makes cowards of us all. there was never, on the continent of america, a successful slave revolt, nor one which lasted more than a few hours, or resulted in the loss of more than a few white lives; yet never was the planter quite free from the fear that there might be one. on the other hand, the slave had before his eyes always the fear of the master. there were good men, according to their lights,--according to their training and environment,--among the southern slaveholders, who treated their slaves kindly, as slaves, from principle, because they recognized the claims of humanity, even under the dark skin of a human chattel. there was many a one who protected or pampered his negroes, as the case might be, just as a man fondles his dog,--because they were his; they were a part of his estate, an integral part of the entity of property and person which made up the aristocrat; but with all this kindness, there was always present, in the consciousness of the lowest slave, the knowledge that he was in his master's power, and that he could make no effectual protest against the abuse of that authority. there was also the knowledge, among those who could think at all, that the best of masters was himself a slave to a system, which hampered his movements but scarcely less than those of his bondmen. when, therefore, miller saw these men and women scampering into the bushes, he divined, with this slumbering race consciousness which years of culture had not obliterated, that there was some race trouble on foot. his intuition did not long remain unsupported. a black head was cautiously protruded from the shrubbery, and a black voice--if such a description be allowable--addressed him:-- "is dat you, doctuh miller?" "yes. who are you, and what's the trouble?" "what's de trouble, suh? why, all hell's broke loose in town yonduh. de w'ite folks is riz 'gins' de niggers, an' say dey're gwine ter kill eve'y nigger dey kin lay han's on." miller's heart leaped to his throat, as he thought of his wife and child. this story was preposterous; it could not be true, and yet there must be something in it. he tried to question his informant, but the man was so overcome with excitement and fear that miller saw clearly that he must go farther for information. he had read in the morning chronicle, a few days before, the obnoxious editorial quoted from the afro-american banner, and had noted the comment upon it by the white editor. he had felt, as at the time of its first publication, that the editorial was ill-advised. it could do no good, and was calculated to arouse the animosity of those whose friendship, whose tolerance, at least, was necessary and almost indispensable to the colored people. they were living, at the best, in a sort of armed neutrality with the whites; such a publication, however serviceable elsewhere, could have no other effect in wellington than to endanger this truce and defeat the hope of a possible future friendship. the right of free speech entitled barber to publish it; a larger measure of common-sense would have made him withhold it. whether it was the republication of this article that had stirred up anew the sleeping dogs of race prejudice and whetted their thirst for blood, he could not yet tell; but at any rate, there was mischief on foot. "fer god's sake, doctuh, don' go no closeter ter dat town," pleaded his informant, "er you'll be killt sho'. come on wid us, suh, an' tek keer er yo'se'f. we're gwine ter hide in de swamps till dis thing is over!" "god, man!" exclaimed miller, urging his horse forward, "my wife and child are in the town!" fortunately, he reflected, there were no patients confined in the hospital,--if there should be anything in this preposterous story. to one unfamiliar with southern life, it might have seemed impossible that these good christian people, who thronged the churches on sunday, and wept over the sufferings of the lowly nazarene, and sent missionaries to the heathen, could be hungering and thirsting for the blood of their fellow men; but miller cherished no such delusion. he knew the history of his country; he had the threatened lynching of sandy campbell vividly in mind; and he was fully persuaded that to race prejudice, once roused, any horror was possible. that women or children would be molested of set purpose he did not believe, but that they might suffer by accident was more than likely. as he neared the town, dashing forward at the top of his horse's speed, he heard his voice called in a loud and agitated tone, and, glancing around him, saw a familiar form standing by the roadside, gesticulating vehemently. he drew up the horse with a suddenness that threw the faithful and obedient animal back upon its haunches. the colored lawyer, watson, came up to the buggy. that he was laboring under great and unusual excitement was quite apparent from his pale face and frightened air. "what's the matter, watson?" demanded miller, hoping now to obtain some reliable information. "matter!" exclaimed the other. "everything's the matter! the white people are up in arms. they have disarmed the colored people, killing half a dozen in the process, and wounding as many more. they have forced the mayor and aldermen to resign, have formed a provisional city government _à la française_, and have ordered me and half a dozen other fellows to leave town in forty-eight hours, under pain of sudden death. as they seem to mean it, i shall not stay so long. fortunately, my wife and children are away. i knew you were out here, however, and i thought i'd come out and wait for you, so that we might talk the matter over. i don't imagine they mean you any harm, personally, because you tread on nobody's toes; but you're too valuable a man for the race to lose, so i thought i'd give you warning. i shall want to sell you my property, too, at a bargain. for i'm worth too much to my family to dream of ever attempting to live here again." "have you seen anything of my wife and child?" asked miller, intent upon the danger to which they might be exposed. "no; i didn't go to the house. i inquired at the drugstore and found out where you had gone. you needn't fear for them,--it is not a war on women and children." "war of any kind is always hardest on the women and children," returned miller; "i must hurry on and see that mine are safe." "they'll not carry the war so far into africa as that," returned watson; "but i never saw anything like it. yesterday i had a hundred white friends in the town, or thought i had,--men who spoke pleasantly to me on the street, and sometimes gave me their hands to shake. not one of them said to me today: 'watson, stay at home this afternoon.' i might have been killed, like any one of half a dozen others who have bit the dust, for any word that one of my 'friends' had said to warn me. when the race cry is started in this neck of the woods, friendship, religion, humanity, reason, all shrivel up like dry leaves in a raging furnace." the buggy, into which watson had climbed, was meanwhile rapidly nearing the town. "i think i'll leave you here, miller," said watson, as they approached the outskirts, "and make my way home by a roundabout path, as i should like to get there unmolested. home!--a beautiful word that, isn't it, for an exiled wanderer? it might not be well, either, for us to be seen together. if you put the hood of your buggy down, and sit well back in the shadow, you may be able to reach home without interruption; but avoid the main streets. i'll see you again this evening, if we're both alive, and i can reach you; for my time is short. a committee are to call in the morning to escort me to the train. i am to be dismissed from the community with public honors." watson was climbing down from the buggy, when a small party of men were seen approaching, and big josh green, followed by several other resolute-looking colored men, came up and addressed them. "dr. miller," cried green, "mr. watson,--we're lookin' fer a leader. de w'ite folks are killin' de niggers, an' we ain' gwine ter stan' up an' be shot down like dogs. we're gwine ter defen' ou' lives, an' we ain' gwine ter run away f'm no place where we 'we got a right ter be; an' woe be ter de w'ite man w'at lays ban's on us! dere's two niggers in dis town ter eve'y w'ite man, an' ef we 'we got ter be killt, we'll take some w'ite folks 'long wid us, ez sho' ez dere's a god in heaven,--ez i s'pose dere is, dough he mus' be 'sleep, er busy somewhar e'se ter-day. will you-all come an' lead us?" "gentlemen," said watson, "what is the use? the negroes will not back you up. they haven't the arms, nor the moral courage, nor the leadership." "we'll git de arms, an' we'll git de courage, ef you'll come an' lead us! we wants leaders,--dat's w'y we come ter you!" "what's the use?" returned watson despairingly. "the odds are too heavy. i've been ordered out of town; if i stayed, i'd be shot on sight, unless i had a body-guard around me." "we'll be yo' body-guard!" shouted half a dozen voices. "and when my body-guard was shot, what then? i have a wife and children. it is my duty to live for them. if i died, i should get no glory and no reward, and my family would be reduced to beggary,--to which they'll soon be near enough as it is. this affair will blow over in a day or two. the white people will be ashamed of themselves to-morrow, and apprehensive of the consequences for some time to come. keep quiet, boys, and trust in god. you won't gain anything by resistance." "'god he'ps dem dat he'ps demselves,'" returned josh stoutly. "ef mr. watson won't lead us, will you, dr. miller?" said the spokesman, turning to the doctor. for miller it was an agonizing moment. he was no coward, morally or physically. every manly instinct urged him to go forward and take up the cause of these leaderless people, and, if need be, to defend their lives and their rights with his own,--but to what end? "listen, men," he said. "we would only be throwing our lives away. suppose we made a determined stand and won a temporary victory. by morning every train, every boat, every road leading into wellington, would be crowded with white men,--as they probably will be any way,--with arms in their hands, curses on their lips, and vengeance in their hearts. in the minds of those who make and administer the laws, we have no standing in the court of conscience. they would kill us in the fight, or they would hang us afterwards,--one way or another, we should be doomed. i should like to lead you; i should like to arm every colored man in this town, and have them stand firmly in line, not for attack, but for defense; but if i attempted it, and they should stand by me, which is questionable,--for i have met them fleeing from the town,--my life would pay the forfeit. alive, i may be of some use to you, and you are welcome to my life in that way,--i am giving it freely. dead, i should be a mere lump of carrion. who remembers even the names of those who have been done to death in the southern states for the past twenty years?" "i 'members de name er one of 'em," said josh, "an' i 'members de name er de man dat killt 'im, an' i s'pec' his time is mighty nigh come." "my advice is not heroic, but i think it is wise. in this riot we are placed as we should be in a war: we have no territory, no base of supplies, no organization, no outside sympathy,--we stand in the position of a race, in a case like this, without money and without friends. our time will come,--the time when we can command respect for our rights; but it is not yet in sight. give it up, boys, and wait. good may come of this, after all." several of the men wavered, and looked irresolute. "i reckon that's all so, doctuh," returned josh, "an', de way you put it, i don' blame you ner mr. watson; but all dem reasons ain' got no weight wid me. i'm gwine in dat town, an' ef any w'ite man 'sturbs me, dere'll be trouble,--dere'll be double trouble,--i feels it in my bones!" "remember your old mother, josh," said miller. "yas, sub, i'll 'member her; dat's all i kin do now. i don' need ter wait fer her no mo', fer she died dis mo'nin'. i'd lack ter see her buried, suh, but i may not have de chance. ef i gits killt, will you do me a favor?" "yes, josh; what is it?" "ef i should git laid out in dis commotion dat's gwine on, will you collec' my wages f'm yo' brother, and see dat de ole 'oman is put away right?" "yes, of course." "wid a nice coffin, an' a nice fune'al, an' a head-bo'd an' a foot-bo'd?" "yes." "all right, suh! ef i don' live ter do it, i'll know it'll be 'tended ter right. now we're gwine out ter de cotton compress, an' git a lot er colored men tergether, an' ef de w'ite folks 'sturbs me, i shouldn't be s'prise' ef dere'd be a mix-up;--an' ef dere is, me an _one_ w'ite man 'll stan' befo' de jedgment th'one er god dis day; an' it won't be me w'at'll be 'feared er de jedgment. come along, boys! dese gentlemen may have somethin' ter live fer; but ez fer my pa't, i'd ruther be a dead nigger any day dan a live dog!" xxxiii into the lion's jaws the party under josh's leadership moved off down the road. miller, while entirely convinced that he had acted wisely in declining to accompany them, was yet conscious of a distinct feeling of shame and envy that he, too, did not feel impelled to throw away his life in a hopeless struggle. watson left the buggy and disappeared by a path at the roadside. miller drove rapidly forward. after entering the town, he passed several small parties of white men, but escaped scrutiny by sitting well back in his buggy, the presumption being that a well-dressed man with a good horse and buggy was white. torn with anxiety, he reached home at about four o'clock. driving the horse into the yard, he sprang down from the buggy and hastened to the house, which he found locked, front and rear. a repeated rapping brought no response. at length he broke a window, and entered the house like a thief. "janet, janet!" he called in alarm, "where are you? it is only i,--will!" there was no reply. he ran from room to room, only to find them all empty. again he called his wife's name, and was about rushing from the house, when a muffled voice came faintly to his ear,-- "is dat you, doctuh miller?" "yes. who are you, and where are my wife and child?" he was looking around in perplexity, when the door of a low closet under the kitchen sink was opened from within, and a woolly head was cautiously protruded. "are you _sho'_ dat's you, doctuh?" "yes, sally; where are"-- "an' not some w'ite man come ter bu'n down de house an' kill all de niggers?" "no, sally, it's me all right. where is my wife? where is my child?" "dey went over ter see mis' butler 'long 'bout two o'clock, befo' dis fuss broke out, suh. oh, lawdy, lawdy, suh! is all de cullud folks be'n killt 'cep'n' me an' you, suh? fer de lawd's sake, suh, you won' let 'em kill me, will you, suh? i'll wuk fer you fer nuthin', suh, all my bawn days, ef you'll save my life, suh!" "calm yourself, sally. you'll be safe enough if you stay right here, i 'we no doubt. they'll not harm women,--of that i'm sure enough, although i haven't yet got the bearings of this deplorable affair. stay here and look after the house. i must find my wife and child!" the distance across the city to the home of the mrs. butler whom his wife had gone to visit was exactly one mile. though miller had a good horse in front of him, he was two hours in reaching his destination. never will the picture of that ride fade from his memory. in his dreams he repeats it night after night, and sees the sights that wounded his eyes, and feels the thoughts--the haunting spirits of the thoughts--that tore his heart as he rode through hell to find those whom he was seeking. for a short distance he saw nothing, and made rapid progress. as he turned the first corner, his horse shied at the dead body of a negro, lying huddled up in the collapse which marks sudden death. what miller shuddered at was not so much the thought of death, to the sight of which his profession had accustomed him, as the suggestion of what it signified. he had taken with allowance the wild statement of the fleeing fugitives. watson, too, had been greatly excited, and josh green's group were desperate men, as much liable to be misled by their courage as the others by their fears; but here was proof that murder had been done,--and his wife and children were in the town. distant shouts, and the sound of firearms, increased his alarm. he struck his horse with the whip, and dashed on toward the heart of the city, which he must traverse in order to reach janet and the child. at the next corner lay the body of another man, with the red blood oozing from a ghastly wound in the forehead. the negroes seemed to have been killed, as the band plays in circus parades, at the street intersections, where the example would be most effective. miller, with a wild leap of the heart, had barely passed this gruesome spectacle, when a sharp voice commanded him to halt, and emphasized the order by covering him with a revolver. forgetting the prudence he had preached to others, he had raised his whip to strike the horse, when several hands seized the bridle. "come down, you damn fool," growled an authoritative voice. "don't you see we're in earnest? do you want to get killed?" "why should i come down?" asked miller. "because we've ordered you to come down! this is the white people's day, and when they order, a nigger must obey. we're going to search you for weapons." "search away. you'll find nothing but a case of surgeon's tools, which i'm more than likely to need before this day is over, from all indications." "no matter; we'll make sure of it! that's what we're here for. come down, if you don't want to be pulled down!" miller stepped down from his buggy. his interlocutor, who made no effort at disguise, was a clerk in a dry-goods store where miller bought most of his family and hospital supplies. he made no sign of recognition, however, and miller claimed no acquaintance. this man, who had for several years emptied miller's pockets in the course of more or less legitimate trade, now went through them, aided by another man, more rapidly than ever before, the searchers convincing themselves that miller carried no deadly weapon upon his person. meanwhile, a third ransacked the buggy with like result. miller recognized several others of the party, who made not the slightest attempt at disguise, though no names were called by any one. "where are you going?" demanded the leader. "i am looking for my wife and child," replied miller. "well, run along, and keep them out of the streets when you find them; and keep your hands out of this affair, if you wish to live in this town, which from now on will be a white man's town, as you niggers will be pretty firmly convinced before night." miller drove on as swiftly as might be. at the next corner he was stopped again. in the white man who held him up, miller recognized a neighbor of his own. after a short detention and a perfunctory search, the white man remarked apologetically:-- "sorry to have had to trouble you, doctuh, but them's the o'ders. it ain't men like you that we're after, but the vicious and criminal class of niggers." miller smiled bitterly as he urged his horse forward. he was quite well aware that the virtuous citizen who had stopped him had only a few weeks before finished a term in the penitentiary, to which he had been sentenced for stealing. miller knew that he could have bought all the man owned for fifty dollars, and his soul for as much more. a few rods farther on, he came near running over the body of a wounded man who lay groaning by the wayside. every professional instinct urged him to stop and offer aid to the sufferer; but the uncertainty concerning his wife and child proved a stronger motive and urged him resistlessly forward. here and there the ominous sound of firearms was audible. he might have thought this merely a part of the show, like the "powder play" of the arabs, but for the bloody confirmation of its earnestness which had already assailed his vision. somewhere in this seething caldron of unrestrained passions were his wife and child, and he must hurry on. his progress was painfully slow. three times he was stopped and searched. more than once his way was barred, and he was ordered to turn back, each such occasion requiring a detour which consumed many minutes. the man who last stopped him was a well-known jewish merchant. a jew--god of moses!--had so far forgotten twenty centuries of history as to join in the persecution of another oppressed race! when almost reduced to despair by these innumerable delays, he perceived, coming toward him, mr. ellis, the sub-editor of the morning chronicle. miller had just been stopped and questioned again, and ellis came up as he was starting once more upon his endless ride. "dr. miller," said ellis kindly, "it is dangerous for you on the streets. why tempt the danger?" "i am looking for my wife and child," returned miller in desperation. "they are somewhere in this town,--i don't know where,--and i must find them." ellis had been horror-stricken by the tragedy of the afternoon, the wholly superfluous slaughter of a harmless people, whom a show of force would have been quite sufficient to overawe. elaborate explanations were afterwards given for these murders, which were said, perhaps truthfully, not to have been premeditated, and many regrets were expressed. the young man had been surprised, quite as much as the negroes themselves, at the ferocity displayed. his own thoughts and feelings were attuned to anything but slaughter. only that morning he had received a perfumed note, calling his attention to what the writer described as a very noble deed of his, and requesting him to call that evening and receive the writer's thanks. had he known that miss pemberton, several weeks after their visit to the sound, had driven out again to the hotel and made some inquiries among the servants, he might have understood better the meaning of this missive. when miller spoke of his wife and child, some subtle thread of suggestion coupled the note with miller's plight. "i'll go with you, dr. miller," he said, "if you'll permit me. in my company you will not be disturbed." he took a seat in miller's buggy, after which it was not molested. neither of them spoke. miller was sick at heart; he could have wept with grief, even had the welfare of his own dear ones not been involved in this regrettable affair. with prophetic instinct he foresaw the hatreds to which this day would give birth; the long years of constraint and distrust which would still further widen the breach between two peoples whom fate had thrown together in one community. there was nothing for ellis to say. in his heart he could not defend the deeds of this day. the petty annoyances which the whites had felt at the spectacle of a few negroes in office; the not unnatural resentment of a proud people at what had seemed to them a presumptuous freedom of speech and lack of deference on the part of their inferiors,--these things, which he knew were to be made the excuse for overturning the city government, he realized full well were no sort of justification for the wholesale murder or other horrors which might well ensue before the day was done. he could not approve the acts of his own people; neither could he, to a negro, condemn them. hence he was silent. "thank you, mr. ellis," exclaimed miller, when they had reached the house where he expected to find his wife. "this is the place where i was going. i am--under a great obligation to you." "not at all, dr. miller. i need not tell you how much i regret this deplorable affair." ellis went back down the street. fastening his horse to the fence, miller sprang forward to find his wife and child. they would certainly be there, for no colored woman would be foolhardy enough to venture on the streets after the riot had broken out. as he drew nearer, he felt a sudden apprehension. the house seemed strangely silent and deserted. the doors were closed, and the venetian blinds shut tightly. even a dog which had appeared slunk timidly back under the house, instead of barking vociferously according to the usual habit of his kind. xxxiv the valley of the shadow miller knocked at the door. there was no response. he went round to the rear of the house. the dog had slunk behind the woodpile. miller knocked again, at the back door, and, receiving no reply, called aloud. "mrs. butler! it is i, dr. miller. is my wife here?" the slats of a near-by blind opened cautiously. "is it really you, dr. miller?" "yes, mrs. butler. i am looking for my wife and child,--are they here?" "no, sir; she became alarmed about you, soon after the shooting commenced, and i could not keep her. she left for home half an hour ago. it is coming on dusk, and she and the child are so near white that she did not expect to be molested." "which way did she go?" "she meant to go by the main street. she thought it would be less dangerous than the back streets. i tried to get her to stay here, but she was frantic about you, and nothing i could say would keep her. is the riot almost over, dr. miller? do you think they will murder us all, and burn down our houses?" "god knows," replied miller, with a groan. "but i must find her, if i lose my own life in the attempt." surely, he thought, janet would be safe. the white people of wellington were not savages; or at least their temporary reversion to savagery would not go as far as to include violence to delicate women and children. then there flashed into his mind josh green's story of his "silly" mother, who for twenty years had walked the earth as a child, as the result of one night's terror, and his heart sank within him. miller realized that his buggy, by attracting attention, had been a hindrance rather than a help in his progress across the city. in order to follow his wife, he must practically retrace his steps over the very route he had come. night was falling. it would be easier to cross the town on foot. in the dusk his own color, slight in the daytime, would not attract attention, and by dodging in the shadows he might avoid those who might wish to intercept him. but he must reach janet and the boy at any risk. he had not been willing to throw his life away hopelessly, but he would cheerfully have sacrificed it for those whom he loved. he had gone but a short distance, and had not yet reached the centre of mob activity, when he intercepted a band of negro laborers from the cotton compress, with big josh green at their head. "hello, doctuh!" cried josh, "does you wan' ter jine us?" "i'm looking for my wife and child, josh. they're somewhere in this den of murderers. have any of you seen them?" no one had seen them. "you men are running a great risk," said miller. "you are rushing on to certain death." "well, suh, maybe we is; but we're gwine ter die fightin'. dey say de w'ite folks is gwine ter bu'n all de cullud schools an' chu'ches, an' kill all de niggers dey kin ketch. dey're gwine ter bu'n yo' new hospittle, ef somebody don' stop 'em." "josh--men--you are throwing your lives away. it is a fever; it will wear off to-morrow, or to-night. they'll not burn the schoolhouses, nor the hospital--they are not such fools, for they benefit the community; and they'll only kill the colored people who resist them. every one of you with a gun or a pistol carries his death warrant in his own hand. i'd rather see the hospital burn than have one of you lose his life. resistance only makes the matter worse,--the odds against you are too long." "things can't be any wuss, doctuh," replied one of the crowd sturdily. "a gun is mo' dange'ous ter de man in front of it dan ter de man behin' it. dey're gwine ter kill us anyhow; an' we're tired,--we read de newspapers,--an' we're tired er bein' shot down like dogs, widout jedge er jury. we'd ruther die fightin' dan be stuck like pigs in a pen!" "god help you!" said miller. "as for me, i must find my wife and child." "good-by, doctuh," cried josh, brandishing a huge knife. "'member 'bout de ole 'oman, ef you lives thoo dis. don' fergit de headbo'd an' de footbo'd, an' a silver plate on de coffin, ef dere's money ernuff." they went their way, and miller hurried on. they might resist attack; he thought it extremely unlikely that they would begin it; but he knew perfectly well that the mere knowledge that some of the negroes contemplated resistance would only further inflame the infuriated whites. the colored men might win a momentary victory, though it was extremely doubtful; and they would as surely reap the harvest later on. the qualities which in a white man would win the applause of the world would in a negro be taken as the marks of savagery. so thoroughly diseased was public opinion in matters of race that the negro who died for the common rights of humanity might look for no meed of admiration or glory. at such a time, in the white man's eyes, a negro's courage would be mere desperation; his love of liberty, a mere animal dislike of restraint. every finer human instinct would be interpreted in terms of savagery. or, if forced to admire, they would none the less repress. they would applaud his courage while they stretched his neck, or carried off the fragments of his mangled body as souvenirs, in much the same way that savages preserve the scalps or eat the hearts of their enemies. but concern for the fate of josh and his friends occupied only a secondary place in miller's mind for the moment. his wife and child were somewhere ahead of him. he pushed on. he had covered about a quarter of a mile more, and far down the street could see the signs of greater animation, when he came upon the body of a woman lying upon the sidewalk. in the dusk he had almost stumbled over it, and his heart came up in his mouth. a second glance revealed that it could not be his wife. it was a fearful portent, however, of what her fate might be. the "war" had reached the women and children. yielding to a professional instinct, he stooped, and saw that the prostrate form was that of old aunt jane letlow. she was not yet quite dead, and as miller, with a tender touch, placed her head in a more comfortable position, her lips moved with a last lingering flicker of consciousness:-- "comin', missis, comin'!" mammy jane had gone to join the old mistress upon whose memory her heart was fixed; and yet not all her reverence for her old mistress, nor all her deference to the whites, nor all their friendship for her, had been able to save her from this raging devil of race hatred which momentarily possessed the town. perceiving that he could do no good, miller hastened onward, sick at heart. whenever he saw a party of white men approaching,--these brave reformers never went singly,--he sought concealment in the shadow of a tree or the shrubbery in some yard until they had passed. he had covered about two thirds of the distance homeward, when his eyes fell upon a group beneath a lamp-post, at sight of which he turned pale with horror, and rushed forward with a terrible cry. xxxv "mine enemy, o mine enemy!" the proceedings of the day--planned originally as a "demonstration," dignified subsequently as a "revolution," under any name the culmination of the conspiracy formed by carteret and his colleagues--had by seven o'clock in the afternoon developed into a murderous riot. crowds of white men and half-grown boys, drunk with whiskey or with license, raged through the streets, beating, chasing, or killing any negro so unfortunate as to fall into their hands. why any particular negro was assailed, no one stopped to inquire; it was merely a white mob thirsting for black blood, with no more conscience or discrimination than would be exercised by a wolf in a sheepfold. it was race against race, the whites against the negroes; and it was a one-sided affair, for until josh green got together his body of armed men, no effective resistance had been made by any colored person, and the individuals who had been killed had so far left no marks upon the enemy by which they might be remembered. "kill the niggers!" rang out now and then through the dusk, and far down the street and along the intersecting thoroughfares distant voices took up the ominous refrain,--"kill the niggers! kill the damned niggers!" now, not a dark face had been seen on the street for half an hour, until the group of men headed by josh made their appearance in the negro quarter. armed with guns and axes, they presented quite a formidable appearance as they made their way toward the new hospital, near which stood a schoolhouse and a large church, both used by the colored people. they did not reach their destination without having met a number of white men, singly or in twos or threes; and the rumor spread with incredible swiftness that the negroes in turn were up in arms, determined to massacre all the whites and burn the town. some of the whites became alarmed, and recognizing the power of the negroes, if armed and conscious of their strength, were impressed by the immediate necessity of overpowering and overawing them. others, with appetites already whetted by slaughter, saw a chance, welcome rather than not, of shedding more black blood. spontaneously the white mob flocked toward the hospital, where rumor had it that a large body of desperate negroes, breathing threats of blood and fire, had taken a determined stand. it had been josh's plan merely to remain quietly and peaceably in the neighborhood of the little group of public institutions, molesting no one, unless first attacked, and merely letting the white people see that they meant to protect their own; but so rapidly did the rumor spread, and so promptly did the white people act, that by the time josh and his supporters had reached the top of the rising ground where the hospital stood, a crowd of white men much more numerous than their own party were following them at a short distance. josh, with the eye of a general, perceived that some of his party were becoming a little nervous, and decided that they would feel safer behind shelter. "i reckon we better go inside de hospittle, boys," he exclaimed. "den we'll be behind brick walls, an' dem other fellows 'll be outside, an' ef dere's any fightin', we'll have de bes' show. we ain' gwine ter do no shootin' till we're pestered, an' dey'll be less likely ter pester us ef dey can't git at us widout runnin' some resk. come along in! be men! de gov'ner er de president is gwine ter sen' soldiers ter stop dese gwines-on, an' meantime we kin keep dem white devils f'm bu'nin' down our hospittles an' chu'ch-houses. wen dey comes an' fin's out dat we jes' means ter pertect ou' prope'ty, dey'll go 'long 'bout deir own business. er, ef dey wants a scrap, dey kin have it! come erlong, boys!" jerry letlow, who had kept out of sight during the day, had started out, after night had set in, to find major carteret. jerry was very much afraid. the events of the day had filled him with terror. whatever the limitations of jerry's mind or character may have been, jerry had a keen appreciation of the danger to the negroes when they came in conflict with the whites, and he had no desire to imperil his own skin. he valued his life for his own sake, and not for any altruistic theory that it might be of service to others. in other words, jerry was something of a coward. he had kept in hiding all day, but finding, toward evening, that the riot did not abate, and fearing, from the rumors which came to his ears, that all the negroes would be exterminated, he had set out, somewhat desperately, to try to find his white patron and protector. he had been cautious to avoid meeting any white men, and, anticipating no danger from those of his own race, went toward the party which he saw approaching, whose path would cross his own. when they were only a few yards apart, josh took a step forward and caught jerry by the arm. "come along, jerry, we need you! here's another man, boys. come on now, and fight fer yo' race!" in vain jerry protested. "i don' wan' ter fight," he howled. "de w'ite folks ain' gwine ter pester me; dey're my frien's. tu'n me loose,--tu'n me loose, er we all gwine ter git killed!" the party paid no attention to jerry's protestations. indeed, with the crowd of whites following behind, they were simply considering the question of a position from which they could most effectively defend themselves and the building which they imagined to be threatened. if josh had released his grip of jerry, that worthy could easily have escaped from the crowd; but josh maintained his hold almost mechanically, and, in the confusion, jerry found himself swept with the rest into the hospital, the doors of which were promptly barricaded with the heavier pieces of furniture, and the windows manned by several men each, josh, with the instinct of a born commander, posting his forces so that they could cover with their guns all the approaches to the building. jerry still continuing to make himself troublesome, josh, in a moment of impatience, gave him a terrific box on the ear, which stretched him out upon the floor unconscious. "shet up," he said; "ef you can't stan' up like a man, keep still, and don't interfere wid men w'at will fight!" the hospital, when josh and his men took possession, had been found deserted. fortunately there were no patients for that day, except one or two convalescents, and these, with the attendants, had joined the exodus of the colored people from the town. a white man advanced from the crowd without toward the main entrance to the hospital. big josh, looking out from a window, grasped his gun more firmly, as his eyes fell upon the man who had murdered his father and darkened his mother's life. mechanically he raised his rifle, but lowered it as the white man lifted up his hand as a sign that he wished to speak. "you niggers," called captain mcbane loudly,--it was that worthy,--"you niggers are courtin' death, an' you won't have to court her but a minute er two mo' befo' she'll have you. if you surrender and give up your arms, you'll be dealt with leniently,--you may get off with the chain-gang or the penitentiary. if you resist, you'll be shot like dogs." "dat's no news, mr. white man," replied josh, appearing boldly at the window. "we're use' ter bein' treated like dogs by men like you. if you w'ite people will go 'long an' ten' ter yo' own business an' let us alone, we'll ten' ter ou'n. you've got guns, an' we've got jest as much right ter carry 'em as you have. lay down yo'n, an' we'll lay down ou'n,--we didn' take 'em up fust; but we ain' gwine ter let you bu'n down ou' chu'ches an' school'ouses, er dis hospittle, an' we ain' comin' out er dis house, where we ain' disturbin' nobody, fer you ter shoot us down er sen' us ter jail. you hear me!" "all right," responded mcbane. "you've had fair warning. your blood be on your"--his speech was interrupted by a shot from the crowd, which splintered the window-casing close to josh's head. this was followed by half a dozen other shots, which were replied to, almost simultaneously, by a volley from within, by which one of the attacking party was killed and another wounded. this roused the mob to frenzy. "vengeance! vengeance!" they yelled. "kill the niggers!" a negro had killed a white man,--the unpardonable sin, admitting neither excuse, justification, nor extenuation. from time immemorial it had been bred in the southern white consciousness, and in the negro consciousness also, for that matter, that the person of a white man was sacred from the touch of a negro, no matter what the provocation. a dozen colored men lay dead in the streets of wellington, inoffensive people, slain in cold blood because they had been bold enough to question the authority of those who had assailed them, or frightened enough to flee when they had been ordered to stand still; but their lives counted nothing against that of a riotous white man, who had courted death by attacking a body of armed men. the crowd, too, surrounding the hospital, had changed somewhat in character. the men who had acted as leaders in the early afternoon, having accomplished their purpose of overturning the local administration and establishing a provisional government of their own, had withdrawn from active participation in the rioting, deeming the negroes already sufficiently overawed to render unlikely any further trouble from that source. several of the ringleaders had indeed begun to exert themselves to prevent further disorder, or any loss of property, the possibility of which had become apparent; but those who set in motion the forces of evil cannot always control them afterwards. the baser element of the white population, recruited from the wharves and the saloons, was now predominant. captain mcbane was the only one of the revolutionary committee who had remained with the mob, not with any purpose to restore or preserve order, but because he found the company and the occasion entirely congenial. he had had no opportunity, at least no tenable excuse, to kill or maim a negro since the termination of his contract with the state for convicts, and this occasion had awakened a dormant appetite for these diversions. we are all puppets in the hands of fate, and seldom see the strings that move us. mcbane had lived a life of violence and cruelty. as a man sows, so shall he reap. in works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. more often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust. one does well to distrust a tamed tiger. on the outskirts of the crowd a few of the better class, or at least of the better clad, were looking on. the double volley described had already been fired, when the number of these was augmented by the arrival of major carteret and mr. ellis, who had just come from the chronicle office, where the next day's paper had been in hasty preparation. they pushed their way towards the front of the crowd. "this must be stopped, ellis," said carteret. "they are burning houses and killing women and children. old jane, good old mammy jane, who nursed my wife at her bosom, and has waited on her and my child within a few weeks, was killed only a few rods from my house, to which she was evidently fleeing for protection. it must have been by accident,--i cannot believe that any white man in town would be dastard enough to commit such a deed intentionally! i would have defended her with my own life! we must try to stop this thing!" "easier said than done," returned ellis. "it is in the fever stage, and must burn itself out. we shall be lucky if it does not burn the town out. suppose the negroes should also take a hand at the burning? we have advised the people to put the negroes down, and they are doing the job thoroughly." "my god!" replied the other, with a gesture of impatience, as he continued to elbow his way through the crowd; "i meant to keep them in their places,--i did not intend wholesale murder and arson." carteret, having reached the front of the mob, made an effort to gain their attention. "gentlemen!" he cried in his loudest tones. his voice, unfortunately, was neither loud nor piercing. "kill the niggers!" clamored the mob. "gentlemen, i implore you"-- the crash of a dozen windows, broken by stones and pistol shots, drowned his voice. "gentlemen!" he shouted; "this is murder, it is madness; it is a disgrace to our city, to our state, to our civilization!" "that's right!" replied several voices. the mob had recognized the speaker. "it _is_ a disgrace, and we'll not put up with it a moment longer. burn 'em out! hurrah for major carteret, the champion of 'white supremacy'! three cheers for the morning chronicle and 'no nigger domination'!" "hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" yelled the crowd. in vain the baffled orator gesticulated and shrieked in the effort to correct the misapprehension. their oracle had spoken; not hearing what he said, they assumed it to mean encouragement and coöperation. their present course was but the logical outcome of the crusade which the morning chronicle had preached, in season and out of season, for many months. when carteret had spoken, and the crowd had cheered him, they felt that they had done all that courtesy required, and he was good-naturedly elbowed aside while they proceeded with the work in hand, which was now to drive out the negroes from the hospital and avenge the killing of their comrade. some brought hay, some kerosene, and others wood from a pile which had been thrown into a vacant lot near by. several safe ways of approach to the building were discovered, and the combustibles placed and fired. the flames, soon gaining a foothold, leaped upward, catching here and there at the exposed woodwork, and licking the walls hungrily with long tongues of flame. meanwhile a desultory firing was kept up from the outside, which was replied to scatteringly from within the hospital. those inside were either not good marksmen, or excitement had spoiled their aim. if a face appeared at a window, a dozen pistol shots from the crowd sought the spot immediately. higher and higher leaped the flames. suddenly from one of the windows sprang a black figure, waving a white handkerchief. it was jerry letlow. regaining consciousness after the effect of josh's blow had subsided, jerry had kept quiet and watched his opportunity. from a safe vantage-ground he had scanned the crowd without, in search of some white friend. when he saw major carteret moving disconsolately away after his futile effort to stem the torrent, jerry made a dash for the window. he sprang forth, and, waving his handkerchief as a flag of truce, ran toward major carteret, shouting frantically:-- "majah carteret--_o_ majah! it's me, suh, jerry, suh! i didn' go in dere myse'f, suh--i wuz drag' in dere! i wouldn' do nothin' 'g'inst de w'ite folks, suh,--no, 'ndeed, i wouldn', suh!" jerry's cries were drowned in a roar of rage and a volley of shots from the mob. carteret, who had turned away with ellis, did not even hear his servant's voice. jerry's poor flag of truce, his explanations, his reliance upon his white friends, all failed him in the moment of supreme need. in that hour, as in any hour when the depths of race hatred are stirred, a negro was no more than a brute beast, set upon by other brute beasts whose only instinct was to kill and destroy. "let us leave this inferno, ellis," said carteret, sick with anger and disgust. he had just become aware that a negro was being killed, though he did not know whom. "we can do nothing. the negroes have themselves to blame,--they tempted us beyond endurance. i counseled firmness, and firm measures were taken, and our purpose was accomplished. i am not responsible for these subsequent horrors,--i wash my hands of them. let us go!" the flames gained headway and gradually enveloped the burning building, until it became evident to those within as well as those without that the position of the defenders was no longer tenable. would they die in the flames, or would they be driven out? the uncertainty soon came to an end. the besieged had been willing to fight, so long as there seemed a hope of successfully defending themselves and their property; for their purpose was purely one of defense. when they saw the case was hopeless, inspired by josh green's reckless courage, they were still willing to sell their lives dearly. one or two of them had already been killed, and as many more disabled. the fate of jerry letlow had struck terror to the hearts of several others, who could scarcely hide their fear. after the building had been fired, josh's exhortations were no longer able to keep them in the hospital. they preferred to fight and be killed in the open, rather than to be smothered like rats in a hole. "boys!" exclaimed josh,--"men!--fer nobody but men would do w'at you have done,--the day has gone 'g'inst us. we kin see ou' finish; but fer my part, i ain' gwine ter leave dis worl' widout takin' a w'ite man 'long wid me, an' i sees my man right out yonder waitin',--i be'n waitin' fer him twenty years, but he won' have ter wait fer me mo' 'n 'bout twenty seconds. eve'y one er you pick yo' man! we'll open de do', an' we'll give some w'ite men a chance ter be sorry dey ever started dis fuss!" the door was thrown open suddenly, and through it rushed a dozen or more black figures, armed with knives, pistols, or clubbed muskets. taken by sudden surprise, the white people stood motionless for a moment, but the approaching negroes had scarcely covered half the distance to which the heat of the flames had driven back the mob, before they were greeted with a volley that laid them all low but two. one of these, dazed by the fate of his companions, turned instinctively to flee, but had scarcely faced around before he fell, pierced in the back by a dozen bullets. josh green, the tallest and biggest of them all, had not apparently been touched. some of the crowd paused in involuntary admiration of this black giant, famed on the wharves for his strength, sweeping down upon them, a smile upon his face, his eyes lit up with a rapt expression which seemed to take him out of mortal ken. this impression was heightened by his apparent immunity from the shower of lead which less susceptible persons had continued to pour at him. armed with a huge bowie-knife, a relic of the civil war, which he had carried on his person for many years for a definite purpose, and which he had kept sharpened to a razor edge, he reached the line of the crowd. all but the bravest shrank back. like a wedge he dashed through the mob, which parted instinctively before him, and all oblivious of the rain of lead which fell around him, reached the point where captain mcbane, the bravest man in the party, stood waiting to meet him. a pistol-flame flashed in his face, but he went on, and raising his powerful right arm, buried his knife to the hilt in the heart of his enemy. when the crowd dashed forward to wreak vengeance on his dead body, they found him with a smile still upon his face. one of the two died as the fool dieth. which was it, or was it both? "vengeance is mine," saith the lord, and it had not been left to him. but they that do violence must expect to suffer violence. mcbane's death was merciful, compared with the nameless horrors he had heaped upon the hundreds of helpless mortals who had fallen into his hands during his career as a contractor of convict labor. sobered by this culminating tragedy, the mob shortly afterwards dispersed. the flames soon completed their work, and this handsome structure, the fruit of old adam miller's industry, the monument of his son's philanthropy, a promise of good things for the future of the city, lay smouldering in ruins, a melancholy witness to the fact that our boasted civilization is but a thin veneer, which cracks and scales off at the first impact of primal passions. xxxvi fiat justitia by the light of the burning building, which illuminated the street for several blocks, major carteret and ellis made their way rapidly until they turned into the street where the major lived. reaching the house, carteret tried the door and found it locked. a vigorous ring at the bell brought no immediate response. carteret had begun to pound impatiently upon the door, when it was cautiously opened by miss pemberton, who was pale, and trembled with excitement. "where is olivia?" asked the major. "she is upstairs, with dodie and mrs. albright's hospital nurse. dodie has the croup. virgie ran away after the riot broke out. sister olivia had sent for mammy jane, but she did not come. mrs. albright let her white nurse come over." "i'll go up at once," said the major anxiously. "wait for me, ellis,--i'll be down in a few minutes." "oh, mr. ellis," exclaimed clara, coming toward him with both hands extended, "can nothing be done to stop this terrible affair?" "i wish i could do something," he murmured fervently, taking both her trembling hands in his own broad palms, where they rested with a surrendering trustfulness which he has never since had occasion to doubt. "it has gone too far, already, and the end, i fear, is not yet; but it cannot grow much worse." the editor hurried upstairs. mrs. carteret, wearing a worried and haggard look, met him at the threshold of the nursery. "dodie is ill," she said. "at three o'clock, when the trouble began, i was over at mrs. albright's,--i had left virgie with the baby. when i came back, she and all the other servants had gone. they had heard that the white people were going to kill all the negroes, and fled to seek safety. i found dodie lying in a draught, before an open window, gasping for breath. i ran back to mrs. albright's,--i had found her much better to-day,--and she let her nurse come over. the nurse says that dodie is threatened with membranous croup." "have you sent for dr. price?" "there was no one to send,--the servants were gone, and the nurse was afraid to venture out into the street. i telephoned for dr. price, and found that he was out of town; that he had gone up the river this morning to attend a patient, and would not be back until to-morrow. mrs. price thought that he had anticipated some kind of trouble in the town to-day, and had preferred to be where he could not be called upon to assume any responsibility." "i suppose you tried dr. ashe?" "i could not get him, nor any one else, after that first call. the telephone service is disorganized on account of the riot. we need medicine and ice. the drugstores are all closed on account of the riot, and for the same reason we couldn't get any ice." major carteret stood beside the brass bedstead upon which his child was lying,--his only child, around whose curly head clustered all his hopes; upon whom all his life for the past year had been centred. he stooped over the bed, beside which the nurse had stationed herself. she was wiping the child's face, which was red and swollen and covered with moisture, the nostrils working rapidly, and the little patient vainly endeavoring at intervals to cough up the obstruction to his breathing. "is it serious?" he inquired anxiously. he had always thought of the croup as a childish ailment, that yielded readily to proper treatment; but the child's evident distress impressed him with sudden fear. "dangerous," replied the young woman laconically. "you came none too soon. if a doctor isn't got at once, the child will die,--and it must be a good doctor." "whom can i call?" he asked. "you know them all, i suppose. dr. price, our family physician, is out of town." "dr. ashe has charge of his cases when he is away," replied the nurse. "if you can't find him, try dr. hooper. the child is growing worse every minute. on your way back you'd better get some ice, if possible." the major hastened downstairs. "don't wait for me, ellis," he said. "i shall be needed here for a while. i'll get to the office as soon as possible. make up the paper, and leave another stick out for me to the last minute, but fill it up in case i'm not on hand by twelve. we must get the paper out early in the morning." nothing but a matter of the most vital importance would have kept major carteret away from his office this night. upon the presentation to the outer world of the story of this riot would depend the attitude of the great civilized public toward the events of the last ten hours. the chronicle was the source from which the first word would be expected; it would give the people of wellington their cue as to the position which they must take in regard to this distressful affair, which had so far transcended in ferocity the most extreme measures which the conspirators had anticipated. the burden of his own responsibility weighed heavily upon him, and could not be shaken off; but he must do first the duty nearest to him,--he must first attend to his child. carteret hastened from the house, and traversed rapidly the short distance to dr. ashe's office. far down the street he could see the glow of the burning hospital, and he had scarcely left his own house when the fusillade of shots, fired when the colored men emerged from the burning building, was audible. carteret would have hastened back to the scene of the riot, to see what was now going on, and to make another effort to stem the tide of bloodshed; but before the dread of losing his child, all other interests fell into the background. not all the negroes in wellington could weigh in the balance for one instant against the life of the feeble child now gasping for breath in the house behind him. reaching the house, a vigorous ring brought the doctor's wife to the door. "good evening, mrs. ashe. is the doctor at home?" "no, major carteret. he was called to attend mrs. wells, who was taken suddenly ill, as a result of the trouble this afternoon. he will be there all night, no doubt." "my child is very ill, and i must find some one." "try dr. yates. his house is only four doors away." a ring at dr. yates's door brought out a young man. "is dr. yates in?" "yes, sir." "can i see him?" "you might see him, sir, but that would be all. his horse was frightened by the shooting on the streets, and ran away and threw the doctor, and broke his right arm. i have just set it; he will not be able to attend any patients for several weeks. he is old and nervous, and the shock was great." "are you not a physician?" asked carteret, looking at the young man keenly. he was a serious, gentlemanly looking young fellow, whose word might probably be trusted. "yes, i am dr. evans, dr. yates's assistant. i'm really little more than a student, but i'll do what i can." "my only child is sick with the croup, and requires immediate attention." "i ought to be able to handle a case of the croup," answered dr. evans, "at least in the first stages. i'll go with you, and stay by the child, and if the case is beyond me, i may keep it in check until another physician comes." he stepped back into another room, and returning immediately with his hat, accompanied carteret homeward. the riot had subsided; even the glow from the smouldering hospital was no longer visible. it seemed that the city, appalled at the tragedy, had suddenly awakened to a sense of its own crime. here and there a dark face, emerging cautiously from some hiding-place, peered from behind fence or tree, but shrank hastily away at the sight of a white face. the negroes of wellington, with the exception of josh green and his party, had not behaved bravely on this critical day in their history; but those who had fought were dead, to the last man; those who had sought safety in flight or concealment were alive to tell the tale. "we pass right by dr. thompson's," said dr. evans. "if you haven't spoken to him, it might be well to call him for consultation, in case the child should be very bad." "go on ahead," said carteret, "and i'll get him." evans hastened on, while carteret sounded the old-fashioned knocker upon the doctor's door. a gray-haired negro servant, clad in a dress suit and wearing a white tie, came to the door. "de doctuh, suh," he replied politely to carteret's question, "has gone ter ampitate de ahm er a gent'eman who got one er his bones smashed wid a pistol bullet in de--fightin' dis atternoon, suh. he's jes' gone, suh, an' lef' wo'd dat he'd be gone a' hour er mo', suh." carteret hastened homeward. he could think of no other available physician. perhaps no other would be needed, but if so, he could find out from evans whom it was best to call. when he reached the child's room, the young doctor was bending anxiously over the little frame. the little lips had become livid, the little nails, lying against the white sheet, were blue. the child's efforts to breathe were most distressing, and each gasp cut the father like a knife. mrs. carteret was weeping hysterically. "how is he, doctor?" asked the major. "he is very low," replied the young man. "nothing short of tracheotomy--an operation to open the windpipe--will relieve him. without it, in half or three quarters of an hour he will be unable to breathe. it is a delicate operation, a mistake in which would be as fatal as the disease. i have neither the knowledge nor the experience to attempt it, and your child's life is too valuable for a student to practice upon. neither have i the instruments here." "what shall we do?" demanded carteret. "we have called all the best doctors, and none are available." the young doctor's brow was wrinkled with thought. he knew a doctor who could perform the operation. he had heard, also, of a certain event at carteret's house some months before, when an unwelcome physician had been excluded from a consultation,--but it was the last chance. "there is but one other doctor in town who has performed the operation, so far as i know," he declared, "and that is dr. miller. if you can get him, he can save your child's life." carteret hesitated involuntarily. all the incidents, all the arguments, of the occasion when he had refused to admit the colored doctor to his house, came up vividly before his memory. he had acted in accordance with his lifelong beliefs, and had carried his point; but the present situation was different,--this was a case of imperative necessity, and every other interest or consideration must give way before the imminence of his child's peril. that the doctor would refuse the call, he did not imagine: it would be too great an honor for a negro to decline,--unless some bitterness might have grown out of the proceedings of the afternoon. that this doctor was a man of some education he knew; and he had been told that he was a man of fine feeling,--for a negro,--and might easily have taken to heart the day's events. nevertheless, he could hardly refuse a professional call,--professional ethics would require him to respond. carteret had no reason to suppose that miller had ever learned of what had occurred at the house during dr. burns's visit to wellington. the major himself had never mentioned the controversy, and no doubt the other gentlemen had been equally silent. "i'll go for him myself," said dr. evans, noting carteret's hesitation and suspecting its cause. "i can do nothing here alone, for a little while, and i may be able to bring the doctor back with me. he likes a difficult operation." * * * * * it seemed an age ere the young doctor returned, though it was really only a few minutes. the nurse did what she could to relieve the child's sufferings, which grew visibly more and more acute. the mother, upon the other side of the bed, held one of the baby's hands in her own, and controlled her feelings as best she might. carteret paced the floor anxiously, going every few seconds to the head of the stairs to listen for evans's footsteps on the piazza without. at last the welcome sound was audible, and a few strides took him to the door. "dr. miller is at home, sir," reported evans, as he came in. "he says that he was called to your house once before, by a third person who claimed authority to act, and that he was refused admittance. he declares that he will not consider such a call unless it come from you personally." "that is true, quite true," replied carteret. "his position is a just one. i will go at once. will--will--my child live until i can get miller here?" "he can live for half an hour without an operation. beyond that i could give you little hope." seizing his hat, carteret dashed out of the yard and ran rapidly to miller's house; ordinarily a walk of six or seven minutes, carteret covered it in three, and was almost out of breath when he rang the bell of miller's front door. the ring was answered by the doctor in person. "dr. miller, i believe?" asked carteret. "yes, sir." "i am major carteret. my child is seriously ill, and you are the only available doctor who can perform the necessary operation." "ah! you have tried all the others,--and then you come to me!" "yes, i do not deny it," admitted the major, biting his lip. he had not counted on professional jealousy as an obstacle to be met. "but i _have_ come to you, as a physician, to engage your professional services for my child,--my only child. i have confidence in your skill, or i should not have come to you. i request--nay, i implore you to lose no more time, but come with me at once! my child's life is hanging by a thread, and you can save it!" "ah!" replied the other, "as a father whose only child's life is in danger, you implore me, of all men in the world, to come and save it!" there was a strained intensity in the doctor's low voice that struck carteret, in spite of his own pre-occupation. he thought he heard, too, from the adjoining room, the sound of some one sobbing softly. there was some mystery here which he could not fathom unaided. miller turned to the door behind him and threw it open. on the white cover of a low cot lay a childish form in the rigidity of death, and by it knelt, with her back to the door, a woman whose shoulders were shaken by the violence of her sobs. absorbed in her grief, she did not turn, or give any sign that she had recognized the intrusion. "there, major carteret!" exclaimed miller, with the tragic eloquence of despair, "there lies a specimen of your handiwork! there lies _my_ only child, laid low by a stray bullet in this riot which you and your paper have fomented; struck down as much by your hand as though you had held the weapon with which his life was taken!" "my god!" exclaimed carteret, struck with horror. "is the child dead?" "there he lies," continued the other, "an innocent child,--there he lies dead, his little life snuffed out like a candle, because you and a handful of your friends thought you must override the laws and run this town at any cost!--and there kneels his mother, overcome by grief. we are alone in the house. it is not safe to leave her unattended. my duty calls me here, by the side of my dead child and my suffering wife! i cannot go with you. there is a just god in heaven!--as you have sown, so may you reap!" carteret possessed a narrow, but a logical mind, and except when confused or blinded by his prejudices, had always tried to be a just man. in the agony of his own predicament,--in the horror of the situation at miller's house,--for a moment the veil of race prejudice was rent in twain, and he saw things as they were, in their correct proportions and relations,--saw clearly and convincingly that he had no standing here, in the presence of death, in the home of this stricken family. miller's refusal to go with him was pure, elemental justice; he could not blame the doctor for his stand. he was indeed conscious of a certain involuntary admiration for a man who held in his hands the power of life and death, and could use it, with strict justice, to avenge his own wrongs. in dr. miller's place he would have done the same thing. miller had spoken the truth,--as he had sown, so must he reap! he could not expect, could not ask, this father to leave his own household at such a moment. pressing his lips together with grim courage, and bowing mechanically, as though to fate rather than the physician, carteret turned and left the house. at a rapid pace he soon reached home. there was yet a chance for his child: perhaps some one of the other doctors had come; perhaps, after all, the disease had taken a favorable turn,--evans was but a young doctor, and might have been mistaken. surely, with doctors all around him, his child would not be permitted to die for lack of medical attention! he found the mother, the doctor, and the nurse still grouped, as he had left them, around the suffering child. "how is he now?" he asked, in a voice that sounded like a groan. "no better," replied the doctor; "steadily growing worse. he can go on probably for twenty minutes longer without an operation." "where is the doctor?" demanded mrs. carteret, looking eagerly toward the door. "you should have brought him right upstairs. there's not a minute to spare! phil, phil, our child will die!" carteret's heart swelled almost to bursting with an intense pity. even his own great sorrow became of secondary importance beside the grief which his wife must soon feel at the inevitable loss of her only child. and it was his fault! would that he could risk his own life to spare her and to save the child! briefly, and as gently as might be, he stated the result of his errand. the doctor had refused to come, for a good reason. he could not ask him again. young evans felt the logic of the situation, which carteret had explained sufficiently. to the nurse it was even clearer. if she or any other woman had been in the doctor's place, she would have given the same answer. mrs. carteret did not stop to reason. in such a crisis a mother's heart usurps the place of intellect. for her, at that moment, there were but two facts in all the world. her child lay dying. there was within the town, and within reach, a man who could save him. with an agonized cry she rushed wildly from the room. carteret sought to follow her, but she flew down the long stairs like a wild thing. the least misstep might have precipitated her to the bottom; but ere carteret, with a remonstrance on his lips, had scarcely reached the uppermost step, she had thrown open the front door and fled precipitately out into the night. xxxvii the sisters miller's doorbell rang loudly, insistently, as though demanding a response. absorbed in his own grief, into which he had relapsed upon carteret's departure, the sound was an unwelcome intrusion. surely the man could not be coming back! if it were some one else--what else might happen to the doomed town concerned him not. his child was dead,--his distracted wife could not be left alone. the doorbell rang--clamorously--appealingly. through the long hall and the closed door of the room where he sat, he could hear some one knocking, and a faint voice calling. "open, for god's sake, open!" it was a woman's voice,--the voice of a woman in distress. slowly miller rose and went to the door, which he opened mechanically. a lady stood there, so near the image of his own wife, whom he had just left, that for a moment he was well-nigh startled. a little older, perhaps, a little fairer of complexion, but with the same form, the same features, marked by the same wild grief. she wore a loose wrapper, which clothed her like the drapery of a statue. her long dark hair, the counterpart of his wife's, had fallen down, and hung disheveled about her shoulders. there was blood upon her knuckles, where she had beaten with them upon the door. "dr. miller," she panted, breathless from her flight and laying her hand upon his arm appealingly,--when he shrank from the contact she still held it there,--"dr. miller, you will come and save my child? you know what it is to lose a child! i am so sorry about your little boy! you will come to mine!" "your sorrow comes too late, madam," he said harshly. "my child is dead. i charged your husband with his murder, and he could not deny it. why should i save your husband's child?" "ah, dr. miller!" she cried, with his wife's voice,--she never knew how much, in that dark hour, she owed to that resemblance--"it is _my_ child, and i have never injured you. it is my child, dr. miller, my only child. i brought it into the world at the risk of my own life! i have nursed it, i have watched over it, i have prayed for it,--and it now lies dying! oh, dr. miller, dear dr. miller, if you have a heart, come and save my child!" "madam," he answered more gently, moved in spite of himself, "my heart is broken. my people lie dead upon the streets, at the hands of yours. the work of my life is in ashes,--and, yonder, stretched out in death, lies my own child! god! woman, you ask too much of human nature! love, duty, sorrow, _justice_, call me here. i cannot go!" she rose to her full height. "then you are a murderer," she cried wildly. "his blood be on your head, and a mother's curse beside!" the next moment, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, she had thrown herself at his feet,--at the feet of a negro, this proud white woman,--and was clasping his knees wildly. "o god!" she prayed, in tones which quivered with anguish, "pardon my husband's sins, and my own, and move this man's hard heart, by the blood of thy son, who died to save us all!" it was the last appeal of poor humanity. when the pride of intellect and caste is broken; when we grovel in the dust of humiliation; when sickness and sorrow come, and the shadow of death falls upon us, and there is no hope elsewhere,--we turn to god, who sometimes swallows the insult, and answers the appeal. miller raised the lady to her feet. he had been deeply moved,--but he had been more deeply injured. this was his wife's sister,--ah, yes! but a sister who had scorned and slighted and ignored the existence of his wife for all her life. only miller, of all the world, could have guessed what this had meant to janet, and he had merely divined it through the clairvoyant sympathy of love. this woman could have no claim upon him because of this unacknowledged relationship. yet, after all, she was his wife's sister, his child's kinswoman. she was a fellow creature, too, and in distress. "rise, madam," he said, with a sudden inspiration, lifting her gently. "i will listen to you on one condition. my child lies dead in the adjoining room, his mother by his side. go in there, and make your request of her. i will abide by her decision." the two women stood confronting each other across the body of the dead child, mute witness of this first meeting between two children of the same father. standing thus face to face, each under the stress of the deepest emotions, the resemblance between them was even more striking than it had seemed to miller when he had admitted mrs. carteret to the house. but death, the great leveler, striking upon the one hand and threatening upon the other, had wrought a marvelous transformation in the bearing of the two women. the sad-eyed janet towered erect, with menacing aspect, like an avenging goddess. the other, whose pride had been her life, stood in the attitude of a trembling suppliant. "_you_ have come here," cried janet, pointing with a tragic gesture to the dead child,--"_you_, to gloat over your husband's work. all my life you have hated and scorned and despised me. your presence here insults me and my dead. what are you doing here?" "mrs. miller," returned mrs. carteret tremulously, dazed for a moment by this outburst, and clasping her hands with an imploring gesture, "my child, my only child, is dying, and your husband alone can save his life. ah, let me have my child," she moaned, heart-rendingly. "it is my only one--my sweet child--my ewe lamb!" "this was _my_ only child!" replied the other mother; "and yours is no better to die than mine!" "you are young," said mrs. carteret, "and may yet have many children,--this is my only hope! if you have a human heart, tell your husband to come with me. he leaves it to you; he will do as you command." "ah," cried janet, "i have a human heart, and therefore i will not let him go. _my_ child is dead--o god, my child, my child!" she threw herself down by the bedside, sobbing hysterically. the other woman knelt beside her, and put her arm about her neck. for a moment janet, absorbed in her grief, did not repulse her. "listen," pleaded mrs. carteret. "you will not let my baby die? you are my sister;--the child is your own near kin!" "my child was nearer," returned janet, rising again to her feet and shaking off the other woman's arm. "he was my son, and i have seen him die. i have been your sister for twenty-five years, and you have only now, for the first time, called me so!" "listen--sister," returned mrs. carteret. was there no way to move this woman? her child lay dying, if he were not dead already. she would tell everything, and leave the rest to god. if it would save her child, she would shrink at no sacrifice. whether the truth would still further incense janet, or move her to mercy, she could not tell; she would leave the issue to god. "listen, sister!" she said. "i have a confession to make. you are my lawful sister. my father was married to your mother. you are entitled to his name, and to half his estate." janet's eyes flashed with bitter scorn. "and you have robbed me all these years, and now tell me that as a reason why i should forgive the murder of my child?" "no, no!" cried the other wildly, fearing the worst. "i have known of it only a few weeks,--since my aunt polly's death. i had not meant to rob you,--i had meant to make restitution. sister! for our father's sake, who did you no wrong, give me my child's life!" janet's eyes slowly filled with tears--bitter tears--burning tears. for a moment even her grief at her child's loss dropped to second place in her thoughts. this, then, was the recognition for which, all her life, she had longed in secret. it had come, after many days, and in larger measure than she had dreamed; but it had come, not with frank kindliness and sisterly love, but in a storm of blood and tears; not freely given, from an open heart, but extorted from a reluctant conscience by the agony of a mother's fears. janet had obtained her heart's desire, and now that it was at her lips, found it but apples of sodom, filled with dust and ashes! "listen!" she cried, dashing her tears aside. "i have but one word for you,--one last word,--and then i hope never to see your face again! my mother died of want, and i was brought up by the hand of charity. now, when i have married a man who can supply my needs, you offer me back the money which you and your friends have robbed me of! you imagined that the shame of being a negro swallowed up every other ignominy,--and in your eyes i am a negro, though i am your sister, and you are white, and people have taken me for you on the streets,--and you, therefore, left me nameless all my life! now, when an honest man has given me a name of which i can be proud, you offer me the one of which you robbed me, and of which i can make no use. for twenty-five years i, poor, despicable fool, would have kissed your feet for a word, a nod, a smile. now, when this tardy recognition comes, for which i have waited so long, it is tainted with fraud and crime and blood, and i must pay for it with my child's life!" "and i must forfeit that of mine, it seems, for withholding it so long," sobbed the other, as, tottering, she turned to go. "it is but just." "stay--do not go yet!" commanded janet imperiously, her pride still keeping back her tears. "i have not done. i throw you back your father's name, your father's wealth, your sisterly recognition. i want none of them,--they are bought too dear! ah, god, they are bought too dear! but that you may know that a woman may be foully wronged, and yet may have a heart to feel, even for one who has injured her, you may have your child's life, if my husband can save it! will," she said, throwing open the door into the next room, "go with her!" "god will bless you for a noble woman!" exclaimed mrs. carteret. "you do not mean all the cruel things you have said,--ah, no! i will see you again, and make you take them back; i cannot thank you now! oh, doctor, let us go! i pray god we may not be too late!" together they went out into the night. mrs. carteret tottered under the stress of her emotions, and would have fallen, had not miller caught and sustained her with his arm until they reached the house, where he turned over her fainting form to carteret at the door. "is the child still alive?" asked miller. "yes, thank god," answered the father, "but nearly gone." "come on up, dr. miller," called evans from the head of the stairs. "there's time enough, but none to spare." generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) sunny-san * * * * * onoto watanna sunny-san by onoto watanna author of "a japanese nightingale," "wooing of wistaria," "heart of hyacinth," "tama," etc. mcclelland and stewart publishers : : toronto copyright, , by george h. doran company [illustration] printed in the united states of america to my friends consul and mrs. samuel c. reat in remembrance of sunny alberta days sunny-san sunny-san chapter i madame many smiles was dead. the famous dancer of the house of a thousand joys had fluttered out into the land of shadows. no longer would poet or reveller vie with each other in doing homage to her whose popularity had known no wane with the years, who had, indeed, become one of the classic objects of art of the city. in a land where one's ancestry is esteemed the all important thing, madame many smiles had stood alone, with neither living relatives nor ancestors to claim her. who she was, or whence she had come, none knew, but the legend of the house was that on a night of festival she had appeared at the illuminated gates, as a moth, who, beaten by the winds and storms without, seeks shelter in the light and warmth of the joyhouse within. hirata had bonded her for a life term. her remuneration was no more than the geishas' meagre wage, but she was allowed the prerogative of privacy. her professional duties over, no admiring patron of the gardens might claim her further service. she was free to return to her child, whose cherry blossom skin and fair hair proclaimed clearly the taint of her white blood. hirata was lenient in his training of the child, for the dancer had brought with her into the house of a thousand joys, daikoku, the god of fortune, and hirata could afford to abide the time when the child of the dancer should step into her shoes. but the day had come far ahead of his preparations, and while the dancer was at the zenith of her fame. they were whispering about the gardens that the moth that had fluttered against the house of joy had fluttered back into the darkness from which she had come. with her she had taken daikoku. a profound depression had settled upon the house of a thousand joys. geishas, apprentices and attendants moved aimlessly about their tasks, their smiles mechanical and their motions automatic. the pulse and inspiration of the house had vanished. in the gardens the effect of the news was even more noticeable. guests were hurriedly departing, turning their cups upside down and calling for their clogs. tea girls slid in and out on hurried service to the departing guests, and despite the furious orders of the master to affect a gaiety they did not feel, their best efforts were unavailing to dispel the strange veil of gloom that comes ever with death. the star of the house of a thousand joys had twinkled out forever. it was the night of the festival of the full moon. the cream of the city were gathered to do honour to the shining tsuki no kami in the clear sky above. but the death of the dancer had cast its shadow upon all, and there was a superstitious feeling abroad that it was the omen of a bad year for the city. in the emptying gardens, hirata saw impending ruin. running hither and thither, from house to garden, snapping his fingers, with irritation and fury, he cursed the luck that had befallen him on this night of all nights. the maids shrank before his glance, or silently scurried out of his path. the geishas with automatic smile and quip vainly sought to force a semblance of exhilaration, and the twang of the samisen failed to drown that very low beat of a buddhist drum in the temple beyond the gardens, where especial honour was to be paid to the famous dancer, who had given her services gratuitously to the temple. in fury and despair, hirata turned from the ingratiating women. again he sought the apartments where the dead dancer lay in state among her robes. here, with her face at her mother's feet, the child of the dancer prayed unceasingly to the gods that they would permit her to attend her mother upon the long journey to the meido. crushed and hurt by a grief that nothing could assuage, only dimly the girl sensed the words of the master, ordering her half peremptorily, half imploringly to prepare for service to the house. possibly it was his insinuation that for the sake of her mother's honour it behooved her to step into her place, and uphold the fame of the departed one, that aroused her to a mechanical assent. soon she was in the hands of the dressers, her mourning robes stripped, and the skin tights of the trapese performer substituted. hirata, in the gardens, clapping his hands loudly to attract the attention of the departing guests, took his stand upon the little platform. saluting his patrons with lavish compliments, he begged their indulgence and patience. the light of his house, it was true, so he said, had been temporarily extinguished, but the passing of a dancer meant no more than the falling of a star; and just as there were other stars in the firmament brighter than those that had fallen, so the house of a thousand joys possessed in reserve greater beauty and talent than that the guests had generously bestowed their favour upon. the successor to the honourable dancer was bound to please, since she excelled her mother in beauty even as the sun does the moon. he therefore entreated his guests to transfer their gracious patronage to the humble descendant of madame many smiles. the announcement caused as much of a sensation as the news of the dancer's death had done. there was an element of disapproval and consternation in the glances exchanged in the garden. nevertheless there was a disposition, governed by curiosity, to at least see the daughter of the famous dancer, who appeared on the night of her mother's death. a party of american students, with a tutor, were among those still remaining in the gardens. madame many smiles had been an especial favourite with them, their interest possibly due to the fact that she was said to be a half caste. her beauty and fragility had appealed to them as something especially rare, like a choice piece of cloisonnè, and the romance and mystery that seemed ever about her, captivated their interest, and set them speculating as to what was the true story of this woman, whom the residents pointed to with pride as the masterpiece of their city. an interpreter having translated the words of the manager, there was a general growl of disapproval from the young americans. however, they, too, remained to see the daughter of madame many smiles, and pushed up near to the rope, along which now came the descendant. she was a child of possibly fourteen years, her cheeks as vividly red as the poppies in her hair, her long large eyes, with their shining black lashes, strangely bright and feverish. she came tripping across the rope, with a laugh upon her lips, her hair glistening, under the spotlight, almost pure gold in colour. bobbed and banged in the fashion of the japanese child, it yet curled about her exquisite young face, and added the last touch of witchery to her beauty. though her bright red lips were parted in the smile that had made her mother famous, there was something appealing in her wide, blank stare at her audience. she was dressed in tights, without the customary cape above her, and her graceful, slender limbs were those of extreme youth, supple as elastic from training and ancestry, the lithe, pliable young body of the born trapese performer and dancer. she tossed her parasol to her shoulder, threw up her delicate little pointed chin and laughed across at that sea of faces, throwing right and left her kisses; but the americans, close to the rope, were observing a phenomenon, for even as her charming little teeth gleamed out in that so captivating smile, a dewdrop appeared to glisten on the child's shining face. even as she laughed and postured to the music that burst out, there a-tiptoe on the tightrope, the dewdrop fell down her face and disappeared into the sawdust. like a flower on the end of a long slender stalk, tossing in the wind, her lovely little head swayed from side to side. her small, speaking hands, the wrists of which were lovelier than those celebrated by the japanese poet who for fifteen years had penned his one-line poems to her mother, followed the rhythm of the music, and every part of that delicate young body seemed to sensitively stir and move to the pantomime dance of the tightrope. in triumph, hirata heard the loud "hee-i-i-!" and the sharp indrawing and expulsions of breaths. scrambling across the room, puffing and expressing his satisfaction, came the lord of negato, drunk with sake and amorous for the child upon the rope. he pushed his way past the besieging tea house maidens, who proffered him sweets and tea and sake. his hands went deep into his sleeves, and drew forth a shining bauble. with ingratiating cries to attract her attention, he flung the jewel to the girl upon the rope. returning his smile, she whirled her fan wide open, caught the gift upon it, and, laughing, tossed it into the air. juggling and playing with the pretty toy, she kept it twirling in a circle above her, caught it again on her fan, and dropped it down onto the sawdust beneath. then, like a naughty child, pleased over some trick, she danced back and forth along the rope, as it swung wide with her. a grunt of anger came from hirata, who approached near enough for her to see and be intimidated by him, but she kept her gaze well above his head, feigning neither to see him, nor the still pressing negato. he was calling up to her now, clucking as one might at a dog, and when at last her glance swept his, he threw at her a handful of coin. this also she caught neatly on her opened fan, and then, acting upon a sudden impetuous and impish impulse, she threw right in the face of her besieging admirer. jumping from the rope to the ground, she smiled and bowed right and left, kissed her hands to her audience, and vanished into the teahouse. with an imprecation, hirata followed her into the house. the little maiden, holding the tray, and pausing to solicit the patronage of the americans, had watched the girl's exit with troubled eyes, and now she said in english: "_now_ hirata will beat her." "what do you mean?" demanded the young man, who had rejected the proffered cup, and was staring at her with such angry eyes that spring morning dropped her own, and bobbed her knees in apology for possible offence. "what do you mean?" repeated jerry hammond, determined upon securing an answer, while his friends crowded about interested also in the reply. half shielding her face with her fan, the girl replied in a low voice: "always the master beats the apprentice who do wrong. when her mother live, he do not touch her child, but now madame many smiles is dead, and hirata is very angry. he will surely put the lash to-night upon her." "do you mean to tell me that that little girl is being beaten because she threw back that dirty gorilla's coin to him?" spring morning nodded, and the tears that came suddenly to her eyes revealed that the girl within had all of her sympathy. "the devil she is!" jerry hammond turned to his friends, "are we going to stand for this?" demanded jerry. "not by a dashed sight!" shrilly responded the youngest of the party, a youth of seventeen, whose heavy bone-ribbed glasses gave him a preternaturally wise look. the older man of the party here interposed with an admonitory warning: "now, boys, i advise you to keep out of these oriental scraps. we don't want to get mixed up in any teahouse brawls. these japanese girls are used----" "she's not a japanese girl," furiously denied jerry. "she's as white as we are. did you see her hair?" "nevertheless----" began professor barrowes, but was instantly silenced by his clamouring young charges. "i," said jerry, "propose to go on a privately conducted tour of investigation into the infernal regions of that house of alleged joys. if any of you fellows have cold feet, stay right here snug with papa. i'll go it alone." that was quite enough for the impetuous youngsters. with a whoop of derision at the idea of their having "cold feet," they were soon following jerry in a rush upon the house that was reminiscent of football days. in the main hall of the teahouse a bevy of girls were running about agitatedly, some of them with their sleeves before their faces, crying. two little apprentices crouched up against a screen, loudly moaning. there was every evidence of upset and distress in the house of a thousand joys. to jerry's demand for hirata, he was met by a frightened silence from the girls, and a stony faced, sinister-eyed woman attempted to block the passage of the young men, thus unconsciously revealing the direction hirata had gone. instantly jerry was upon the screen and with rough hand had shoved it aside. they penetrated to an interior room that opened upon an outbuilding, which was strung out like a pavilion across the garden. at the end of this long, empty structure, lit only by a single lantern, the americans found what they sought. kneeling on the floor, in her skin tights, her hands tied behind her with red cords that cut into the delicate flesh, was the girl who had danced on the rope. through the thin silk of her tights showed a red welt where one stroke of the lash had fallen. before her, squatting on his heels, hirata, one hand holding the whip, and the other his suspended pipe, was waiting for his slave to come to terms. she had felt the first stroke of the lash. it should be her first or last, according to her promise. as the americans broke into the apartment, hirata arose partly to his knees and then to his feet, and as he realized their intention, he began to leap up and down shouting lustily: "oi!--oi! oi-i-i-!" jerry's fist found him under the chin, and silenced him. with murmurs of sympathy and anger, the young men cut the bonds of the little girl. she fell limply upon the floor, breathlessly sighing: "arigato! arigato! arigato!" (thank you.) "hustle. did you hear that gong! they're summoning the police. let's beat it." "and leave her here at his mercy? nothing doing." jerry had lifted the child bodily in his arms, and tossed her across his shoulder. they came out of the house and the gardens through a hue and cry of alarmed attendants and inmates. hirata had crawled on hands and knees into the main dance hall, and every drum was beating upon the place. above the beat of the drums came the shrill outcry of hirata, yelling at the top of his voice: "hotogoroshi!" (murder.) through a protecting lane made by his friends, fled jerry hammond, the girl upon his shoulder, a chattering, clattering, screeching mob at his heels, out of the gardens and into the dusky streets, under the benignant eye of the lady moon, in whose honour a thousand revellers and banquetters were celebrating. fleet of foot and strong as a young atlas, jerry, buoyed up with excitement and rage, fled like the wind before his pursuers, till presently he came to the big brick house, the building of which had been such a source of wonder and amusement to the japanese, but which had ever afterwards housed white residents sojourning in the city. with one foot jerry kicked peremptorily upon the door, and a moment later a startled young japanese butler flung the heavy doors apart, and jerry rushed in. chapter ii she awoke on a great soft bed that seemed to her wondering eyes as large as a room. she was sunk in a veritable nest of down, and, sitting up, she put out a little cautious hand and felt and punched the great pillow to reassure herself as to its reality. there was a vague question trembling in the girl's mind as to whether she might not, in fact, have escaped from hirata through the same medium as her adored mother, and was now being wafted on a snowy cloud along the eternal road to nirvanna. then the small statue like figure at the foot of the great mahogany bed moved. memory flooded the girl. she thought of her mother, and a sob of anguish escaped her. crowding upon the mother came the memory of that delirious moment upon the rope, when feeling that her mother's spirit was animating her body, she had faced the revellers. followed the shivering thought of hirata--the lash upon her shoulder, its sting paining so that the mere recollection caused her face to blanch with terror, dissipated by the memory of what had followed. again she felt the exciting thrill of that long flight through the night on the shoulder of the strange young barbarian. he had burst into the room like a veritable god from the heavens, and it was impossible to think of him otherwise than some mighty spirit which the gods had sent to rescue and save the unworthy child of the dancer. in an instant, she was out of bed, her quick glance searching the big room, as if somewhere within it her benefactor was. she was still in her sadly ragged tights, the red welt showing where the silk had been split by the whip of hirata. the maid approached and wrapped the girl in one of her own kimonas. she was a silent tongued, still faced woman, who spoke not at all as she swiftly robed her charge. a servant in the household of the americans, she had been summoned in the night to attend the strange new visitor. goto, the house boy, had explained to hatsu that the girl was a dancer from a neighbouring teahouse, whom his young masters had kidnapped. she was a great prize, jealously to be guarded, whispered the awed and gossiping goto. hatsu at first had her doubts on this score, for no dancer or teahouse maiden within her knowledge had ever worn hair of such a colour nor had skin which was bleached as that of the dead. hatsu had discovered her charge in a sleep of complete exhaustion, her soft fair hair tossed about her on the pillow like that of a child. now as the maid removed the tawdry tights, and arrayed the strange girl in a respectable kimona, she recognised that those shapely and supple limbs could only be the peculiar heritage of a dancer and performer. a warmth radiated lovingly through her hands as she dressed the young creature confided to her charge. it had never been the lot of hatsu to serve one as beautiful as this girl, and there was something of maternal pride in her as she fell to her task. there was necessity for haste, for the "mr. american sirs" were assembled in the main room awaiting her. hatsu's task completed, she took the girl by the sleeve, and led her into the big living room, where were her friends. even in the long loose robes of the elderly maid, she appeared but a child, with her short hair curling about her face, and her frankly questioning eyes turning from one to the other. there was an expression of mingled appeal and childish delight in that expressive look that she turned upon them ere she knelt on the floor. she made her obeisances with art and grace, as a true apprentice of her mother. indeed, her head ceased not to bob till a laughing young voice broke the spell of silence that her advent had caused with: "cut it out, kid! we want to have a look at you. want to see what sort of prize we pulled in the dark." promptly, obediently she rested back upon her heels, her two small hands resting flatly on her knees. she turned her face archly, as if inviting inspection, much to the entertainment of the now charmed circle. the apprentice of the house of a thousand joys upheld the prestige of her mother's charm. even the thin, elderly man, with the bright glasses over which he seemed to peer with an evidently critical and appraising air, softened visibly before that mingled look of naïve appeal and glowing youth. the glasses were blinked from the nose, and dangled by their gold string. he approached nearer to the girl, again put on his glasses, and subjected her through them to a searching scrutiny, his trained eye resting longer upon the shining hair of the girl. the glasses blinked off again at the unabashed wide smile of confidence in those extraordinary eyes; he cleared his throat, prepared to deliver an opinion and diagnosis upon the particular species before his glass. before he could speak, jerry broke in belligerently. "first of all, let's get this thing clear. she's not going to be handed back to that blanketty blank baboon. i'm responsible for her, and i'm going to see that she gets a square deal from this time on." the girl's eyes widened as she looked steadily at the kindling face of the young man, whom she was more than ever assured was a special instrument of the gods. professor barrowes cleared his throat noisily again, and holding his glasses in his hand, punctuated and emphasised his remarks: "young gentlemen, i suggest that we put the matter in the hands of mr. blumenthal, our consul here at nagasaki. i do not know--i will not express--my opinion of what our rights are in the matter--er as to whether we have in fact broken some law of japan in--er--thus forcibly bringing the--ah--young lady to our home. i am inclined to think that we are about to experience trouble--considerable trouble i should say--with this man hirata. if my memory serves me right, i recall hearing or reading somewhere that a master of such a house has certain property right in these--er--young--ah--ladies." "that may be true," admitted the especial agent of the gods. "suppose she is owned by this man. i'll bet that japan is not so dashed mediæval in its laws, that it permits a chimpanzee like that to beat and ill-use even a slave, and anyway, we'll give him all that's coming to him if he tries to take her from us." "he'll have his hands danged full trying!" the girl's champion this time was the youthful one of the bone ribbed glasses. looking at him very gravely, she perceived his amazing youth, despite the wise spectacles that had at first deceived her. there was that about him that made her feel he was very near to her own age, which numbered less than fifteen years. across the intervening space between them, hazily the girl thought, what a charming playmate the boy of the bone ribbed glasses would make. she would have liked to run through the temple gardens with him, and hide in the cavities of the fantastic rocks, where japanese children loved to play, and where the wistful eyes of the solitary little apprentice of the house of a thousand joys had often longingly and enviously watched them. her new friend she was to know as "monty." he had a fine long name with a junior on the end of it also, but it took many years before she knew her friends by other than the appellations assigned to them by each other. now the elderly man--perhaps he was the father, thought the girl on the mat--was again speaking in that emphatic tone of authority. "now my young friends, we have come to japan with a view to studying the country and people, and to avail ourselves of such pleasures as the country affords to its tourists, etc., and, i may point out, that it was no part of our programme or itinerary to take upon ourselves the responsibility and burden, i may say, of----" "have--a heart!" the big slow voice came from the very fat young man, whose melancholy expression belied the popular conception of the comical element associated with those blessed with excessive flesh. "jinx," as his chums called him, was the scion of a house of vast wealth and fame, and it was no fault of his that his heritage had been rich also in fat, flesh and bone. but now the girl's first friend, with that manner of the natural leader among men, had again taken matters into his own evidently competent hands. "i say, jinx, suppose you beat it over to the consul's and get what advice and dope you can from him. tell him we purpose carrying the case to washington and so forth. and you, monty and bobs, skin over to the teahouse and scare the guts out of that chimpanzee. hire a bunch of japs and cops to help along with the noise. give him the scare of his life. tell him she--she is--dying--at her last gasp and----" (surely the object of their concern understood the english language, for just then several unexpected dimples sprang abroad, and the little row of white teeth showed that smile that was her heritage from her mother.) "tell him," went on jerry, a bit unevenly, deviated from his single track of thought by that most engaging and surprising smile--"that we'll have him boiled in oil or lava or some other japanese concoction. toddle along, old dears, or that fellow with the face supporting the darwinian theory will get ahead of us with the police." "what's your hurry?" growled jinx, his sentimental gaze resting fascinatedly upon the girl on the floor. the young man jerry had referred to as bobs now suggested that there was a possibility that the girl was deaf and dumb, in view of the fact that she had not spoken once. this alarming suggestion created ludicrous consternation. "where's that dictionary, confound it!" jerry sought the elusive book in sundry portions of his clothing, and then appealed to the oracle of the party. "i suggest," said professor barrowes didactically, "that you try the--ah--young lady--with the common japanese greeting. i believe you all have learned it by now." promptly there issued from four american mouths the musical morning greeting of the japanese, reminiscent to them of a well known state productive of presidents. "o--hi--o!" the effect on the girl was instantaneous. she arose with grace to her feet, put her two small hands on her two small knees, bobbed up and down half a dozen times, and then with that white row of pearls revealed in an irresistible smile, she returned: "goog--a--morning!" there was a swelling of chests at this. pride in their protégé aroused them to enthusiastic expressions. "can you beat it?" "did you hear her?" "she's a cute kid." and from monty: "i could have told you from the first that a girl with hair and eyes like that wouldn't be chattering any monkey speech." thereupon the girl, uttered another jewel in english, which called forth not merely approbation, but loud and continuous applause, laughter, and fists clapped into hands. said the girl: "i speag those mos' bes' angleesh ad japan!" "i'll say you do," agreed monty with enthusiasm. "gosh!" said jinx sadly. "she's the cutest kid _i've_ ever seen." "how old are you?" jerry put the question gently, touched, despite the merriment her words had occasioned, by something forlorn in the little figure on the mat before them, so evidently anxious to please them. "how ole?" her expressive face showed evidence of deep regret at having to admit the humiliating fact that her years numbered but fourteen and ten months. she was careful to add the ten months to the sum of her years. "and what's your name?" "i are got two names." "we all have that--christian and surname we call 'em. what's yours?" "i are got angleesh name--fleese. you know those name?" she inquired anxiously. "thas angleesh name." "fleese! fleese!" not one of them but wanted to assure her that "fleese" was a well known name in the english tongue, but even professor barrowes, an authority on the roots of all names, found "fleese" a new one. she was evidently disappointed, and said in a slightly depressed voice: "i are sawry you do not know thad angleesh name. my father are give me those name." "i have it! i have it!" bobs, who had been scribbling something on paper, and repeating it with several accents, shouted that the name the girl meant was undoubtedly "phyllis," and at that she nodded her head so vigorously, overjoyed that he threw back his head and burst into laughter, which was loudly and most joyously and ingenuously entered into by "phyllis" also. "so that's your name--phyllis," said jerry. "you _are_ english then?" she shook her head, sighing with regret. "no, i sawry for those. i _lig'_ be angleesh. thas nize be angleesh; but me, i are not those. also i are got japanese name. it are sunlight. my mother----" her face became instantly serious as she mentioned her mother, and bowed her head to the floor reverently. "my honourable mother have give me that japanese name--sunlight, but my father are change those name. he are call me--sunny. this whad he call me when he go away----" her voice trailed off forlornly, hurt by a memory that went back to her fifth year. they wanted to see her smile again, and jerry cried enthusiastically: "sunny! sunny! what a corking little name! it sounds just like you look. we'll call you that too--sunny." now professor barrowes, too long in the background, came to the fore with precision. he had been scratching upon a pad of paper a number of questions he purposed to put to sunny, as she was henceforth to be known to her friends. "i have a few questions i desire to ask the young--ah--lady, if you have no objection. i consider it advisable for us to ascertain what we properly can about the history of miss--er--sunny--and so, if you will allow me." he cleared his throat, referred to the paper in his hand and propounded the first question as follows: "question number one: are you a white or a japanese girl?" answer from sunny: "i are white on my face and my honourable body, but i are japanese on my honourable insides." muffled mirth followed this reply, and professor barrowes having both blown his nose and cleared his throat applied his glasses to his nose but was obliged to wait a while before resuming, and then: "question number two: who were or are your parents? japanese or white people?" sunny, her cheeks very red and her eyes very bright: "aexcuse me. i are god no parents or ancestors on those worl'. i sawry. i miserable girl wizout no ancestor." "question number three: you had parents. you remember them. what nationality was your mother? i believe madame many smiles was merely her professional pseudonym. i have heard her variously described as white, partly white, half caste. what was she--a white woman or a japanese?" sunny was thinking of that radiant little mother as last she had seen her in the brilliant dancing robes of the dead geisha. the questions were touching the throbbing cords of a memory that pierced. over the sweet young face a shadow crept. "my m-mother," said sunny softly, "are god two bloods ad her insides. her father are lussian gentleman and her mother are japanese." "and your father?" a far-away look came into the girl's eyes as she searched painfully back into that past that held such sharply bright and poignantly sad memories of the father she had known such a little time. she no longer saw the eager young faces about her, or the kindly one of the man who questioned her. sunny was looking out before her across the years into that beautiful past, wherein among the cherry blossoms she had wandered with her father. it was he who had changed her japanese name of sunlight to "sunny." a psychologist might have found in this somewhat to redeem him from his sins against his child and her mother, for surely the name revealed a softness of the heart which his subsequent conduct might have led a sceptical world to doubt. moreover, the first language of her baby lips was that of her father, and for five years she knew no other tongue. she thought of him always as of some gay figure in a bright dream that fled away suddenly into the cruel years that followed. there had been days of real terror and fear, when sunny and her mother had taken the long trail of the mendicant, and knew what it was to feel hunger and cold and the chilly hand of charity. the mere memory of those days set the girl shivering, for it seemed such a short time since when she and that dearest mother crouched outside houses that, lighted within, shone warmly, like gaudy paper lanterns in the night; of still darker days of discomfort and misery, when they had hidden in bush, bramble and in dark woods beyond the paths of men. there had been a period of sweet rest and refuge in a mountain temple. there everything had appealed to the imaginative child. tinkling bells and whirring wings of a thousand doves, whose home was in gilded loft and spire; bald heads of murmuring bonzes; waving sleeves of the visiting priestesses, dancing before the shrine to please the gods; the weary pilgrims who climbed to the mountain's heart to throw their prayers in the lap of the peaceful buddha. a hermitage in a still wood, where an old, old nun, with gentle feeble voice, crooned over her rosary. all this was as a song that lingers in one's ears long after the melody has passed--a memory that stung with its very sweetness. even here the fugitives were not permitted to linger for long. pursuing shadows haunted her mother's footsteps and sent her speeding ever on. she told her child that the shadows menaced their safety. they had come from across the west ocean, said the mother. they were barbarian thieves of the night, whose mission was to separate mother from child, and because separation from her mother spelled for little sunny a doom more awful than death itself, she was wont to smother back her child's cries in her sleeve, and bravely and silently push onward. so for a period of time of which neither mother nor child took reckoning the days of their vagabondage passed. then came a night when they skirted the edges of a city of many lights; lights that hung like stars in the sky; lights that swung over the intricate canals that ran into streets in and out of the city; harbour lights from great ships that steamed into the port; the countless little lights of junks and fisher boats, and the merry lights that shone warmly inside the pretty paper houses that bespoke home and rest to the outcasts. and they came to a brilliantly lighted garden, where on long poles and lines the lanterns were strung, and within the gates they heard the chattering of the drum, and the sweet tinkle of the samisen. here at the gates of the house of a thousand joys the mother touched the gongs. a man with a lantern in his hand came down to the gates, and as the woman spoke, he raised the light till it revealed that delicate face, whose loveliness neither pain nor privation nor time nor even death had ravaged. after that, the story of the geisha was well known. her career had been an exceptional one in that port of many teahouses. from the night of her début to the night of her death the renown of madame many smiles had been undimmed. sunny, looking out before her, in a sad study, that caught her up into the web of the vanished years, could only shake her head dumbly at her questioner, as he pressed her: "your father--you have not answered me?" "i kinnod speag about my--father. i sawry, honourable sir," and suddenly the child's face drooped forward as if she humbly bowed, but the young men watching her saw the tears that dropped on her clasped hands. exclamations of pity and wrath burst from them impetuously. "we've no right to question her like this," declared jerry hammond hotly. "it's not of any consequence who her people are. she's got us now. we'll take care of her from this time forth." at that sunny again raised her head, and right through her tears she smiled up at jerry. it made him think of an april shower, the soft rain falling through the sunlight. chapter iii only one who has been in bondage all of his days can appreciate that thrill that comes with sudden freedom. the americans had set sunny free. she had been bound by law to the man hirata through an iniquitous bond that covered all the days of her young life--a bond into which the average geisha is sold in her youth. sunny's mother had signed the contract when starvation faced them, and reassured by the promises of hirata. what price and terms the avaricious hirata extracted from the americans is immaterial, but they took precautions that the proceeding should be in strict accord with the legal requirements of japan. the american consul and japanese lawyers governed the transaction. hirata, gloated with the unexpected fortune that had come to him through the sale of the apprentice-geisha, overwhelmed the disgusted young men, whom he termed now his benefactors, with servile compliments, and hastened to comply with all their demands, which included the delivery to sunny of the effects of her mother. goto bore the box containing her mother's precious robes and personal belongings into the great living room. life had danced by so swiftly and strangely for sunny in these latter days, that she had been diverted from her sorrow. now, as she slowly opened the bamboo chest, with its intangible odour of dear things, she experienced a strangling sense of utter loss and pain. never again would she hear that gentle voice, admonishing and teaching her; never again would she rest her tired head on her mother's knee and find rest and comfort from the sore trials of the day; for the training of the apprentice-geisha is harsh and spartan like. as sunny lifted out her mother's sparkling robe, almost she seemed to see the delicate head above it. a sob broke from the heart of the girl, and throwing herself on the floor by the chest, she wept with her face in the silken folds. a moth fluttered out of one of the sleeves, and hung tremulously above the girl's head. sunny, looking up, addressed it reverently: "i will not hurt you, little moth. it may be you are the spirit of my honourable mother. pray you go upon your way," and she softly blew up at the moth. it was that element of helplessness, a feminine quality of appeal about sunny, that touched something in the hearts of her american friends that was chivalrous and quixotic. always, when sunny was in trouble, they took the jocular way of expressing their feelings for their charge. to tease, joke, chaff and play with sunny, that was their way. so, on this day, when they returned to the house, to find the girl with her tear-wet face pressed against her mother's things, they sought an instant means, and as jerry insisted, a practical one, of banishing her sadness. after the box had been taken from the room, goto and jinx told some funny stories, which brought a faint smile to sunny's face. monty proffered a handful of sweets picked up in some adjacent shop, while bobs sought scientifically to arouse her to a semblance of her buoyant spirits by discussing all the small live things that were an unfailing source of interest always to the girl, and pretended an enthusiasm over white rabbits which he declared were in the garden. jerry broached his marvellous plan, pronounced by professor barrowes to be preposterous, unheard of and impossible. in jerry's own words, the scheme was as follows: "i propose that we organise and found a company or syndicate, all present to have the privilege of owning stock in said company; its purpose being to take care of sunny for the rest of her days. sooner or later we fellows must return to the u. s. we are going to provide for sunny's future after we are gone." thus the sunny syndicate limited came into being. it was capitalised at $ , , paid in capital, a considerable sum in japan, and quite sufficient to keep the girl in comfort for the rest of her days. professor timothy barrowes was unanimously elected president, j. lyon crawford (jinx) treasurer; robert m. mapson (bobs), secretary of the concern, and joseph lamont potter, jr. (monty), though under age, after an indignant argument was permitted to hold a minimum measure of stock and also voted a director. j. addison hammond, jr. (jerry), held down the positions of first vice-president, managing director and general manager and was grudgingly admitted to be the founder and promoter of the great idea, and the discoverer of sunny, assets of aforesaid syndicate. at the initial board meeting of the syndicate, which was riotously attended, the purpose of the syndicate was duly set forth in the minutes read, approved and signed by all, which was, to wit, to feed, clothe, educate and furnish with sundry necessities and luxuries the aforesaid sunny for the rest of her natural days. the education of sunny strongly appealed to the governing president, who, despite his original protest, was the most active member of the syndicate. he promptly outlined a course which would tend to cultivate those hitherto unexplored portions of sunny's pliable young mind. a girl of almost fifteen, unable to read or write, was in the opinion of professor barrowes a truly benighted heathen. what matter that she knew the greater learning for women by heart, knew the names of all the gods and goddesses cherished by the island empire; had an intimate acquaintance with the japanese language, and was able to translate and indite epistles in the peculiar figures intelligible only to the japanese. the fact remained that she was in a state of abysmal ignorance so far as american education was concerned. her friends assured her of the difficulty of their task, and impressed upon her the necessity of hard study and co-operation on her part. she was not merely to learn the american language, she was, with mock seriousness, informed, but she was to acquire the american point of view, and in fact unlearn much of the useless knowledge she had acquired of things japanese. to each member of the syndicate professor barrowes assigned a subject in which he was to instruct sunny. himself he appointed principal of the "seminary" as the young men merrily named it; jerry was instructor in reading and writing, bobs in spelling, jinx in arithmetic, and to young monty, aged seventeen, was intrusted the task of instructing sunny in geography, a subject professor barrowes well knew the boy was himself deficient in. he considered this an ideal opportunity, in a sort of inverted way, to instruct monty himself. to the aid and help of the americans came the reverend simon sutherland, a missionary, whose many years of service among the heathen had given to his face that sadly solemn expression of martyr zealot. his the task to transform sunny into a respectable christian girl. sunny's progress in her studies was eccentric. there were times when she was able to read so glibly and well that the pride of her teacher was only dashed when he discovered that she had somehow learned the words by heart, and in picking them out had an exasperating habit of pointing to the wrong words. she could count to ten in english. her progress in geography was attested to by her admiring and enthusiastic teacher, and she herself, dimpling, referred to the u. s. a. as being "over cross those west water, wiz grade flag of striped stars." however, her advance in religion exceeded all her other attainments, and filled the breast of the good missionary with inordinate pride. an expert and professional in the art of converting the heathen, he considered sunny's conversion at the end of the second week as little short of miraculous, and, as he explained to the generous young americans, who had done so much for the mission school in which the reverend simon sutherland was interested, he was of the opinion that the girl's quick comprehension of the religion was due to a sort of reversion to type, she being mainly of white blood. so infatuated indeed was the good man by his pupil's progress that he could not forbear to bring her before her friends, and show them what prayer and sincere labour among the heathen were capable of doing. accordingly, the willing and joyous convert was haled before an admiring if somewhat sceptical circle in the cheerful living room of the americans. here, her hands clasped piously together, she chanted the prepared formula: "gentlemens"--familiar daily intercourse with her friends brought easily to the girl's tongue their various nicknames, but "gentlemens" she now addressed them. "i stan here to make statements to you that i am turn kirishitan." "english, my dear child. use the english language, please." "--that i am turn those christian girl. i can sing those--a-gospel song; and i are speak those--ah--gospel prayer, and i know those cat--cattykussem like--like----" sunny wavered as she caught the uplifted eyebrow of the missionary signalling to her behind the back of professor barrowes. now the words began to fade away from sunny. alone with the missionary it was remarkable how quickly she was able to commit things to memory. before an audience like this, she was as a child who stands upon a platform with his first recitation, and finds his tongue tied and memory failing. what was it now the reverend simon sutherland desired her to say? confused, but by no means daunted, sunny cast about in her mind for some method of propitiating the minister. at least, she could pray. folding her hands before her, and dropping her buddhist rosary through her fingers, she murmured the words of that quaint old hymn: "what though those icy breeze, he blow sof' on ze isle though evrything he pleases and jos those man he's wild, in vain with large kind the gift of those gods are sown, those heathen in blindness bow down to wood and stone." they let her finish the chant, the words of which were almost unintelligible to her convulsed audience, who vainly sought to strangle their mirth before the crestfallen and sadly hurt mr. sutherland. he took the rosary from sunny's fingers, saying reprovingly: "my dear child, that is not a prayer, and how many times must i tell you that we do not use a rosary in our church. all we desire from you at this time is a humble profession as to your conversion to christianity. therefore, my child, your friends and i wish to be reassured on that score." "i'd like to hear her do the catechism. she says she knows it," came in a muffled voice from bobs. "certainly, certainly," responded the missionary. "attention, my dear. first, i will ask you: what is your name?" sunny, watching him with the most painful earnestness indicative of her earnest desire to please, was able to answer at once joyously. "my name are sunny--syndicutt." the mirth was barely suppressed by the now indignant minister, who glared in displeasure upon the small person so painfully trying to realise his ambitions for her. to conciliate the evidently angry mr. sutherland, she rattled along hurriedly: "i am true convert. i swear him. by those eight million gods of the heavens and the sea, and by god-dam i swear it that i am nixe kirishitan girl." * * * * * a few minutes later sunny was alone, even professor barrowes having hastily followed his charges from the room to avoid giving offence to the missionary, whose angry tongue was now loosened, and flayed the unhappy girl ere he too departed in dudgeon via the front door. * * * * * that evening, after the dinner, sunny, who had been very quiet during the meal, went directly from the table to her room upstairs, and to the calls after her of her friends, she replied that she had "five thousan words to learn him to spell." professor barrowes, furtively wiping his eyes and then his glasses, shook them at his protesting young charges and asserted that the missionary was quite within his rights in punishing sunny by giving her lines to write. "she's been at it all day," was the disgusted comment of monty. "it's a rotten shame, to put that poor kid to copying that little hell of a line." "sir," said the professor, stiffening and glaring through his glasses at monty, "i wish you to know that line happens to be taken from a--er--book esteemed sacred, and i have yet to learn that it had its origin in the infernal regions as suggested by you. what is more, i may say that miss sunny's progress in reading and spelling, arithmetic, and geography has not been what i had hoped. accordingly i have instructed her that she must study for an hour in the evening after dinner, and i have further advised the young lady that i do not wish her to leave the house on any pleasure expedition this evening." a howl of indignant protest greeted this pronouncement and the air was electric with bristling young heads. "say, proff. sunny promised to go out with me this evening. she knows a shop where they sell that sticky gum drop stuff that i like, and we're going down snowdrop ave. to canal lane. let her off, just this time, will you?" "i will not. she must learn to spell cat, cow, horse and dog and such words as a baby of five knows properly before she can go out on pleasure trips." jinx ponderously sat up on his favourite sofa, the same creaking under him as the big fellow moved. in an injured tone he set forth his rights for the evening to sunny. "sunny has a date with me to play me a nice little sing-song on that jap guitar of hers. i'm not letting her off this or any other night." "she made a date with me too," laughed bobs. "we were to star gaze, if you please. she says she knows the history of all the most famous stars in the heavens, and she agreed to show me the exact geographical spot in the firmament where that amaterumtumtum, or whatever she calls it, goddess, lost her robes in the milky way just while she was descending to earth to be an ancestor to the emperor of japan." mockingly bobs bowed his head in solemn and comical imitation of sunny at the mention of the emperor. jerry was thinking irritably that sunny and he were to have stolen away after supper for a little trip in a private junk, owned by a friend of sunny's, and she said that the rowers would play the guitar and sing as the gondoliers of italy do. jerry had a fancy for that trip in the moonlight, with sunny's little hand cuddled up in his, and the child chattering some of her pretty nonsense. confound it, the little baggage had promised her time to every last one of her friends, and so it was nearly every night in the week. sunny had much ado making and breaking engagements with her friends. "it strikes me," said professor barrowes, stroking his chin humorously, "that miss sunny has in her all the elements that go to the making of a most complete and finished coquette. for your possible edification, gentlemen, i will mention that the young lady also offered to accompany me to a certain small temple where she informs me a bonze of the buddhist religion has a library of er--one million years, so claims miss sunny, and this same bonze she assured me has a unique collection of ancient butterflies which have come down from prehistoric days. ahem!--er--i shall play fair with you young gentlemen. i desire very much to see the articles i have mentioned. i doubt very much the authenticity of the same, but have an open mind. i shall, however, reserve the pleasure of seeing these collections till a more convenient period. in the meanwhile i advise you all to go about your respective concerns, and i bid you good-night, gentlemen, i bid you good-night." * * * * * the house was silent. the living room, with its single reading lamp, seemed empty and cold, and professor barrowes with a book whose contents would have aforetime utterly absorbed him, as it dealt with the fascinating subject of the dinornis, of post-pliocene days, found himself unable to concentrate. his well-governed mind had in some inexplicable way become intractable. it persisted in wandering up to the floor above, where professor barrowes knew was a poor young girl, who was studying hard into the night. twice he went outdoors to assure himself that sunny was still studying, and each time the glowing light, and the chanting voice aroused his further compunction and remorse. unable longer to endure the distracting influence that took his mind from his favourite study, the professor stole on tiptoe up the stairs to sunny's door. the voice inside went raucously on. "c-a-t--dog. c-a-t--dog. c-a-t--dog!" something about that voice, devoid of all the charm peculiar to sunny, grated against the sensitive ear at the keyhole, and accordingly he withdrew the ear and applied the eye. what he saw inside caused him to sit back solidly on the floor, speechless with mirthful indignation. hatsu, the maid, sat stonily before the little desk of her mistress, and true to the instructions of sunny, she was loudly chanting that c-a-t spelled dog. outside the window--well, there was a lattice work that ascended conveniently to sunny's room. her mode of exit was visible to the simplest minded, but the question that agitated the mind of professor barrowes, and sent him off into a spree of mirthful speculation was which one of the members of the sunny syndicate limited had miss sunny sindicutt eloped with? chapter iv to be adopted by four young men and one older one; to be surrounded by every care and luxury; to be alternately scolded, pampered, admonished and petted, this was the joyous fate of sunny. life ran along for the happy child like a song, a poem which even takumushi could not have composed. sunny greeted the rising sun with the kisses that she had been taught to throw to garden audiences, and hailed the blazing orb each morning, having bowed three times, hands on knees, with words like these: "ohayo! honourable sun. i glad you come again. thas a beautiful day you are bring, an i thang you thad i are permit to live on those day. hoh! amaterasuoho-mikami, shining lady of the sun, i are mos' happiest girl ad those japan!" the professional geisha is taught from childhood--for her apprenticeship begins from earliest youth--that her mission in life is to bring joy and happiness into the world, to divert, to banish all care by her own infectious buoyancy, to heal, to dissipate the cares of mere mortals; to cultivate herself so that she shall become the very essence of joy. if trouble comes to her own life, to so exercise self-control that no trace of her inner distress must be reflected in her looks or conduct. she must, in fact, make a science of her profession. to laugh with those who laugh and weep with those who find a balm in tears--that is the work of the geisha. sunny, a product of the geisha house, and herself apprentice to the joy women of japan, was of another race by blood, yet always there was to cling to her that intangible charm, that like a strange perfume bespeaks the geisha of japan. in her odd way sunny laid out her campaign to charm and please the ones who had befriended her, and toward whom she felt a gratitude that both touched and embarrassed them. her new plan of life, however, violated all the old rules which had governed in the teahouse. sunny was sore put to it to adjust herself to the novelty of a life that knew not the sharp and imperative voice, which cut like a whip in staccato order, from the master of the geishas; nor the perilous trapeze, the swinging rope, to fall from which was to bring down upon her head harsh rebuke, and sometimes the threatening flash of the whip, whirling in the air, and barely scraping the girl on the rope. she had been whipped but upon that one occasion, for her mother was too valuable an asset in the house of a thousand joys for hirata to risk offending; but always he loved to swing the lash above the girl's head, or hurl it near to the feet that had faltered from the rope, so that she might know that it hung suspended above her to fall at a time when she failed. there were pleasant things too in the house of a thousand smiles that sunny missed--the tap tap of the drum, the pat pat of the stockinged feet on the polished dance matting; the rising and falling of the music of the samisen as it tinkled in time to the swaying fans and posturing bodies of the geishas. all this was the joyous part of that gaudy past, which her honourable new owners had bidden her forget. sunny desired most earnestly to repay her benefactors, but her offers to dance for them were laughingly joshed aside, and she was told that they did not wish to be repaid in dancing coin. all they desired in return was that she should be happy, forget the bitter past, and they always added "grow up to be the most beautiful girl in japan." this was a joking formula among them. to order sunny to be merely happy and beautiful. happy she was, but beauty! ah! that was more difficult. beauty, thought sunny, must surely be the aim and goal of all americans. many were the moments when she studied her small face in the mirror, and regretted that it would be impossible for her to realise the ambition of her friends. her face, she was assured, violated all the traditions and canons of the japanese ideal of beauty. that required jet black hair, lustrous as lacquer, a long oval face, with tiny, carmine touched lips, narrow, inscrutable eyes, a straight, sensitive nose, a calmness of expression and poise that should serve as a mask to all internal emotions; above all an elegance and distinction in manners and dress that would mark one as being of an elevated station in life. now sunny's hair was fair, and despite brush and oil generously applied, till forbidden by her friends, it curled in disobedient ringlets about her young face. the hair alone marked her in the estimation of the japanese as akin to the lower races, since curly hair was one of the marks peculiar to the savages. neither were her eyes according to the japanese ideal of beauty. they were, it is true, long and shadowed by the blackest of lashes, and in fact were her one feature showing the trace of her oriental taint or alloy, for they tipped up somewhat at the corners, and she had a trick of glancing sideways through the dark lashes that her friends found eerily fascinating; unfortunately those eyes were large, and instead of being the prescribed black, were pure amber in colour, with golden lights of the colour of her hair. her skin, finally, was, as the mentor of the geisha house had primly told her, bleached like the skin of the dead. save where the colour flooded her cheeks like peach bloom, sunny's skin was as white as snow, and all the temporary stains and dark powder applied could not change the colour of her skin. to one accustomed to the japanese point of view, sunny therefore could see nothing in her own lovely face that would realise the desire of her friends that she should be beautiful; but respectfully and humbly she promised them that she would try to obey them, and she carried many gifts and offerings to the feet of amaterasu-ohomikami, whose beauty had made her the supreme goddess of the heavens. "beauty," said jerry hammond, walking up and down the big living room, his hair rumpled, and his hands loosely in his pockets, "is the aim and end of all that is worth while in life, sunny. if we have it, we have everything. beauty is something we are unable to define. it is elusive as a feather that floats above our heads. a breath will blow it beyond our reach, and a miracle will bring it to our hand. now, the gods willing, i am going to spend all of the days of my life pursuing and reaching after beauty. despite my parents' fond expectations of a commercial career for their wayward son, i propose to be an artist." from which it will be observed that jerry's idea of beauty was hardly that comprehended by sunny, though in a vague way she sensed also his ideal. "an artist!" exclaimed she, clasping her hands with enthusiasm. "ho! _how_ thad will be grade. i thing you be more grade artist than hokusai!" "oh, sunny, impossible! hokusai was one of the greatest artists that ever lived. i'm not built of the same timber, sunny." there was a touch of sadness to jerry's voice. "my scheme is not to paint pictures. i propose to beautify cities. to the world i shall be known merely as an architect, but you and i, sunny, we will know, won't we, that i am an artist; because, you see, even if one fails to create the beautiful, the hunger and the desire for it is just as important. it's like being a poet at heart, without being able to write poetry. now some fellows _write_ poetry of a sort--but they are not poets--not in their thought and lives, sunny. i'd rather be a poet than write poetry. do you understand that?" "yes--i understand," said sunny softly. "the liddle butterfly when he float on the flower, he cannot write those poetry--but he are a poem; and the honourable cloud in those sky, so sof', so white, so loavely he make one's heart leap up high at chest--thas poem too!" "oh, sunny, what a perfect treasure you are! i'm blessed if you don't understand a fellow better than one of his own countrywomen would." to cover a feeling of emotion and sentiment that invariably swept over jerry when he talked with sunny on the subject of beauty, and because moreover there was that about her own upturned face that disturbed him strangely, he always assumed a mock serious air, and affected to tease her. "but to get back to you, sunny. now, all you've got to do to please the syndicate is to be a good girl _and_ beautiful. it ought not to be hard, because you see you've got such a bully start. keep on, and who knows you'll end not only by being the most beautiful girl in japan, but the emperor himself--the emperor of japan, mark you, will step down from his golden throne, wave his wand toward you and marry you! so there you'll be--the royal empress of japan." "the emperor!" sunny's head went reverently to the mats. her eyes, very wide, met jerry's in shocked question. "you want me marry wiz--the son of heaven? _how_ i can do those?" again her head touched the floor, her curls bobbing against flushed cheeks. "easy as fishing," solemnly jerry assured her. "they say the old dub is quite approachable, and you've only to let him see you once, and that will be enough for him. just think, sunny, what that will mean to you, and to us all--to be empress of japan. why, you will only need to wave your hand or sleeve, and all sorts of favours will descend upon our heads. you will be able to repay us threefold for any insignificant service we may have done for you. once empress of japan, you can summon us back to these fair isles and turn over to us all the political plums of the empire. as soon as you give us the high sign, old scout, we'll be right on the job." "jerry, you like very much those plum?" "you better believe i do." sunny, chin in hand, was off in a mood of abstraction. she was thinking very earnestly of the red plum tree that grew above the tomb of the great lord of kakodate. he, that sleeping lord, would not miss a single plum, and she would go to the cemetery in the early morning, and when she had accomplished the theft, she would pray at the temple for absolution for her sin, which would not be so bad because sunny would have sinned for love. "a penny for your thoughts, sunny!" "i are think, jerry, that some things you ask me i can do; others, no--thas not possible. wiz this liddle hand i cannod dip up the ocean. thas proverb of our japan. i cannod marry those emperor, and me? i cannod also make beauty on my face." "give it a try, sunny," jeered jerry, laughing at her serious face. "you have no idea what time and art will do for one." "time--and--art," repeated sunny, like a child learning a lesson. she comprehended time, but she had inherited none of the japanese traits of patience. she would have wished to leap over that first obstacle to beauty. art, she comprehended, as a physical aid to a face and form unendowed with the desired beauty. she carried her problem to her maid. "hatsu, have you ever seen the emperor?" both of their heads bobbed quickly to the mat. hatsu had not. she had, it is true, walked miles through country roads, on a hot, dry day, to reach the nearest town through which the son of heaven's cortege had once passed. but, of course, as the royal party approached, hatsu, like all the peasants who had come to the town on this gala day, had fallen face downward on the earth. it was impossible for her therefore to see the face of the son of heaven. however, hatsu had seen the back of his horse--the modern emperor rode thus abroad, clear to the view of subjects less humble than hatsu, who dared to raise their eyes to his supreme magnificence. sunny sighed. she felt sure that had she been in hatsu's place, she would at least have peeped through her fingers at the mikado. rummaging among her treasures in the bamboo chest, sunny finally discovered what she sought--a picture of the emperor. this she laid before her on the floor, and for a long, long time she studied the features thoughtfully and anxiously. after a while, she said with a sigh, unconscious of the blasphemy, which caused her maid to turn pale with horror, "i do not like his eye, and i do not like his nose, and i do not like his mouth. yet, hatsusan, it is the wish of jerry-sama that i should marry this emperor, and now i must make myself so beautiful that it will not hurt his eye if he deigns to look at me." hatsu, at this moment was too overcome with the utter audacity of the scheme to move, and when she did find her voice, she said in a breathless whisper: "mistress, the son of heaven already has a wife." "ah, yes," returned sunny, with somewhat of the careless manner toward sacred things acquired from her friends, "but perhaps he may desire another one. come, hatsusan. work very hard on my face. make me look like ancient picture of an empress of japan. see, here is a model!" she offered one of her mother's old prints, that revealed a court lady in trailing gown and loosened hair, an uplifted fan half revealing, half disclosing a weirdly lovely face, as she turned to look at a tiny dog frolicking on her train. it was a long, a painful and arduous process, this work of beautifying sunny. there was fractious hair to be darkened and smoothed, and false hair to help out the illusion. there was a small face that had to be almost completely made over, silken robes from the mother's chest to slip over the girlish shoulders, shining nails to be polished and hidden behind gold nail protectors, paint and paste to be thickly applied, and a cape of a thousand colours to be thrown over the voluminous many coloured robes beneath. the sky was a dazzling blaze of red and gold. even the deepening shadows were touched with gilt, and the glory of that japanese sunset cast its reflection upon the book-lined walls of the big living room, where the americans, lingering over pipe and hook, dreamily and appreciatively watched the marvellous spectacle through the widely opened windows. but their siesta was strangely interrupted, for, like a peacock, a strange vision trailed suddenly into the room and stood with suspended breath, fan half raised, in the manner of a court lady of ancient days, awaiting judgment. they did not know her at first. this strange figure seemed to have stepped out of some old japanese print, and was as far from being the little sunny who had come into their lives and added the last touch of magic to their trip in japan. after the first shock, they recognised sunny. her face was heavily plastered with a white paste. a vivid splotch of red paint adorned and accentuated either slightly high cheek bone. her eyebrows had disappeared under a thick layer of paste, and in their place appeared a brand new pair of intensely black ones, incongruously laid about an inch above the normal line and midway of her forehead. her lips were painted to a vivid point, star shaped, so that the paint omitted the corners of sunny's mouth, where were the dimples that were part of the charm of the sunny they knew. upon the girl's head rested an amazing ebony wig, one long lock of which trailed fantastically down from her neck to the hem of her robe. shining daggers and pins, and artificial flowers completed a head dress. she was arrayed in an antique kimona, an article of stiff and unlimited dimensions, under which were seven other robes of the finest silk, each signifying some special virtue. a train trailed behind sunny that covered half the length of the room. her heavily embroidered outer robe was a gift to her mother from a prince, and its magnificence proclaimed its antiquity. it may be truly said for sunny that she indeed achieved her own peculiar idea of what constituted beauty, and as she swept the fan from before her face with real art and grace there was pardonable pride in her voice as she said: "honourable mr. sirs, mebbe _now_ you goin' say i are beautifullest enough girl to make those emperor marry wiz me." a moment of tense silence, and then the room resounded and echoed to the startled mirth of the young barbarians. but no mirth came from sunny, and no mirth came from jerry. the girl stood in the middle of the room, and through all her pride and dazzling attire she showed how deeply they had wounded her. a moment only she stayed, and then tripping over her long train and dropping her fan in her hurry, sunny fled from the room. jerry said with an ominous glare at the convulsed bobs, monty and even the aforesaid melancholy jinx: "it was my fault. i told her art and time would make her beautiful." "the devil they would," snorted bobs. "i'd like to know how you figured that art and time could contribute to sunny's natural beauty. by george, she got herself up with the aid of your damned art, to look like a valentine, if you ask me." "i don't agree with you," declared jerry hotly. "it's all how one looks at such things. it's a symptom of provincialism to narrow our admiration to one type only. such masters as whistler of our own land, and many of the most famous artists of europe have not hesitated to take japanese art as their model. what sunny accomplished was the reproduction of a living work of art of the past, and it is the crassest kind of ignorance to reward her efforts with laughter." jerry was almost savage in his denunciation of his friends. "i agree with you," said professor barrowes snapping his glasses back on his nose, "absolutely, absolutely. you are entirely right, mr. hammond," and in turn he glared upon his "class" as if daring anyone of them to question his own opinion. jinx indeed did feebly say: "well, for my part, give me sunny as we know her. gosh! i don't see anything pretty in all that dolled-up stuff and paint on her." "now, young gentleman," continued professor barrowes, seizing the moment to deliver a gratuitous lecture, "there are certain cardinal laws governing art and beauty. it is not a matter of eyes, ears and noses, or even the colour of the skin. it is how we are accustomed to look at a thing. as an example, we might take a picture. seen from one angle, it reveals a mass of chaotic colour that has no excuse for being. seen from another point, the purpose of the artist is clearly delineated, and we are trapped in the charm of his creation. every clime has its own peculiar estimate, but it comes down each time to ourselves. poetically it has been beautifully expressed as follows: 'unless we carry the beautiful with us, we will find it not.' ahem!" professor barrowes cleared his throat angrily, and scowled, with jerry, at their unappreciative friends. goto, salaaming deeply in the doorway, was sonorously announcing honourable dinner for the honourable sirs, and coming softly across the hall, in her simple plum coloured kimona with its golden obi, the paint washed from her face, and showing it fresh and clean as a baby's, sunny's april smile was warming and cheering them all again. jinx voiced the sentiment of them all, including the angry professor and beauty loving jerry: "gosh! give me sunny just as she is, without one plea." chapter v there comes a time in the lives of all young men sojourning in foreign lands when the powers that be across the water summon them to return to the land of their birth. years before, letters and cablegrams not unsimilar to those that now poured in upon her friends came persistently across the water to the father of sunny. then there was no professor barrowes to govern and lay down the law to the infatuated man. he was able to put off the departure for several years, but with the passage of time the letters that admonished and threatened not only ceased to come, but the necessary remittances stopped also. sunny's father found himself in the novel position of being what he termed "broke" in a strange land. as in the case of jerry hammond, whose people were all in trade, there was a strange vein of sentiment in the father of sunny. to his people indeed, he appeared to be one of those freaks of nature that sometimes appear in the best regulated families, and deviate from the proper paths followed by his forbears. he had acquired a sentiment not merely for the land, but for the woman he had taken as his wife; above all, he was devoted to his little girl. it is hard to judge of the man from his subsequent conduct upon his return to america. his marriage to the mother of sunny had been more or less of a mercenary transaction. she had been sold to the american by a stepfather anxious to rid himself of a child who showed the clear evidence of her white father, and greedy to avail himself of the terms offered by the american. it was, in fact, a gay union into which the rich, fast young man thoughtlessly entered, with a cynical disregard of anything but his own desires. the result was to breed in him at the outset a feeling that he would not have analysed as contempt, but was at all events scepticism for the seeming love of his wife for him. it was different with his child. his affection for her was a beautiful thing. no shadow of doubt or criticism came to mar the love that existed between father and child. true, sunny was the product of a temporary union, a ceremony of the teacup, which nevertheless is a legal marriage in japan, and so regarded by the japanese. lightly as the american may have regarded his union with her mother, he looked upon the child as legally and fully his own, and was prepared to defend her rights. in america, making a clean breast to parents and family lawyers, he assented to the terms made by them, on condition that his child at least should be obtained for him. the determination to obtain possession of his child became almost a monomania with the man, and he took measures that were undeniably ruthless to gratify his will. it may be also that he was at this time the victim of agents and interested parties. however, he had lived in japan long enough to know of the proverbial frailty of the sex. the mercenary motives he believed animated the woman in marrying him, her inability to reveal her emotions in the manner of the women of his own race; her seeming indifference and coldness at parting, which indeed was part of her spartan heritage to face dire trouble unblenching--the sort of thing which causes japanese women to send their warrior husbands into battle with smiles upon their lips--all these things contributed to beat the man into a mood of acquiescence to the demands of his parents. he deluded himself into believing that his japanese wife, like her dolls, was incapable of any intense feeling. in due time, the machinery of law, which works for those who pay, with miraculous swiftness in japan, was set into motion, and the frail bonds that so lightly bound the american to his japanese wife, were severed. at this time the mother of sunny had been plastic and apparently complacent, though rejecting the compensation proffered her by her husband's agents. the woman, who was later to be known as madame many smiles, turned cold as death, however, when the disposition of her child was broached. nevertheless her smiling mask betrayed no trace to the american agents of the anguished turmoil within. indeed her amiability aroused indignant and disgusted comment, and she was pronounced a soulless butterfly. this diagnosis of the woman was to be rudely shattered, when, beguiled by her seeming indifference, they relaxed somewhat of their vigilant espionage of her, and awoke one morning to find that the butterfly had flown beyond their reach. the road of the mendicant, hunger, cold, and even shame were nearer to the gates of nirvanna than life in splendour without her child. that was all part of the story of madame many smiles. history, in a measure, was to repeat itself in the life of sunny. she had come to depend for her happiness upon her friends, and the shock of their impending departure was almost more than she could bear. she spent many hours kneeling before kuonnon, the goddess of mercy, throwing her petitions upon the lap of the goddess, and bruising her brow at the stone feet. it is sad to relate of sunny, who so avidly had embraced the christian faith, and was to the proud mr. sutherland an example of his labours in japan, that in the hour of her great trouble she should turn to a heathen goddess. yet here was sunny, bumping her head at the stone feet. what could the three-in-one god of the reverend mr. sutherland do for her now? sunny had never seen his face; but she knew well the benevolent comprehending smile of the goddess of mercy, and in her, sunny placed her trust. and so: "oh, divine kuonnon, lovely lady of mercy, hear my petition. do not permit my friends to leave japan. paralyse their feet. blind their eyes that they may not see the way. pray you close up the west ocean, so no ships may take my friends across. hold them magnetised to the honourable earth of japan." sitting back on her heels, having voiced her petition anxiously she scanned the face of the lady above her. the candles flickered and wavered in the soft wind, and the incense curled in a spiral cloud and wound in rings about the head of the celestial one. sunny held her two hands out pleadingly toward the unmoving face. "lovely kuonnon, it is true that i have tried magic to keep my friends with me, but even the oni (goblins) do not hear me, and my friends' boxes stand now in the ozashiki and the cruel carts carry them through the streets." her voice rose breathlessly, and she leaned up and stared with wide eyes at the still face above her, with its everlasting smile, and its lips that never moved. "it is true! it is true!" cried sunny excitedly. "the mission sir is right. there is no living heart in your breast. you are only stone. you cannot even hear my prayer. how then will you answer it?" half appalled by her own blasphemy, she shivered away from the goddess, casting terrified glances about her, and still sobbing in this gasping way, sunny covered her face with her sleeve, and wended her way from the shrine to her home. here the dishevelled upset of the house brought home to her the unalterable fact of their certain going. restraint and gloom had been in the once so jolly house, ever since professor barrowes had announced the time of departure. to the excited imagination of sunny it seemed that her friends sought to avoid her. she could not understand that this was because they found it difficult to face the genuine suffering that their going caused their little friend. sunny at the door of the living room sought fiercely to dissemble her grief. never would she reveal uncouth and uncivilised tears; yet the smile she forced to her face now was more tragic than tears. jinx was alone in the room. the fat young man was in an especially gloomy and melancholy mood. he was wracking his brain for some solution to the problem of sunny. to him, sunny went directly, seating herself on the floor in front of him, so that he was obliged to look at the imploring young face, and had much ado to control the lump that would rise in jinx's remorseful throat. "jinx," said sunny persuasively, "i do not like to stay ad this japan all alone also. i lig' you stay wiz me. pray you do so, mr. dear jinx!" "gosh! i only wish i could, sunny," groaned jinx, sick with sympathy, "but, i can't do it. it's impossible. i'm not--not my own master yet. i did the best i could for you--wrote home and asked my folks if--if i could bring you along. doggone them, anyway, they've kept the wires hot ever since squalling for me to get back." "they do nod lig' japanese girl?" asked sunny sadly. "gosh, what do they know about it? i do, anyway. i think you're a peachy kid, sunny. you suit me down to the ground, i'll tell the world, and you look-a-here, i'm coming back to see you, d'ye understand? i give you my solemn word i will." "jinx," said sunny, without a touch of hope in her voice, "my father are say same thing; but--he never come bag no more." monty and bobs, their arms loaded with sundry boxes of sweets and pretty things that aforetime would have charmed sunny, came in from the street just then, and with affected cheer laid their gifts enticingly before the unbeguiled sunny. "see here, kiddy. isn't this pretty!" bobs was swinging a long chain of bright red and green beads. not so long before sunny had led bobs to that same string of beads, which adorned the counter of a dealer in japanese jewelry, and had expressed to him her ambition to possess so marvellous a treasure. bobs would have bought the ornament then and there; but it so happened that his finances were at their lowest ebb, his investment in the syndicate having made a heavy inroad into the funds of the by no means affluent bobs. the wherewithal to purchase the beads on the eve of departure had in fact come from some obscure corner of his resources, and he now dangled them enticingly before the girl's cold eyes. she turned a shoulder expressive of aversion toward the chain. "i do nod lig' those kind beads," declared sunny bitterly. then upon an impulse, she removed herself from her place before jinx, and kneeled in turn before bobs, concentrating her full look of appeal upon that palpably moved individual. "mr. sir--bobs, i do nod lig' to stay ad japan, wizout you stay also. please you take me ad america wiz you. i are not afraid those west oceans. i lig' those water. it is very sad for me ad japan. i do nod lig' japan. she is not clistian country. very bad people live on japan. i lig' go ad america. please you take me wiz you to-day." monty, hovering behind bobs, was scowling through his bone-ribbed glasses. through his seventeen-year-old brain raced wild schemes of smuggling sunny aboard the vessel; of choking the watchful professor; of penning defiant epistles to the home folks; of finding employment in japan and remaining firmly on these shores to take care of poor little sunny. the propitiating words of bobs appeared to monty the sheerest drivel, untrue slush that it was an outrage to hand to a girl who trusted and believed. bobs was explaining that he was the beggar of the party. when he returned to america, he would have to get out and scuffle for a living, for his parents were not rich, and it was only through considerable sacrifice, and bobs' own efforts at work (he had worked his way through college, he told sunny) that he was able to be one of the party of students who following their senior year at college were travelling for a year prior to settling down at their respective careers. bobs was too chivalrous to mention to sunny the fact that his contribution to the sunny syndicate had caused such a shrinkage in his funds that it would take many months of hard work to make up the deficit; nor that he had even become indebted to the affluent jinx in sunny's behalf. what he did explain was the fact that he expected soon after he reached america, to land a job of a kind--he was to do newspaper work--and just as soon as ever he could afford it, he promised to send for sunny, who was more than welcome to share whatever two-by-four home bobs may have acquired by that time. sunny heard and understood little enough of his explanation. all she comprehended was that her request had been denied. her own father's defective promises had made her forever sceptical of those of any other man in the world. jinx in morose silence pulled fiercely on his pipe, brooding over the ill luck that dogged a fellow who was fat as a movie comedian and was related to an army of fat-heads who had the power to order him to come and go at their will. jinx thought vengefully and ominously of his impending freedom. he would be of age in three months. into his own hands then, triumphantly gloated jinx, would fall the fortune of the house of crawford, and _then_ his folks would see! he'd show 'em! and as for sunny--well, jinx was going to demonstrate to that little girl what a man of his word was capable of doing. sunny, having left bobs, was giving her full attention to monty, who showed signs of panic. "monty, i wan' go wiz you ad america. _please_ take me there wiz you. i nod make no trobble for you. i be bes' nize girl you ever goin' see those worl. please take me, monty." "aw--all right, i will. you bet your life i will. that's settled, and you can count on me. _i'm_ not afraid of _my_ folks, if the other fellows are of theirs. i can do as i choose. i'll rustle up the money somehow. there's always a way, and they can say what they like at home, i intend to do things in my own way. my governor's threatening to cut me off; all the fellows' parents are--they're in league together, i believe, but i'm going to teach them all a lesson. i'll not stir a foot from japan without you, sunny. you can put that in your pipe and swallow it. _i_ mean every last word _i_ say." "now, now, now--not so hasty, young man, not so hasty! not so free with promises you are unable to fulfil. less words! less words! more deeds!" professor barrowes, pausing on the threshold, had allowed the junior member of the party he was piloting through japan to finish his fiery tirade. he hung up his helmet, removed his rubbers, and rubbing his chilled hands to bring back the departed warmth, came into the room and laid the mail upon the table. "here you are, gentlemen. american mail. help yourselves. all right, all right. now, if agreeable, i desire to have a talk alone with miss sunny. if you young gentlemen will proceed with the rest of your preparations i daresay we will be on time. that will do, goto. that baggage goes with us. loose stuff for the steamer. clear out." sunny, alone with the professor, made her last appeal. "kind mr. professor, please do not leave me ad those japan. i wan go ad america wiz you. please you permit me go also." professor barrowes leaned over, held out both his hands, and as the girl came with a sob to him, he took her gently into his arms. she buried her face on the shabby coat of the old professor who had been such a good friend to her, and who with all his eccentricities had been so curiously loveable and approachable. after she had cried a bit against the old coat, sunny sat back on her heels again, her two hands resting on the professor's knees and covered with one of his. "sunny, poor child, i know how hard it is for you; but we are doing the best we can. i want you to try and resign yourself to what is after all inevitable. i have arranged for you to go to the sutherlands' home. you know them both--good people, sunny, good people, in spite of their pious noise. mr. blumenthal has charge of your financial matters. you are amply provided for, thanks to the generosity of your friends, and i may say we have done everything in our power to properly protect you. you are going to show your appreciation by--er--being a good girl. keep at your studies. heed the instructions of mr. sutherland. he has your good at heart. i will not question his methods. we all have our peculiarities and beliefs. the training will do you no harm--possibly do you much good. i wish you always to remember that my interest in your welfare will continue, and it will be a pleasure to learn of your progress. when you can do so, i want you to write a letter to me, and tell me all about yourself." "mr. professor, if i study mos' hard, mebbe i grow up to be american girl--jos same as her?" sunny put the question with touching earnestness. "we-el, i am not prepared to offer the american girl as an ideal model for you to copy, my dear, but i take it you mean--er--that education will graft upon you our western civilisation, such as it is. it may do so. it may. i will not promise on that score. my mind is open. it has been done, no doubt. many girls of your race have--ah--assimilated our own peculiar civilisation--or a veneer of the same. you are yourself mainly of white blood. yes, yes, it is possible--quite probable in fact, that if you set out to acquire western ways, you will succeed in making yourself--er--like the people you desire to copy." "and suppose i grow up lig' civilised girl, _then_ i may live ad america?" "nothing to prevent you, my dear. nothing to prevent you. it's a free country. open to all. you will find us your friends, happy--i may say--overjoyed to see you again." for the first time since she had learned the news of their impending departure a faint smile lighted up the girl's sad face. "i stay ad japan till i get--civil--ise." she stood up, and for a moment looked down in mournful farewell on the seamed face of her friend. her soft voice dropped to a caress. "sayonara, _mos_ kindes' man ad japan. i goin' to ask all those million gods be good to you." and professor barrowes did not even chide her for her reference to the gods. he sat glaring alone in the empty room, fiercely rubbing his glasses, and rehearsing some extremely cutting and sarcastic phrases which he proposed to pen or speak to certain parents across the water, whose low minds suspected mud even upon a lily. his muttering reverie was broken by the quiet voice of jerry. he had come out of the big window seat, where he had been all of the afternoon, unnoticed by the others. "professor barrowes," said jerry hammond, "if you have no objection, i would like to take sunny back with me to america." professor barrowes scowled up at his favourite pupil. "i do object, i do object. emphatically. most emphatically. i do not propose to allow you, or any of the young gentlemen entrusted to my charge, to commit an act that may be of the gravest consequences to your future careers." "in my case, you need feel under no obligations to my parents. i am of age as you know, and as you also know, i purpose to go my own way upon returning home. my father asked me to wait till after this vacation before definitely deciding upon my future. well, i've waited, and i'm more than ever determined not to go into the shops. i've a bit of money of my own--enough to give me a start, and i purpose to follow out my own ideas. now as to sunny. i found that kid. she's my own, when it comes down to that. i practically adopted her, and i'll be hanged if i'm going to desert her, just because my father and mother have some false ideas as to the situation." "leaving out your parents from consideration, i am informed that an engagement exists between you and a miss--ah--falconer, i believe the name is, daughter of your father's partner, i understand." "what difference does that make?" demanded jerry, setting his chin stubbornly. "can it be possible that you know human nature so little then, that you do not appreciate the feelings your fiancée is apt to feel toward any young woman you choose to adopt?" "why, sunny's nothing but a child. it's absurd to refer to her as a woman, and if miss falconer broke with me for a little thing like that, i'd take my medicine i suppose." "you are prepared, then, to break an engagement that has the most hearty approval of your parents, because of a quixotic impulse toward one you say is a child, but, young man, i would have you reflect upon the consequences to the child. your kindness would act as a boomerang upon sunny." "what in the world do you mean?" "i mean that sunny is emphatically not a child. she was fifteen years old the other day. that is an exceedingly delicate period in a girl's life. we must leave the bloom upon the rose. it is a sensitive period in the life of a girl." a long silence, and then jerry: "right-oh! it's good-bye to sunny!" he turned on his heel and strode out to the hall. professor barrowes heard him calling to the girl upstairs in the cheeriest tone. "hi! up there, sunny! come on down, you little rascal. aren't you going to say bye-bye to your best friend?" sunny came slowly down the stairs. at the foot, in the shadows of the hall she looked up at jerry. "now remember," he rattled along with assumed merriment, "that when next we meet i expect you to be the empress of japan." "jerry," said sunny, in a very little voice, her small eerie face seeming to shine with some light, as she looked steadily at him, "i lig' ask you one liddle bit favour before you go way from these japan." "go to it. what is it, sunny. ask, and thou shalt receive." sunny put one hand on either of jerry's arms, and her touch had a curiously electrical effect upon him. in the pause that ensued he found himself unable to remove his fascinated gaze from her face. "jerry, i wan' ask you, will you please give me those american--kiss--good-a-bye." a great wave of tingling emotions swept over jerry, blinding him to everything in the world but that shining face so close to his own. sunny a child! her age terrified him. he drew back, laughing huskily. he hardly knew himself what it was he was saying: "i don't want to, sunny--i don't----" he broke away abruptly and, turning, rushed into the living room, seized his coat and hat, and was out of the house in a flash. professor barrowes stared at the door through which jerry had made his hurried exit. to his surprise, he heard sunny in the hall, laughing softly, strangely. to his puzzled query as to why she laughed, she said softly: "jerry are afraid of me!" and professor barrowes, student of human nature as he prided himself upon being, did not know that sunny had stepped suddenly across the gap that separates a girl from a woman, and had come into her full stature. chapter vi time and environment work miracles. it is interesting to study the phases of emotion that one passes through as he emerges from youth into manhood. the exaggerated expressions, the unalterable conclusions, the tragic imaginings, the resolves, which he feels nothing can shake, how sadly and ludicrously and with what swiftness are they dissipated. it came to pass that sunny's friends across the sea reached a period where they thought of her vaguely only as a charming and amusing episode of an idyllic summer in the land of the rising sun. into the oblivion of the years, farther and farther retreated the face of the sunny whose april smile and ingenuous ways and lovely face had once so warmed and charmed their young hearts. new faces, new scenes, new loves, work and the claims and habits that fasten upon one with the years--these were the forces that engrossed them. i will not say that she was altogether forgotten in the new life, but at least she occupied but a tiny niche in their sentimental recollections. there were times, when a reference to japan would call forth a murmur of pleasureable reminiscences, and humorous references to some remembered fantastic trick or trait peculiar to the girl, as: "do you remember when sunny tried to catch that nightingale by putting salt near a place where she thought his tail might rest? i had told her she could catch him by putting salt on his tail, and the poor kid took me literally." jinx chuckled tenderly over the memory. in the first year after his return to america jinx had borne his little friend quite often in mind, and had sent her several gifts, all of which were gratefully acknowledged by the reverend simon sutherland. "will you ever forget" (from bobs) "her intense admiration for monty's white skin? she sat on the bank of the pool for nearly an hour, with the unfortunate kid under water, waiting for her to go away, while she waited for him to come out, because she said she wanted to see what a white body looked like 'wiz nothing but skin on for clothes.' i had to drag her off by main force. ha, ha! i'll never forget her indignation, or her question whether monty was 'ashamed his body.' the public baths of nagasaki, you know, were social meeting places, and introductions under or above water quite the rule." "i suppose," said jerry, pulling at his pipe thoughtfully, "we never will get the japanese point of view anent the question of morals." "it's the shape of their eyes. they see things slant-wise," suggested jinx brilliantly. "but sunny's eyes, as i recall them," protested bobs, "were not slanting, and she had their point of view. you'll recall how the proff had much ado to prevent her taking her own quaint bath in our 'lake' in beauty unadorned." a burst of laughter broke forth here. "did he now? he never told me anything about that." "didn't tell me either, but i _heard_ him. he explained to sunny in the most fatherly way the whole question of morals from the day of adam down, and she got him so tangled up and ashamed of himself that he didn't know where he was at. however, as i recall it, he must have won out in the contention, for you'll recall how she voiced such scathing and contemptuous criticism later on the public bathers of japan, whom she said were 'igrant and nod god nize americazan manner and wear dress cover hees body ad those bath.'" "ah, sunny was a darling kid, take it from me. just as innocent and sweet as a new-born babe." this was jinx's sentimental contribution, and no voice arose to question his verdict. so it will be perceived that her friends, upon the rare occasions when she was recalled to memory, still held her in loving, if humorous regard, and it was the custom of jerry to end the reminiscences of sunny with a big sigh and a dumping of the ash from his pipe, as he dismissed the subject with: "well, well, i suppose she's the empress of japan by now." all of them were occupied with the concerns and careers that were of paramount importance to them. monty, though but in his twenty-first year, an intern at bellevue; bobs, star reporter on the _comet_; jinx, overwhelmingly rich, the melancholy and unwilling magnet of all aspiring mothers-in-law; jerry, an outlaw from the house of hammond, though his engagement to miss falconer bade fair to reinstate him in his parents' affections. he was doggedly following that star of which he had once told sunny. eight hours per day in an architect's office, and four or six hours in his own studio, was the sum of the work of jerry. he "lived in the clouds," according to his people; but all the great deeds of the world, and all of the masterpieces penned or painted by the hand of man, jerry knew were the creations of dreamers--the "cloud livers." so he took no umbrage at the taunt, and kept on reaching after what he had once told sunny was that jade of fortune--beauty. somewhere up the state, professor barrowes pursued the uneven tenor of his way as professor of archeology and zoology in a small college. impetuous and erratic, becoming more restless with the years, he escaped the irritations and demands of the class room at beautiful intervals, when he indulged in a passion of research that took him into the far corners of the world, to burrow into the earth in search of things belonging to the remote dead and which he held of more interest than mere living beings. his fortunes were always uncertain, because of this eccentric weakness, and often upon returning from some such quest his friends had much ado to secure him a berth that would serve as an immediate livelihood. such position secured, after considerable wire pulling on the part of jerry and other friends, professor barrowes would be no sooner seated in the desired chair, when he would begin to lay plans for another escape. an intimate friendship existed between jerry and his old master, and it was to jerry that he invariably went upon his return from his archeological quests. despite the difference in their years, there was a true kinship between these two. each comprehended the other's aspirations, and in a way the passion for exploration and the passion for beauty is analogous. jerry's parents looked askance at this friendship, and were accustomed to blame the professor for their son's vagaries, believing that he aided and abetted and encouraged jerry, which was true enough. of all sunny's friends, professor barrowes, alone, kept up an irregular communication with the sutherlands. gratifying reports of the progress of their protégé came from the missionary at such times. long since, it had been settled that sunny should be trained to become a shining example to her race--if, in fact, the japanese might be termed her race. it was the ambition of the good missionary to so instruct the girl that she would be competent to step into the missionary work, and with her knowledge of the japanese tongue and ways, her instructor felt assured they could expect marvels from her in the matter of converting the heathen. it is true the thought of that vivid little personality in the grey rôle of a preacher, brought somewhat wry faces to her friends, and exclamations even of distaste. "gosh!" groaned jinx sadly, "i'd as lieves see her back on the tightrope." "imagine sunny preaching! it would be a raving joke. i can just hear her twisting up her eight million gods and goddesses with our own deity," laughed bobs. "like quenching a firefly's light, or the bruising of a butterfly's wings," murmured jerry, dreamily, his head encircled with rings of smoke. but then one becomes accustomed to even a fantastic thought. we accredit certain qualities and actions to individuals, and, in time, in our imaginations at least, they assume the traits with which we have invested them. after all, it was very comforting to think of that forlorn orphan child in the safe haven of a mission school. so the years ran on and on, as they do in life, and as they do in stories such as this, and it came to pass, as written above, that sunny disappeared into the fragrant corners of a pretty memory. there is where sunny should perhaps have stayed, and thus my story come to a timely end. consider the situation. a girl, mainly of white blood, with just a drop of oriental blood in her--enough to make her a bit different from the average female of the species, enough, say, to give a snack of that savage element attributed to the benighted heathen. rescued by men of her father's race from slavery and abuse; provided for for the rest of her days; under the instruction of a zealous and conscientious missionary and his wife, who earnestly taught her how to save the souls of the people of japan. sunny's fate was surely a desirable one, and as she progressed on the one side of the water, her friends on the other side were growing in sundry directions, ever outward and upward, acquiring new responsibilities, new loves, new claims, new passions with the passing of the years. what freak of fate therefore should interpose at this juncture, and thrust sunny electrically into the lives of her friends again? chapter vii on a certain bleak day in the month of march, j. addison hammond, jr., tenaciously at work upon certain plans and drawings that were destined at a not far distant date to bring him a measure of fame and fortune, started impatiently from his seat and cursed that "gosh-ding-danged telephone." jerry at this stage of his picturesque career occupied what is known in new york city, and possibly other equally enlightened cities, as a duplex studio. called "duplex" for no very clear reason. it consists of one very large room (called "atelier" by artistic tenants and those who have lived or wanted to live in france). this room is notable not merely for its size, but its height, the ceiling not unsimilar to the vaulted one of a church, or a glorified attic. adjustable skylights lend the desired light. about this main room, and midway of the wall, is a gallery which runs on all four sides, and on this gallery are doors opening into sundry rooms designated as bedrooms. the arrangement is an excellent one, since it gives one practically two floors. that, no doubt, is why we call it "duplex." we have a weakness for one floor bungalows when we build houses these days, but for apartments and studios the epicure demands the duplex. in this especial duplex studio there also abode one t, or as he was familiarly known to the friends of jerry hammond, "hatty." hatty, then, was the valet and man of all work in the employ of jerry. he was a marvellous cook, an extraordinary house cleaner, an incomparable valet, and to complete the perfections of this jewel, possessed solely by the apparently fortunate jerry, his manners, his face and his form were of that ideal sort seen only in fiction and never in life. nevertheless the incomparable hatton, or hatty, was a visible fact in the life and studio of jerry hammond. having detailed the talents of hatty, it is painful here to admit a flaw in the character of the otherwise perfect valet. this flaw he had very honestly divulged to jerry at the time of entering his employ, and the understanding was that upon such occasions when said flaw was due to have its day, the master was to forbear from undue criticism or from discharging said hatton from his employ. hatton, at this time, earnestly assured the man in whose employ he desired to enter, that he could always depend upon his returning to service in a perfectly normal state, and life would resume its happy way under his competent direction. it so happened upon this especial night, when that "pestiferous" telephone kept up its everlasting ringing--a night when jerry hugged his head in his hands, calling profanely and imploringly upon christian and heathen saints and gods to leave him undisturbed--that hatton lay on his bed above, in a state of oblivion from which it would seem a charge of dynamite could not have awakened him. for the fiftieth or possibly hundredth time jerry bitterly swore that he would fire that "damned englishman" (hatton was english) on the following day. he had had enough of him. whenever he especially needed quiet and service, that was the time the "damned englishman" chose to break loose and go on one of his infernal sprees. for the fourth time within half an hour jerry seized that telephone and shouted into the receiver: "what in hades do you want?" the response was a long and continuous buzzing, through which a jabbering female tongue screeched that it was y. dubaday talking. it sounded like "y. dubaday," but jerry knew no one of that name, and so emphatically stated, adding to the fact that he didn't know anyone of that name and didn't want to, and if this was their idea of a joke----" he hung up at this juncture, seized his head, groaned, walked up and down swearing softly and almost weeping with nervousness and distraction. finally with a sigh of hopelessness as he realised the impossibility of concentrating on that night, jerry gathered up his tools and pads, packed them into a portfolio, which he craftily hid under a mass of papers--jerry knew where he could put his hands on any desired one--got his pipe, pulled up before the waning fire, gave it a shove, put on a fresh log, lit his pipe, stretched out his long legs, put his brown head back against the chair, and sought what comfort there might be left to an exasperated young aspirant for fame who had been interrupted a dozen times inside of an hour or so. hardly had he settled down into this comparative comfort when that telephone rang again. jerry was angry now--"hopping mad." he lifted that receiver with ominous gentleness, and his voice was silken. "what can i do for you, fair one?" curiously enough the buzzing had completely stopped and the fair one's reply came vibrating clearly into his listening ear. "mr. hammond?" "well, what of it?" "mr. hammond, manager of some corporation or company in japan?" "what are you talking about?" "if you'll hold the wire long enough to take a message from a friend i'll deliver it." "friend, eh? who is he? i'd like to get a look at him this moment. take your time." "well, i've no time to talk nonsense. this is the y. w. c. a. speaking, and there's a young lady here, who says she--er--belongs to you. she----" "what? say that again, please." "a young lady that appears to be related to you--says you are her guardian or manager or something of the sort. she was delivered to the y. by the reverend miss miriam richardson, in whose care she was placed by the mission society of--er--naggysack, japan. one minute, i'll get her name again." a photograph of jerry at this stage would have revealed a young man sitting at a telephone desk, registering a conflict of feelings and emotions indicative of consternation, guilt, tenderness, fear, terror, compunction, meanness and idiocy. when that official voice came over the wire a second time, jerry all but collapsed against the table, holding the receiver uncertainly in the direction of that ear that still heard the incredible news and confirmed his fears: "name--miss sindicutt." silence, during which the other end apparently heard not that exclamation of desperation: "ye gods and little fishes!" for it resumed complacently: "shall we send her up to you?" "no, no, for heaven's sake don't. that is, wait a bit, will you? give me a chance to get over the----" jerry was about to say "shock," but stopped himself in time and with as much composure as he could muster he told the y. w. c. a. that he was busy just now, but would call later, and advise them what to do in the--under his breath he said "appalling"--circumstances. slowly jerry put the receiver back on the hook. he remained in the chair like one who has received a galvanic shock. that japanese girl, of a preposterous dream, had actually followed him to america! she was here--right in new york city. it was fantastic, impossible! ha, ha! it would be funny, if it were not so danged impossible. in the united states, of all places! she, who ought to be right among her heathens, making good converts. what in the name of common sense had she come to the states for? why couldn't she let jerry alone, when he was up to his neck in plans that he fairly knew were going to create an upheaval in the architectural world? just because he had befriended her in his infernal youth, he could not be expected to be responsible for her for the rest of her days. besides, he, jerry, was not the only one in that comic opera syndicate. the thought of his partners in crime, as they now seemed to him, brought him up again before that telephone, seizing upon it this time as a last straw. he was fortunate to get in touch with all three of the members of the former sunny syndicate limited. while monty and bobs rushed over immediately, jinx escaped from the appawamis golf club where for weeks he had been vainly trying to get rid of some of his superfluous flesh by chasing little red balls over the still snow bound course, flung himself into his powerful rolls royce, and went speeding along the boston post road at a rate that caused an alarm to be sent out for him from point to point. not swift enough, however, to keep up with the fat man in the massive car that "made the grade" to new york inside of an hour, and rushed like a juggernaut over the slick roads and the asphalt pavements of manhattan. jerry's summons to his college friends had been in the nature of an s. o. s. call for help. on the telephone he vouchsafed merely the information that it was "a deadly matter of life and death." the astounding news he flung like a bomb at each hastily arriving member of the late syndicate. when the first excitement had subsided, the paramount feeling was one of consternation and alarm. "gosh!" groaned jinx, "what in the name of thunderation are you going to do with a japanese girl in new york city? i pity you, jerry, for of course you are mainly responsible----" "responsible nothing----" from the indignant jerry, wheeling about with a threatening look at that big "fathead." "i presume i was the _only_ member of that--er--syndicate." "at least it was your idea," said monty, extremely anxious to get back to the hospital, where he had been personally supervising a case of circocele. "you might have known," suggested bobs, "that she was bound to turn out a frankenstein. of course, we'll all stand by you, old scout, but you know how i am personally situated." jerry's wrathful glare embraced the circle of his renegade friends. "you're a fine bunch of snobs. i'm not stuck myself on having a jap girl foisted on to my hands, and there'll be a mess of explanations to my friends and people, and the lord only knows how i'll ever be able to put my mind back on my work and---- at the same time, i'm not so white livered that i'm going to flunk the responsibility. we encouraged--invited her to join us out here. i did. you did, so did you, and you! i heard you all--every last one of you, and you can't deny it." "well, it was one thing to sentimentalise over a pretty little jap in japan," growled bobs, who was not a snob, but in spite of his profession at heart something of a stickler for the conventions, "but it's another proposition here. of course, as i said, we fellows all intend to stand by you." (grunts of unwilling assent from monty and jinx.) "we aren't going to welch on our part of the job, and right here we may as well plan out some scheme to work this thing properly. suppose we make the most of the matter for the present. we'll keep her down there at that 'y.' do you see? then, we can each do something to--er--make it--well uncomfortable for her here. we'll freeze her out if it comes down to that. make her feel that this u. s. a. isn't all it's cracked up to be, and she'll get home-sick for her gods and goddesses and at the psychological moment when she's feeling her worst, why we'll just slip her aboard ship, and there you are." "great mind! marvellous intellect you got, bobs. in the first place, the 'y' informed me on the 'phone that they are sending her here. they are waiting now for me to give the word when to despatch her, in fact. now the question is"--jerry looked sternly at his friends--"which one of your families would be decent enough to give a temporary home to sunny? my folks as you know are out of the reckoning, as i'm an outlaw from there myself." followed a heated argument and explanations. monty's people lived in philadelphia. he himself abode at the bellevue hospital. that, so he said, let him out. not at all, from jerry's point of view. philadelphia, said jerry, was only a stone's throw from new york. monty, exasperated, retorted that he didn't propose to throw stones at his folks. monty, who had made such warm promises to sunny! bobs shared a five-room bachelor flat with two other newspaper men. their hours were uncertain, and their actions erratic. often they played poker till the small hours of the morning. sunny would not fit into the atmosphere of smoke and disorder, though she was welcome to come, if she could stand the "gaff." bobs' people lived in virginia. his several sisters, bobs was amusedly assured, would hardly put the girl from japan at her ease. jinx, on whom jerry now pinned a hopeful eye, blustered shamelessly, as he tried to explain his uncomfortable position in the world. when not at his club in new york, he lived with a sister, mrs. vanderlump, and her growing family in the crawford mansion at newport. said sister dominated this palatial abode and brother jinx escaped to new york upon occasions in a true jiggsian manner, using craft and ingenuity always to escape the vigilant eye and flaying tongue of a sister who looked for the worst and found it. it was hard for jinx to admit to his friends that he was horribly henpecked, but he appealed to them as follows: "have a heart about this thing. i ask you, what is a fellow to do when he's got a sister on his back like that? if she suspects every little innocent chorus girl of the town, what is she going to say to sunny when that kid goes up before her in tights?" it is extraordinary how we think of people we have not seen in years as they were when first we saw them. in the heat of argument, no one troubled to point out to jinx that the sunny who had come upon the tight rope that first night must have long since graduated from that reprehensible type of dress or rather undress. finally, and as a last resort, a night letter was despatched to professor timothy barrowes. all were now agreed that he was the one most competent to settle the matter of the disposition of sunny, and all agreed to abide by his decision. at this juncture, and when a sense of satisfaction in having "passed the buck" to the competent man of archæology had temporarily cheered them, a tapping was heard upon the studio door. not the thumping of the goblin's head of the italian iron knocker; not the shriek of the electric buzzer from the desk below, warning of the approach of a visitor. just a soft taptapping upon the door, repeated several times, as no one answered, and increasing in noise and persistence. a long, a silent, a deadly pause ensued. at that moment each found himself attributing to that girl they had known in japan, and whom they realised was on the other side of that door, certain characteristic traits and peculiarities charming enough in japan but impossible to think of as in america. to each young man there came a mental picture of a bizarre and curious little figure, adorned with blazingly bright kimona and obi--a brilliant patch of colour, her bobbed hair and straight bangs seeming somehow incongruous and adding to her fantastic appearance. after all, in spite of her hair, she was typical of that land of crooked streets, and paper houses, and people who walked on the wrong side and mounted their horses from the front. the thought of that girl in new york city grated against their sensibilities. she didn't belong and she never could belong was their internal verdict. it may have been only a coincidence, but it seemed weird, that hatton, lately so dead to the world, should appear at that psychological moment on the steps of the gallery, immaculate in dress and with that cool air of superiority and efficiency that was part of his assets, descend in his stately and perfect way, approach the door as a butler should, and softly, imperturbably fling that door open. his back retained its stiff straight line, that went so well with the uniform hatton insisted upon donning, but his head went sideways forward in that inimitable bow that hatton always reserved for anything especially attractive in the female line. upon the threshold there looked back at hatton, and then beyond him, a girl whom the startled young men took at first to be a perfect stranger. she wore a plain blue serge suit, belted at the waist, with a white collar and jabot. a sailor hat, slightly rolled, crushed down the hair that still shone above the face whose remarkable beauty owed much to a certain quaintness of expression. she stood silently, without moving, for what seemed a long moment to them all, and then suddenly she spoke, breathlessly and with that little catch in her voice, and her tone, her look, her words, her quick motions so characteristic of the little girl they had known, broke the spell of silence and let loose a flood of such warm memories that all the mean and harsh and contemptible thoughts of but a moment since were dissipated forever. they crowded about her, hanging upon and hungry for her unabashed and delighted words, and dazzled by the girl's uncanny loveliness. "jinx! thad are you! i know you by your so nize fat!" she had not lost her adorable accent. indeed, if they could but have realised it, sunny had changed not at all. she had simply grown up. jinx's soft hands were holding the two little fragrant ones thrust so joyously into his own. the fat fellow fought a sudden maddening desire to hug like a bear the girl whose bright eyes were searching his own so lovingly. "monty! oh, you have grow into whole mans. _how_ it is nize. and you still smile on me troo those glass ad you eye." smile! monty was grinning like the proverbial cheshire cat. that case of circocele at bellevue hospital had vanished into the dim regions of young monty's mind. anyway there were a score of other internes there, and monty had his permit in his pocket. "bobs! is thad youself, wiz those fonny liddle hair grow om your mout'. _how_ it is grow nize on you face. i lig' him there." any doubt that bobs had experienced as to the desirability of that incipient moustache vanished then and there. and jerry! jerry, for the last, to be looked at with shining eyes, till something tightened in his throat, and his mind leaped over the years and felt again that dizzy, tingling, electrical sensation when sunny had asked him to kiss her. chapter viii that "even tenor of their ways," to which reference has already been made, ceased indeed to bear a remote resemblance to evenness. it may be recorded here, that for one of them at least, sunny's coming meant the hasty despatch of his peace of mind. their well laid schemes to be rid of her seemed now in the face of their actions like absurd aberrations that they were heartily ashamed of. it is astonishing how we are affected by mere clothes. perhaps if sunny had appeared at the door of jerry hammond's studio arrayed in the shining garments of a japanese, some measure of their alarm might have remained. but she came to their door as an american girl. that sunny should have stood the test of american clothes, that she shone in them with a distinction and grace that was all her own, was a matter of extreme pride and delight to her infatuated friends. appearances play a great part in the imagination and thought of the young american. it was the fantastic conception they had formed of her, and the imagined effect of her strange appearance in america that had filled them with misgiving and alarm--the sneeky sort of apprehension one feels at being made conspicuous and ridiculous. there was an immense relief at the discovery that their fears were entirely unfounded. sunny appeared a finished product in the art of dressing. not that she was fashionably dressed. she simply had achieved the look of one who belonged. she was as natural in her clothes as any of their sisters or the girls they knew. there was this difference, however: sunny was one of those rare beings of earth upon whom the goddess of beauty has ineffaceably laid her hands. her loveliness, in fact, startled one with its rareness, its crystal delicacy. one looked at the girl's face, and caught his breath and turned to look again, with that pang of longing that is almost pain when we gaze upon a masterpiece. yet "under the skin" she was the same confiding, appealing, mischievous little sunny who had pushed her way into the hearts of her friends. her mission in america, much as it aroused the mirth of her friends, was a very serious one, and it may be here stated, later, an eminently successful one. sunny came as an emissary from the mission school to collect funds for the impoverished mission. mr. sutherland, a scotchman by birth, was not without a canny and shrewd streak to his character, and he had not forgotten the generous contributions in the past of the rich young americans whose protégé sunny had been. all this, however, does not concern the devastating effect of her presence in the studio of jerry hammond. there, in fact, sunny had taken up an apparently permanent residence, settling down as a matter of course and right, and indeed assisted by the confused and alternately dazed and beguiled jerry. her effects consisted of a bag so small, and containing but a few articles of japanese silk clothing and a tiny gift for each of her dear friends. indeed, the smallness of sunny's luggage appealed instantly to her friends, who determined to purchase for her all the pretty clothes her heart should desire. this ambition to deck sunny in the fine raiment of new york city was satisfactorily realised by each and everyone of the former syndicate, sunny accompanying them with alacrity, overjoyed by those delicious shopping tours, the results of which returned in jinx's rolls royce, monty's taxi, bobs' messenger boys, and borne by hand by jerry. these articles, however, became such a bone of contention among her friends, each desiring her to wear his especial choice, that sunny had her hands full pleasing them all. she compromised by wearing a dress donated by monty, hat from jinx, a coat from jerry, and stockings and gloves from bobs. it was finally agreed by her friends that there should be a cessation to the buying of further clothes for sunny. instead an allowance of money was voted and quickly subscribed to by all, and after that, sunny, with the fatherly aid of a surprisingly new hatton, did her own purchasing. of her four friends, jerry was possibly the happiest and the unhappiest at this time. he was a prey to both exhilaration and panic. he moved heaven and earth to make sunny so comfortable and contented in his studio, that all thought of returning to japan would be banished forever from her mind. on the other hand, he rushed off, panic stricken and sent telegrams to professor barrowes, entreating him to come at once and relieve jerry of his dangerous charge. his telegrams, however, were unfruitful, for after an aggravating delay, during which sunny became, like hatton, one of the habits and necessities of jerry's life, the telegraph company notified him that professor barrowes was no longer at that particular school of learning, and that his address there was unknown. jerry, driven to extremities by the situation in his studio, made himself such a nuisance to the telegraph company, that they bestirred themselves finally and ascertained that the last address of professor timothy barrowes was red deer, alberta, canada. now red deer represented nothing to jerry hammond save a town in canada where a wire would reach his friend. accordingly he despatched the following: professor timothy barrowes, red deer, alberta, canada. come at once. sunny in new york. need you take her charge. delay dangerous. waiting for you. come at once. answer at once. important. j. addison hammond. professor barrowes received this frantic wire while sitting on a rock very close to the edge of a deep excavation that had recently been dug on the side of a cliff towering above a certain portion of the old red deer river. below, on a plateau, a gang of men were digging and scraping and hammering at the cliff. not in the manner of the husky workers of northwestern canada, but carefully, tenderly. not so carefully, however, but the tongue of the professor on the rock above castigated and nagged and warned. ever and anon sunny's old friend would leap down into the excavation, and himself assist the work physically. as stated, jerry's telegram came to his hand while seated upon aforesaid rock, was opened, and absent-mindedly scanned by jerry's dear friend, and then thrust hastily into the professor's vest pocket, there to remain for several days, when it accidentally was resurrected, and he most thoughtfully despatched a reply, as follows: jeremy addison hammond, west th st., new york city, u. s. a. collect. glad to hear from you. especially so this time. discovered dinosaur antedating post pleocene days. of opinion red deer district contains greatest number of fossils of antique period in world. expect discoveries prove historical event archeological world. will bring precious find new york about one month or six weeks. need extra funds transportation dinosaur and guard for same. expect trouble canadian government in re-taking valuable find across border. much envy and propaganda take credit from u. s. for most important discovery of century. get in communication right parties new york, washington if necessary. have consul here wired give full protection and help. information sent confidential. do not want press to get word of remarkable find until fossil set up in museum. see curator about arrangements. may be quoted as estimating age as quaternary period. wire two thousand dollars extra. extraordinary find. greatest moment my life. note news arrival new york sunny. sorry unable be there take charge. dinornis more important sunny. timothy barrowes. what jerry said when he tore open and read that long expected telegram would not bear printing. suffice it to say that his good old friend was consigned by the wrathful and disgusted jerry to a warmer region than mother earth. then, squaring his shoulders like a man, and setting his chin grimly, jerry took up the burden of life, which in these latter days had assumed for him such bewildering proportions. that she was an amazing, actual part of his daily life seemed to him incredible, and beguiling and fascinating as life now seemed to him with her, and wretched and uncertain as it was away from her, his alarm increased with every day and hour of her abode in his house. he assured himself repeatedly that there was no more harm in sunny living in his apartment than there was in her living in his house in japan. what enraged the befuddled jerry at this time was the officious attitude of his friends. monty took it upon himself to go room hunting for a place for sunny, and talked a good deal about the results he expected from a letter written to philadelphia. he did not refer to sunny now as a stone. monty was sure that the place for sunny was right in that philadelphia home, presided over by his doting parents and little brothers and sisters, and where it was quite accessible for week-end visits. jinx, after a stormy scene with his elder sister in which he endeavoured to force sunny upon the indignant and suspicious mrs. vanderlump, left in high dudgeon the newport home in which he had been born, and which was his own personal inheritance, and with threats never to speak to his sister again, he took up his residence at his club, just two blocks from the th street studio. bobs cleared out two of his friends from the flat, bought some cretonne curtains with outrageous roses and patches of yellow, purple, red and green, hung these in dining room and bedroom and parlour, bought a brand new victrola and some quite gorgeous chinese rugs, and had a woman in cleaning for nearly a week. to his friends' gibes and suggestions that he apparently contemplated matrimony, bobs sentimentally rejoined that sooner or later a fellow got tired of the dingy life of a smoke-and-card-filled flat and wanted a bit of real sweetness to take away the curse of life. he acquired two lots somewhere on long island and spent considerable time consulting an architect, shamefully ignoring jerry's gifts in that line. that his friends, who had so savagely protested again sharing the burden of sunny, should now try to go behind his back and take her away from him was in the opinion of jerry a clue to the kind of characters they possessed, and of which hitherto he had no slightest suspicion. jerry, at this time, resembled the proverbial dog in the manger. he did not want sunny himself--that is, he dared not want sunny--but the thought of her going to any other place filled him with anguish and resentment. nevertheless he realised the impossibility of maintaining her much longer in his studio. already her presence there had excited gossip and speculation in the studio building, but in that careless and bohemian atmosphere with which denizens of the art world choose to surround themselves the lovely young stranger in the studio of jerry hammond aroused merely smiling and indulgent curiosity. occasionally a crude joke or inquiry from a neighbouring artist aroused murder in the soul of the otherwise civilised jerry. that anyone could imagine anything wrong with sunny seemed to him beyond belief. not that he felt always kindly toward sunny. she aroused his ire more often than she did his approval. she was altogether too free and unconventional, in the opinion of jerry, and in a clumsy way he tried to teach her certain rules of deportment for a young woman living in the u. s. a. sunny, however, was so innocent and so evidently earnest in her efforts to please him, that he invariably felt ashamed and accused himself of being a pig and a brute. jerry was, indeed, like the unfortunate boatman, drifting toward the rocks, and seeing only the golden hair of the lorelei. sunny had settled down so neatly and completely in his studio that it would have been hard to know how she was ever to be dislodged. her satisfaction and delight and surprise at every object upon the place was a source of immense satisfaction and entertainment to jerry. it should be mentioned here, that an unbelievable change could have been observed also in hatton. the man was discovered to be human. his face cracked up in smiles that were real, and clucks that bore a remote resemblance to human laughter issued at intervals from the direction of the kitchen, whither he very often hastily departed, his hand over mouth, after some remark or action of sunny that appeared to smite his funny bone. the buttons on the wall were a never failing source of enchantment to sunny. to go into her own room in the dark, brush her hand along the wall, touch an ivory button, and see the room spring into light charmed her beyond words. so, too, the black buttons that, pressed, caused bells to ring in the lower part of the house. but the speaking tube amazed and at first almost terrified her. jerry sprang the works on her first. while in her room, a sudden screech coming from the wall, she looked panically about her, and then started back as a voice issued forth from that tube, hailing her by name. spirits! here in this so solid and material america! it was only after jerry, getting no response to his calls of "sunny! hi! sunny! come on down! come on down! sunny! i want you!" ran up the stairs, knocked at her door and stood laughing at her in the doorway, that the colour came back to her cheeks. he was so delighted with the experiments, that he led her to the telephone and initiated her into that mystery. to watch sunny's face, as with parted lips, and eyes darkened by excitement, she listened to the voice of jinx, monty or bobs, and then suddenly broke loose and chattered sweet things back, was in the opinion of jerry worth the price of a dozen telephones. however, he cut short her interviews with the delighted fellows at the other end, as he did not wish to have them impose on her good nature and take up too much of the girl's time. the victrola and the player-piano worked day and night in sunny's behalf, and it was not long before she could trill back some of the songs. upon one occasion they pulled up the rugs, and sunny had her first lesson in dancing. jerry told her she took to dancing "like a duck does to water." he honestly believed he was doing a benevolent and worthy act in surrounding the young girl with his arms and moving across the floor with her to the music of the victrola. he would not for worlds have admitted to himself that as his arms encircled sunny, jerry felt just about as near to heaven as he ever hoped to get, though premonitions that all was not normal with him came hazily to his mind as he dimly realised that that tingling sensation that contact with sunny created was symptomatic of the chaos within. however, dancing with sunny, once she had acquired the step, which she, a professional dancer in japan, sensed immediately, was sheer joy, and all would have been well, had not his friends arrived just when they were not wanted, and, of course, sunny, the little fool, had instantly wanted to try her new accomplishment upon her admiring and too willing friends. the consequence was jerry's evening was completely spoiled, and what he meant just as an innocent diversion was turned into a "riotous occasion" by a "bunch of roughnecks," who took advantage of a little innocent girl's eagerness to learn to dance, and handled her "a damn sight too familiarly" to suit the paternal--he considered it paternal--taste of jerry. jerry, as sunny passed in the arms of the light-footed jinx, whose dancing was really an accomplishment, registered several vows. one was he proposed to give sunny herself a good calling down. the other he purposed curtailing some of the visits of the gang, and putting a stop once and for all to the flow of gifts that were in his opinion rotten taste on the part of jinx, a joke coming from monty, plainly suffering a bad case of puppy love, and as for bobs, no one knew better than jerry did that he could ill afford to enter into a flower competition with jinx. that rolls royce, when not bearing the enchanted sunny through the parks and even on little expeditions into the byways and highways of the great white road, which runs through westchester county, was parked not before jinx's club, or the garage, but, with amazing impudence before the door of that duplex studio. jerry intended to have a heart-to-heart talk with old jinx on that score. even at home, sunny had wrought havoc. before she had been three days upon the place, hatton, the stony faced and spare of tongue, had confided to her the whole history of his life, and explained how his missus had driven him to drink. "it's 'ard on a man, miss. 'e tries to do 'is best in life, but it's 'ard, miss, when there's a woman 'as believes the worst, and brings out the worst in a man, miss, and man is only yuman, only yuman, miss, and all yuman beings 'as their failings, as no doubt you know, miss." sunny did know. she told hatton that she was full of failings. she didn't think him a bad man at all because once in a long time he drank a little bit. lots of men did that. there was the count of matsuyama. he had made many gifts to the shiba temple, but he loved sake very much, and often in the tea-gardens the girls were kept up very late, because the count of matsuyama never returned home till he had drunk all the sake on the place, and that took many hours. gratuitously, and filled with a sudden noble purpose, hatton gave sunny his solemn promise never again to touch the inebriating cup. she clapped her hands with delight at this, and cried. "ho! how you are nicer man now. mebbe you wife she come bag agin unto you. how thad will be happy for you." "no, no, miss," sadly and hastily hatton rejoined, "you see, miss, there was another woman in the case also, what the french call, miss: shershy la fam. i'm sorry, miss, but i'm only yuman, beggin' your pardon, miss." sunny had assumed many of the duties that were previously hatton's. the kitchenette was her especial delight. here swathed in a long pongee smock, her sleeves rolled up, sunny concocted some of those delectable dishes which her friends named variously: sunny syndicate cocktail; puree al la sunny; potatoes au sunny; sweet pickles par la sunny, and so forth. her thrift also cut down jerry's bills considerably, and he was really so proud of her abilities in this line that he gave a special dinner to which he generously invited all three of their mutual friends, and announced at the table that the meal was entirely concocted by sunny at a price inconceivably low. the piéce de resistance of this especial feast was a potato dish. served in a casserole, it might at first sight have been taken for a glorified potatoes au gratin; but, no, when tasted it revealed its superior qualities. the flushed and pleased sunny, sitting at the head of the table, and dishing out the third or fourth serving to her admiring friends, was induced to reveal to her friends of what the dish was composed. the revelation, it is regrettable to state, convulsed and disconcerted her friends so that they ceased to eat the previously much appreciated dish. sunny proudly informed them that her dish was made up mainly of potato peelings, washed, minced and scrambled in a mess of odds and ends in the way of pieces of cheese, mushrooms, meat, and various vegetables garnered from plates of a recently wasteful meal. her explanation caused such a profound silence for a moment, which was followed by uneasy and then unrepressed mirth, that she was disconcerted and distressed. her friends consoled her by telling her that it didn't matter what she made dishes of; everything she did was exactly right, which made it a bit harder to explain that the shining pan under the kitchen sink was the proper receptacle for all leftovers on the plates. she was reconciled completely moreover, when jerry assured her that the janitor was kicking over the empty dinner pails that she had been sending down the dumbwaiter. chapter ix sunny had certain traits that contributed largely to what seemed almost an unconscious conspiracy to rob jerry hammond of his peace of mind. there was a resemblance in her nature to a kitten. to maintain a proper decorum in his relations with his guest, jerry was wont, when alone, to form the firm resolution to hold her at arm's length. this was far from being an easy matter. it was impossible for him to be in the room with sunny and not sooner or later find her in touch with him. she had a habit of putting her hand into his. she slipped under his most rigid guard, and acquired a bad trick of pressing close to his side, and putting her arm through his. this was all very well when they took their long walks through the park or up and down riverside drive. she could not see the reason why if she could walk arm in arm with jerry when they climbed on the top of one of the busses that rolled up the wonderful drive she should not continue linked with her friend. in fact, sunny found it far more attractive and comfortable to drive arm in arm with jerry than walk thus with him. for, when walking, she loved to rove off from the paths, to make acquaintance with the squirrels and the friendly dogs. her near proximity, however, had its most dangerous effect in the charmed evenings these two spent together, too often, however, marred by the persistent calls of their mutual friends. at these times, sunny had an uncanny trick of coming up at the back of jerry, when that unconscious young man by the fireplace was off in a day dream (in which, by the way, in a vague way, herself was always a part), and resting her cheek upon the brown comfortable head, there to stay till her warm presence startled him into wakefulness, and he would explode one of his usual expressions of these days: "don't do that, i say!" "keep your hands off me, will you?" "don't come so close." "keep off--keep off, i say." "i don't like it." "for heaven's sake, sunny, will nothing teach you civilised ways?" at these times sunny always retired very meekly to a distant part of the room, where she would remain very still and crushed looking, and, shortly, jerry, overcome with compunction, would coax her to a nearer proximity mentally and physically. another disturbing trick which jerry never had had the heart to ban was that of kneeling directly in front of him, her two hands upon his own knees. from this vantage point, with her friendly expressive and so lovely face raised to his, she would naïvely pour out to him her innocent confidences. after all, he savagely argued within himself, what harm in the world was there in a little girl kneeling by your side, and even laying her head, if it came down to that, at times upon a fellow's knee? it took a rotten mind to discover anything wrong with that, in the opinion of jerry hammond. however, there is a limit to all things, and that limit was reached on a certain evening in early spring, a dangerous season, as we all know. "if you give some people an inch they'll take a mile," jerry at that time angrily muttered, the humour of the situation not at all appealing to him. he was going over a publication on spanish architecture, catalonian work of the th and th centuries. sunny was enjoying herself very innocently at the piano player, and jerry should, as he afterwards admitted to himself, have "left well enough alone." however it be, nothing would do but he must summon sunny to his side to share the pleasure of looking at these splendid examples of the magnificent work of the great spanish architect fabre. now sunny possessed, to an uncanny degree, that gift of understanding which is extremely rare with her sex. she possessed it, in fact, to such a fine degree, that nearly everyone who met her found himself pouring out the history of his life into her sympathetic and understanding little ear. there was something about her way of looking at one, a sort of hanging absorbedly upon one's narrative of their history, that assured the narrator that he not only had the understanding but the sympathy of his pretty listener. jerry, therefore, summoned her from her diversions at the piano-player, which she hastened to leave, though the record was her favourite, "gluhwormchen." her murmuring exclamations above his shoulder revealed her instant enthusiasm and appreciation of just those details that jerry knew would escape the less artistic eye of an ordinary person. she held pages open, to prolong the pleasure of looking at certain window traceries; she picked out easily the geometrical gothic type, and wanted jerry's full explanation as to its difference to those of another period. her little pink forefinger ever found points of interest in the sketches which made him chuckle with delight and pride. the value of sunny's criticism and opinion, moreover, was enhanced by the fact that she conveyed to the young man her conviction, that while of course these were incredibly marvellous examples of the skill of ancient spanish architects, they were not a patch on the work which j. addison hammond was going to do in the not far distant future. though he protested against this with proper modesty, he was nevertheless beguiled and bewitched by the shining dream she called up. he had failed to note that she was perched on the arm of his chair, and that her head rested perilously near to his own. possibly he would never have discovered this at all had not an accident occurred that sent hatton, busy on some task or other about the studio, scurrying in undignified flight from the room, with his stony face covered with his hands. from the kitchen regions thereafter came the sound of suppressed clucks, which by this time could have been recognised as hatton's laughter. what happened was this: at a moment when a turned leaf revealed a sketch of ravishing splendour, sunny's breathless admiration, and jerry's own motion of appreciation (one fist clapped into the palm of the other hand), caused sunny to slip from the arm of the chair onto jerry's knee. jerry arose. to do him justice, he arose instantly, depositing both book and sunny upon the floor. he then proceeded to read her such a savage lecture upon her pagan ways, that the evident effect was so instantly apparent on her, that he stopped midway, glared, stared at the crushed little figure, so tenderly closing the upset book, and then turned on his heel and made an ignominious and undignified exit from the room. "what's the use? what's the use?" demanded jerry of the unresponsive walls. "hang it all, this sort of thing has got to stop. what in sam hill is keeping that blamed proff?" he always liked to imagine at these times that his faith was pinned upon the early coming of professor barrowes, when he was assured the hectic state of affairs in his studio would be clarified and sunny disposed of once and forever. sunny, however, had been nearly a month now in his studio, and in spite of a hundred telegrams to professor barrowes, demanding to know the exact time of his arrival, threatening moreover to hold back that $ , required to bring the dashed dinornis from red deer, alberta, canada, to new york city, u. s. a., he got no satisfactory response from his old-time teacher. that monomaniac merely replied with letter-long telegrams--very expensive coming from the extreme northwestern part of canada to new york city, giving more detailed information about the above mentioned dinornis, or dynosaurus, or whatever he called it, and explaining why more and more funds were required. it seems the professor was tangled up in quite a serious dispute with the canadian authorities. some indignant english residents of canada had aroused the alarm of canadians, by pointing out that dynosaureses were worth as much as radium, and that a mere yankee should not be permitted to carry off those fossilized bones of the original inhabitants of canada, which ought, instead, to be donated to the noble english nation across the sea. as jerry paced his floor he paused to reread the words of the motto recently pinned upon his wall, and, of course, it was as follows: "honi soit qui mal y pense." that was enough for jerry. there was no question of the fact that he had been "a pig and a brute," terms often in these days applied by himself to himself. sunny was certainly not to be blamed for the accident of slipping from the arm of his chair. true, he had already told her that she was not to sit on that arm, but that was a minor matter, and there was no occasion for his making a "mountain out of a molehill." having arrived at the conclusion that, as usual, he, not sunny, was the one to blame, it was in the nature of jerry that he should hurriedly descend to admit his fault. downstairs, therefore again, and into the now empty studio. sounds came from the direction of the kitchen that were entirely too sweet to belong to the "pie-faced" hatton, whose disgusting recent mirth might mean the loss of his job, ominously thought jerry. in the kitchen sunny was discovered on her knees with her lips close to a small hole in the floor in the corner of the room. she was half whistling, half whispering, and she was scattering something into and about that hole, which had been apparently cut out with a vegetable knife, that looked very much like cheese and breadcrumbs. presently the amazed jerry saw first one and then another tiny face appear at that hole, and there then issued forth a full-fledged family of the mouse species, young and old, large and small, male and female. the explanation of the previously inexplicable appearance in the studio of countless mice was now perfectly clear, and the guiltlessness of that accused janitor made visible. jerry's ward had been feeding and cultivating mice! at his exclamation, she arose reproachfully, the mice scampering back into their hole. "oh!" said sunny, regret, not guilt, visible on her face, "you are fright away my honourable mice, and thas hees time eat on hees dinner." she put the rest of her crumbs into the hole, and called down coaxingly to her pets that breakfast would be ready next day. "you mustn't feed mice, you little fool!" burst from jerry. "they'll be all over the house. they are now. everybody in the building's kicking about it." "honourable mice very good animals," said sunny with conviction. "mebbe some you and my ancestor are mice now. you kinnod tell 'bout those. mice got very honourable history ad japan. i am lig' them very much." "that'll do. don't say another word. i'll fix 'em. hi! you, hatton! doggone you, you must have known about this." "very sorry, sir, but orders from you, sir, was to allow miss sunny to have her way in the kitchen, sir. 'hi tries to obey you, sir, and 'hi 'adn't the 'eart to deprive miss sunny of her honly pets, sir. she's honly yuman, sir, and being alone 'hall day, so young, sir, 'as 'ankerings for hinnocent things to play with." "that'll do, hatton. nail up that hole. get busy." nevertheless, hatton's words sunk into the soul of jerry. to think that even the poor working man was kinder to little sunny than was he! he ignored the fact that as hatton nailed tin over the guilty hole his shoulders were observed to be shaking, and those spasmodic clucks emanated at intervals also from him. in fact, hatton, in these days, had lost all his previously polished composure. that is to say, at inconvenient moments, he would burst into this uncontrollable clucking, as for instance, when waiting on table, observing a guest devouring some special edible concocted by sunny, he retired precipitately from service at the table to the kitchen, to be discovered there by the irate jerry, who had followed him, sitting on a chair with tears running down his cheeks. to the threatened kicking if he didn't get up and behave himself, hatton returned: "oh, sir, hi ham honly yuman, and the gentleman was ravim' so about them 'spinnuges,' sir, has 'ees hafter calling them." "well, what are they then?" demanded jerry. "them's weeds, sir," whispered hatton wiping his eyes. "miss sunny, i seen her diggin' them up in the lot across the way, and she come up the fire escape with them in 'er petticoat, sir, and she 'ad four cats in the petticoat also, sir. she's feedin' arf the population of cats in this neighbourhood, sir." jerry had been only irritated at that time. he knew that sunny's "weeds" were perfectly edible and far more toothsome in fact than mere spinach. trust her japanese knowledge to know what was what in the vegetable kingdom. however, mice were a more serious matter. there was an iron clad rule in the building that no live stock of any kind, neither dogs, cats, parrots, or birds or reptiles of any description, (babies included in the ban) were to be lodged on these de luxe premises. still, as jerry watched sunny's brimming eyes, the eyes of one who sees her dear friends imprisoned and doomed to execution, while hatton nailed the tin over the holes, he felt extremely mean and cruel. "i'm awfully sorry, sunny, old scout," he said, "but you know we can't possibly have _mice_ on the place. now if it were something like--like, well a dog, for instance----" "i _are_ got a nize dog," said sunny, beginning to smile through her tears. apprehension instantly replaced the compunction on jerry's face--apprehension that turned to genuine horror, however, when sunny opened the window onto the fire escape, and showed him a large grocer's box, upholstered and padded with a red article that looked suspiciously like a japanese petticoat. digging under this padded silk, sunny brought forth the yellowest, orneriest, scurviest and meanest-looking specimen of the dog family that it had ever been jerry's misfortune to see. she caught this disreputable object to her breast, and nestled her darling little chin against the wriggling head, that persisted in ducking up to release a long red tongue that licked her face with whines of delight and appreciation. "sunny! for the love of mike! where in the name of all the pagan gods and goddesses of japan did you get that god-forsaken mutt from? if you wanted a dog, why in sam hill didn't you tell me, and i'd have gotten you a regular dog--if they'd let me in the house." "jerry, he are a regular dog also. i buyed him from the butcher gentleman, who was mos' kind, and he charge me no moaney for those dog, bi-cause he are say he are poor mans, and those dog came off those street and eat him up those sausage. so that butcher gentleman he are sell him to me, and he are my own dog, and i are love my itchy mos' bes' of all dogs." and she hugged her little cur protectingly to her breast, her bright eyes with the defiant look of a little mother at bay. "itchy!" "thad are my dog's name. the butcher gentleman, he say he are scratch on his itch all those time, so i are name him itchy. also i are cure on those itch spot, for i are wash him every day, and now he are so clean he got only two flea left on his body." "by what process of mathematics, will you tell me, did you arrive at the figure of two?" demanded the stunned young man, thrusting his two fists deep into his pocket and surveying sunny and the aforesaid dog as one might curious specimens in the bronx zoo. "two? two flea?" sunny passed her hand lovingly and sympathetically over her dog's yellow body, and replied so simply that even an extremely dense person would have been able to answer that arithmetic problem. "he are scratch him in two place only." jerry threw back his head and burst into immoderate laughter. he laughed so hard that he was obliged to sit down on a chair, while hatton on the floor sat down solidly also, and desisted with his hammering. jerry's mirth having had full sway, hands in pocket he surveyed sunny, as, lovingly, she returned her protesting cur to its silken retreat. "sunny! sunny!" said jerry, shaking his head. "you'll be the death of me yet." sunny regarded him earnestly at that. "no, jerry, do not say those. i are not want to make you death. thas very sad--for die." "what are we going to do about it? they'll never let you keep a dog here. against the rules." "no, no, it are no longer 'gainst those rule. i are speag wiz the janitor gentleman, and he are say: 'thas all ride, seein' it's you!'" "he did, did he? got around him too, did you? you'll have the whole place demoralised if you keep on." "i are also speag ad those landlord," confessed sunny innocently, "bi-cause he are swear on those janitor gentleman, account someone ad these house are spik to him thad i are got dog. and thad landlord gentleman he come up here ad these studio, and i show him those dog, and he say he are nize dog, and thad those fire escape he is not _inside_. so i nod break those rule, and he go downstairs spik ad those lady mek those complain, and he say he doan keer if she dam clear out this house. he doan lig' her which even." jerry threw up his hands. "you win, sunny! do as you like. fill the place full if you want to. there's horses and cows to be had if they strike your fancy, and the zoo is full of other kind of live stock. take your choice." sunny, indeed, did proceed to take her choice. it is true she did not bring horses and cows and wild animals into jerry's apartment; but she passed the word to her doting friends, and in due time the inmates of that duplex apartment made quite a considerable family, with promise of early increase. there was besides itchy, count and countess taguchi, overfed canaries, who taught sunny a new kind of whistle; mr. and mrs. satsuma, goldfish who occupied an ornate glass and silver dish, fern and rock lined donated by jinx, and miss spring morning, a large persian cat, whom sunny named after her old friend of the teahouse of a thousand joys, but whose name should have been mr. spring morning. it was a very happy family indeed, and in time the master of the house became quite accustomed to the pets (pests he called them at first), and had that proud feeling moreover of the contented man of family. he often fed the satsumas and taguchis himself, and actually was observed to scratch the head of itchy, who in these days penetrated into the various rooms of the apartment (sunny having had especial permission from the janitor gentleman) so long as his presence was noiseless. he wore on his scrawny neck a fine leather and gilt collar that monty sent all the way to philadelphia to get for sunny, thereby earning the bitter resentment of his kid brother, who considered that collar his by rightful inheritance from monty's own recent kid days. monty's remorse upon "swiping" said collar was shortlived, however, for sunny's smile and excitement and the fun they had putting it on itchy more than compensated for any bitter threats of an unreasonable kid brother. besides monty brought peace in that disturbed direction by sending the younger potter a brand new collar, not, it is true, of the history of the one taken, but much more shiny and semi-adjustable. chapter x on the th of april, sunny's friend, "mr. dear monty" as she called him (j. lamont potter, jr., was his real name), obtained an indefinite leave of absence from the hospital, and called upon sunny in the absence of jerry hammond. he came directly to the object of his call almost as soon as sunny admitted him. while indeed she was assisting him to remove that nice, loosely hanging taupe coloured spring coat, that looked so well on monty, he swung around, as his arms came out of his coat sleeves, and made sunny an offer of his heart and soul. these the girl very regretfully refused. follows the gist of sunny's remarks in rejection of the offer: "monty, i do not wan' gettin' marry wiz you jos yet, bi-cause you are got two more year to worg on those hospital; then you are got go unto those john hoppakins for post--something kind worg also. then you are go ad those college and hospital in hy----" she tried to say heidelberg, but the word was too much for her, and he broke in impetuously: "listen, sunny, those _were_ my plans, but everything's changed now, since i met you. i've decided to cut it all out and settle down and marry. i've got my degree, and can hang out my shingle. we'll have to economize a bit at first, because the governor, no doubt, will cut me out for doing this; but i'm not in swaddling clothes, and i'll do as i like. so what do you say, sunny?" "i say, thas nod ride do those. your honourable father, he are spend plenty moany for you, and thas unfilial do lig' thad. i thang you, monty, but i are sawry i kinnod do lig' you ask." "but look here, sunny, there are whole heaps of fellows--dubs who never go beyond taking their degree, who go to practising right away, and i can do as they do, as far as that goes, and with you i should worry whether i go up in medicine or not." "but, monty, i _wan_ see you go up--ho! up, way high to those top. thas mos' bes' thing do for gentleman. i do nod lig' man who stay down low on ground. thas nod nize. i do nod wan' make marry wiz gentleman lig' those." "we-el, i suppose i could go on with the work and study. if i did, would you wait for me? would you, sunny?" "i do not know, monty. how i kin see all those year come?" "well, but you can promise me, can't you?" "no, monty, bi-cause mebbe i goin' die, and then thas break promise. thas not perlite do lig' those." "pshaw! there's no likelihood at all of your dying. you're awfully healthy. anyone can see it by your colouring. by jove, sunny, you have the prettiest complexion of any girl i've ever seen. your cheeks are just like flowers. die! you're bugs to think of it even. so you are perfectly safe in promising." "we-el, then i promise that mebbe after those five, six year when you are all troo, _if_ i are not marry wiz someone else, then i go _consider_ marry wiz you, monty." this gracious speech was sweetened by an engaging smile, and monty, believing that "half a loaf is better than no loaf" showed his pleasure, though his curiosity prompted him to make anxious inquiry as to possible rivals. "bobs asked you yet?" "no--not yet." "you wouldn't take him if he did, would you, sunny?" "no. not yet." "or any time. say that." sunny laughed. "any time, monty." "and jinx? what about jinx?" "he are always my good friend." "you wouldn't marry him, would you?" "no. i are lig' him as frien'." monty pursued no further. he knew of the existence of jerry's miss falconer. dashed, but not hopeless monty withdrew. that was on the th of april. bob's proposal followed on the nd. he inveigled sunny into accompanying him to his polished and glorified flat, which was presided over by an ample bosomed and smiling "mammy" whom bobs had especially imported from the sunny south. his guest, having exclaimed and enthused over the really cosy and bright little flat, bobs, with his fine, clever face aglow, asked her to share it with him. the request frightened sunny. she had exhausted considerable of her stock of excuses against matrimony to monty, and she did not want to see that look of hope fade from mr. dear bobs' face. "oh, bobs, i are _thad_ sorry, but me? i do not wan make marry jos yet. please you waid for some udder day when mebbe perhaps i go change those mind." "it's all right, sunny." bobs took his medicine like a man, his clean cut face slightly paling, as he followed with a question the lightness of which did not deceive the distressed sunny: "you're not engaged to anyone else, are you, sunny?" "emgaged? what are those, bobs?" "you haven't promised any other lucky dog that you'll marry him, have you?" "no-o." sunny shook her bright head. "no one are ask me yet, 'cept monty, and i are say same ting to him." "good!" bobs beamed through his disappointment on her. "while there's life there's hope, you know." he felt that jinx's chances were slim, and he, too, knew of miss falconer and jerry. sunny, by no means elated by her two proposals, confided in hatton, and received sage advice: "miss sunny, hi'm not hin a position exactly to advise you, and hits 'ardly my place, miss, but so long as you hasks my hadvice, i gives it you grattus. now mr. potter, 'ees a trifle young for matrimunny, miss--a trifle young, and mr. mapson, i 'ear that 'ees not got hany too much money, and hits a beggarly profession 'ees followin', miss. i 'ave 'eard this from mr. jerry's hown folks, 'oo more than once 'as cast haspirations against mr. jerry's friends, but hi takes it that wot they're sayin' comes near to the truth habout the newspaper as a perfession, miss. now there's mr. crawford, miss----" hatton's voice took on both a respectful and a confidential tone as he came to jinx. "now, hi flatters myself that hi'm some judge of yuman nature, miss, and i make bold to say, hif i may, miss, that mr. crawford his about halso to pop the 'appy question to you, miss. now, hif hi was hin your place, miss, 'ees the gentleman hi'd be after 'ooking. his people hare of the harristocrissy of hamerica--so far, miss, as hamerica can 'ave harristocrissy--and mr. crawford his the hair to a varst fortune, miss. there's no telling to wot 'eights you might climb if you buckles up with mr. crawford, miss." "ho! hatton, i lig' all those my frien' jos same. me? i would lig' marry all those, but i kinnod do." "'ardly, miss, 'ardly. hamerica is 'ardly a pollagamous country, though 'hit his the 'ome of the mormon people." "mormon?" "a church, miss; a sex of people wots given to pollagummy, which is, i takes it, too 'ard and big a word for you, miss, bein' a forriner, to hunderstand, so hi'll explain a bit clearer, miss. the mormon people hacquire several wives, some helders 'avin' the reputation of bein' in the class with hour hown king 'enry the heighth, and worse, miss,--with solomon 'imself, i 'ave 'eard it said." "ho-h-a-!" said sunny thoughtfully. "thad is very nize--those mormon. thas lig' japanese emperor. some time he got lots wife." hatton wiped the sweat from his brow. he had gotten upon a subject somewhat beyond his depths, and the young person before him rather scandalised his ideas of what a young lady's views on such matters should be. he had hoped to shock sunny somewhat. instead she sighed with an undeniably envious accent as he told her of the reprehensible mormons. after a moment she asked very softly: "hatton, mebbe jerry ask me those same question." hatton turned his back, and fussed with the dishes in the sink. he too knew about miss falconer. "'ardly, miss, 'ardly." "why not, hatton?" "if you'll pardon me, i 'ave a great deal of work before me. hi'm in a 'urry. 'ave you fed the count and countess taguchi, may i ask, miss." "hatton, _if_ a man _not_ ask girl to make marry wiz him, what she can do?" "well now, miss, you got me there. has far as hi'm hable to see personally, miss, there haren't nothing left for 'er to do except wait for the leap year." "leap year? what are those, hatton?" "a hodd year, miss--comes just in so often, miss, due to come next year, halso. when the leap year comes, miss, then the ladies do the popping--they harsks the 'appy question, miss." "o-h-h-! thas very nize. i wish it are leap year now," said sunny wistfully. "hit'll come, miss. hit's on hit's way. a few months and then the ladies' day will dawn," and hatton, moving about with cheer, clucked at the thought. chapter xi a week after bobs proposed to sunny, jinx, shining like the rising sun by an especially careful grooming administered by his valet, a flower adorning his lapel, and a silk hat topping his head, with a box of chocolates large enough to hold an easter bonnet in his hand, and a smaller box of another kind in his vest pocket, presented himself at jerry hammond's studio. flowers preceded and followed this last of sunny's ardent suitors. he was received by a young person arrayed in a pink pongee smock, sleeves rolled up, revealing a pair of dimpled arms, hair in distracting disorder, and a little nose on which seductively perched a blotch of flour, which the infatuated jinx was requested to waft away with his silken handkerchief. sunny's cheeks were flushed from close proximity to that gas stove, and her eyes were bright with the warfare which she waged incessantly upon the aforesaid honourable stove. in the early days of her appearance at the studio--by the way, she had been domiciled there a whole month--sunny's operations at the gas stove had had disastrous results. her attempt to boil water by the simple device of turning on the gas, as she did the electric light was alarming in its odorous effects, but her efforts to blow out the oven was almost calamitous, and caused no end of excitement, for it singed her hair and eyebrows and scorched an arm that required the persistent and solicitous attention of her four friends, a doctor and the thoroughly agitated hatton, on whose head poured the full vials of jerry's wrath and blame. in fact, this accident almost drove hatton to desert what he explained to sunny was the "water wagon." after that sunny was strictly ordered by jerry to keep out of the kitchen. realising, however, that she could not be trusted on that score, he took half a day off from the office, and gave her a full course of instruction in the mysteries and works of said gas stove. it should be assumed therefore that by this time sunny should have acquired at least a primary knowledge of the stove. not so, however. she never lit the oven but she threw salt about to propitiate the oni (goblin) which she was sure had its home somewhere in that strange fire, and she hesitated to touch any of the levers once the fire was lit. most of the dishes created by sunny were more or less under the eye of hatton, but on this day hatton had stepped out to the butcher's. therefore jinx's arrival was hailed by sunny with appreciation and relief, and she promptly lead the happy fellow to the kitchen and solicited his advice. now jinx, the son of the plutocratic rich, had never been inside a kitchen since his small boyhood, and then his recollection of said portion of the house was of a vast white place, where tiles and marble and white capped cooks prevailed, and small boys were chuckled over or stared at and whispered about. the dimensions of sunny's kitchen were about seven by nine feet, and it is well to mention at this moment that the room registered degrees fahrenheit. jinx weighed two hundred and forty-five pounds, stripped. his emotions, his preparations, his hurry to enter the presence of his charmer, to say nothing of a volcanic heart, all contributed to add to the heat and discomfort of the fat young man down whose ruddy cheeks the perspiration rolled. jinx had come upon a mission that in all times in the history of the world, subsequent to cave days, has called for coolness, tact, and as attractive a physical seeming as it is possible to attain. sunny drew her friend along to that gas stove, kneeled on the floor, making room for him to kneel beside her--no easy "stunt" for a fat man--opened the lower door and revealed to him the jets on full blaze. jinx shook his head. the problem was beyond him, but even as his head shook he sniffed a certain fragrant odour that stole directly to a certain point in jinx's anatomy that sunny would quaintly have designated as his "honourable insides." the little kitchen, despite its heat, contained in that oven, jinx knew, that which was more attractive than anything the cool studio could offer. seating himself heavily on a frail kitchen chair, which creaked ominously under his weight, jinx awaited hopefully what he felt sure was soon to follow. in due time sunny opened the upper door of the oven, withdrew two luscious looking pans of the crispest brown rice cakes, plentifully besprinkled with dates and nuts and over which she dusted powdered sugar, and passing by the really suffering jinx she transferred the pans to the window ledge, saying with a smile: "when he are cool, i giving you one, jinx." wiping her hands on the roller towel, she had jinx pull the smock over her head, and revealed her small person in blue taffeta frock, which jinx himself had had the honour of choosing for her. unwillingly, and with one longing backward look at those cakes, jinx followed sunny into the studio. here, removed from the intoxicating effects of that kitchen, sunny having his full attention again, he came to the object of his call. jinx sat forward on the edge of his chair, and his round, fat face looked so comically like the man in the moon's that sunny could not forbear smiling at him affectionately. "ho! jinx, how you are going to lig' those cake when he is getting cold." jinx liked them hot just as well. however, he was not such a gourmand that mere rice and date cakes could divert him from the purpose of his call. he sighed so deeply and his expression revealed such a condition of melancholy appeal that sunny, alarmed, moved over and took his face up in her hand, examining it like a little doctor, head cocked on one side. "jinx, you are sick? what you are eat? show me those tongue!" "aw, it's nothing, sunny--nothing to do with my tongue. it's--it's--just a little heart trouble, sunny." "heart! that are bad place be sick! you are ache on him, mr. dear jinx?" "ye-eh--some." "i sawry! how i are sawry! you have see doctor." "you're the only doctor i need." which was true enough. it was surprising the healing effects upon jinx's aching heart of the solicitous and sympathetic hovering about him of sunny. "oh, jinx, i go at those telephone ride away, get him mr. doctor here come. i 'fraid mebbe you more sick than mebbe you know." "no, no--never mind a doctor." jinx held her back by force. "look-a-here, sunny, i'll tell you just what's the matter with my heart. i'm--i'm--in love!" "oh--love. i have hear those word bi-fore, but i have never feel him," said sunny wistfully. "you'll feel it some day all right," groaned jinx. "and you'll know it too when you've got it." "ad japan nobody--love. thas not nize word speag ad japan." "gosh! it's the nicest word in the language in america. you can't help speaking it. you can't help feeling it. when you're in love, sunny, you think day and night and every hour and minute and second of the day of the same person. that's love, sunny." "ah!" whispered sunny, her eyes very bright and dewey, "i are _know_ him then!" and she stood with that rapt look, scarcely hearing jinx, and brought back to earth only when he took her hand, and clung to it with both his own somewhat flabby ones. "sunny, i'm head over heels in love with you. put me out of my misery. say you'll be mrs. crawford, and you'll see how quickly this old bunged up heart of mine will heal." "oh, jinx, you are ask _me_ to make marry wiz you?" "you bet your life i am. gosh! i've got an awful case on you, sunny." "ho! i sawry i kinnod do thad to-day. i am not good ad my healt'. axscuse me. mebbe some odder day i do so." "any day will do. any day that suits you, if you'll just give me your promise--if you'll just be engaged to me." "engaged?" bobs had already explained to her what that meant, but she repeated it to gain time. "why, yes--don't they have engagements in japan?" "no. marriage broker go ad girl's father and boy's father and make those marriage." "well, this is a civilised land. we do things right here. you're a lucky girl to have escaped from japan. here, in this land, we first get engaged, say for a week or month or even a year--only a short time will do for you and me, sunny--and then, well, we marry. how about it?" sunny considered the question from several serious angles, very thoughtful, very much impressed. "jinx, i do nod like to make marriage, bi-cause thas tie me up wiz jos one frien' for hosban'." "but you don't want more than one husband?" jinx remembered hearing somewhere that the japanese were a polygamous nation, but he thought that only applied to the favoured males of the race. "no--o thas very nize for mormon man i am hear of, bud----" "not fit for a woman," warmly declared jinx. "all i ask of you, sunny, is that you'll promise to marry me. if you'll do that, you'll make me the happiest bug in these united states. i'll be all but looney, and that's a fact." "i sawry, jinx, but me? i kinnod do so." jinx relapsed into a state of the darkest gloom. looking out from the depths of the big, soft overstuffed chair, he could see not a gleam of light, and presently groaned: "i suppose if i weren't such a mass of flesh and fat, i might stand a show with you. it's hell to be fat, i'll tell the world." "jinx, i lig' those fat. it grow nize on you. and _pleass_ do not loog so sad on you face. wait, i go get you something thas goin' make you look smile again." she disappeared into the kitchen, returning with the whole platter of cookies, still quite warm, and irresistibly odorous and toothsome looking. jinx, endeavouring to refuse, had to close his eyes to steady him in his resolve, but he could not close his nose, nor his mouth either, when sunny thrust one of the delicious pieces into his mouth. she wooed him back to a semi-normal condition by feeding him crisp morsels of his favourite confection, nor was it possible to resist something that pushed against one's mouth, and once having entered that orifice revealed qualities that appealed to the very best in one's nature. jinx was not made of the spartan stuff of heroes, and who shall blame him if nature chose to endow him with a form of rich proportions that included "honourable insides" whose capacity was unlimited. so, till the very last cooky, and a sense of well being and fulness, the sad side of life pushed aside _pro tem_, jinx was actually able to smile indulgently at the solicitous sunny. she clapped her hands delightedly over her success. jinx's fingers found their way to his vest pocket. he withdrew a small velvet box, and snapped back the lid. silently he held it toward sunny. her eyes wide, she stared at it with excited rapture. "oh-h! thas mos' beautifullest thing i are ever see." never, in fact, had her eyes beheld anything half so lovely as that shining platinum work of art with its immense diamond. "just think," said jinx huskily, "if you say the word, you can have stones like that covering you all over." "all over!" she made an expressive motion of her hands which took in all of her small person. melancholy again clouded jinx's face. after all, he did not want sunny to marry him for jewelry. "i tell you what you do, sunny. wear this for me, will you? wear it for a while, anyway, and then when you decide finally whether you'll have me or not, keep it or send it back, as you like." he had slipped the ring onto the third finger of sunny's left hand, and holding that had made him a bit bolder. sunny, unsuspecting and sympathetic, let her hand rest in his, the ring up, where she could admire it to her heart's content. "look a here, sunny, will you give me a kiss, then--just one. the ring's worth that, isn't it?" sunny retreated hurriedly, almost panically? "oh, jinx, please you excuse me to-day, bi-cause i _lig'_ do so, but mr. hatton he are stand ad those door and loog on you." "damn hatty!" groaned jinx bitterly, and with a sigh that heaved his big breast aloft, he picked up his hat and cane, and ponderously moved toward the door. in the lower hall of the studio apartment, who should the crestfallen jinx encounter but his old-time friend, jerry hammond, returning from his eight hours' work at the office. his friend's greeting was both curt and cold, and there was no mistaking that look of dislike and disapproval that the frowning face made no effort to disguise. "here again, jinx. better move in," was jerry's greeting. jinx muttered something inarticulate and furious, and for a fat man he made quick time across the hall and out into the street, where he climbed with a heavy heart into the great roadster, which he had fondly hoped might also carry sunny with him upon a prolonged honeymoon. chapter xii sunny poured jerry's tea with a hand turned ostentatiously in a direction that revealed to his amazed and indignant eye that enormous stone of fire that blazed on the finger of sunny's left hand. his appetite, always excellent, failed him entirely, and after conquering the first surge of impulses that were almost murderous, he lapsed into an ominous silence, which no guile nor question from the girl at the head of his table could break. a steady, a cold, a biting glare, a murmured monosyllabic reply was all the response she received to her amiable overtures. his ill temper, moreover, reached out to the inoffensive hatton, whom he ordered to clear out, and stay out, and if it came down to that get out altogether, rather than hang around snickering in that way. thus jerry revealed a side to his character hitherto unsuspected by sunny, though several rumblings and barks from the "dog in the manger" would have apprized one less innocent than she. they finished that meal--or rather sunny did--in silence electric with coming strife. then jerry suddenly left the table, strode into the little hall, took down his hat and coat, and was about to go, heaven knows where, when sunny, at his elbow, sought to restrain him by force. she took his sleeve and tenaciously held to it, saying: "jerry, do not go out these night. i are got some news i lig' tell to you." "let go my arm. i'm not interested in your news. i've a date of my own." "but jerry----" "i say, let go my arm, will you?" the last was said in a rising voice, as he reached the crest of irritation, and jerking his sleeve so roughly from her clasp, he accomplished the desired freedom, but the look on sunny's face stayed with him all the way down those apartment stairs--he ignored the elevator--and to the door of the house. there he stopped short, and without more ado, retraced his steps, sprang up the stairs in a great hurry, and jerking open his door again, jerry returned to his home. he discovered sunny curled on the floor, with her head buried in the seat of his favourite chair--the one occupied that afternoon by the mischief-making jinx. "sunny! i'm awfully sorry i was such a beast. say, little girl, look here, i'm not myself. i don't know what i'm doing." sunny slowly lifted her face, revealing to the relieved but indignant jerry a face on which it is true there were traces of a tear or two, but which nevertheless smiled at him quite shamelessly and even triumphantly. jerry felt foolish, and he was divided between a notion to remain at home with the culprit--she had done nothing especially wrong, but he felt that she was to blame for something or other--or follow his first intention of going out for the night--just where, he didn't know--but anywhere would do to escape the thought that had come to him--the thought of sunny's probable engagement to jinx. however, sunny gave him no time to debate the matter of his movements for the evening. she very calmly assisted him to remove his coat, hung up his hat, and when she had him comfortably ensconced in his favourite chair, had herself lit his pipe and handed it to him, she drew up a stool and sat down in front of his knees, just as if, in fact, she was entirely guiltless of an engagement of which jerry positively did not intend to approve. her audacity, moreover, was such that she did not hesitate to lay her left hand on jerry's knee, where he might get the full benefit of the radiant light from that ring. he looked at it, set down his pipe on the stand at his elbow, and stirred in that restless way which portends hasty arising, when sunny: "jerry, jinx are come to-day to ask me make marriage with him." "the big stiff. i pity any girl that has to go through life with that fathead." "ho! i are always lig' thad fat grow on jinx. it look very good on him. i are told him so." "matter of taste of course," snarled jerry, fascinated by the twinkling of that ring in spite of himself, and feeling at that moment an emotion that was dangerously like hatred for the girl he had done so much for. "monty and bobs are also ask me marry wiz them." sunny dimpled quite wickedly at this, but jerry failed to see any humour in the matter. he said with assumed loftiness: "well, well, proposals raining down on you in every direction. your janitor gentleman and landlord asked you too?" "no-o, not yit, but those landlord are say he lig' take me for ride some nize days on his car ad those park." "the hell he did!" jerry sat up with such a savage jerk at this that he succeeded in upsetting the innocent hand resting so confidingly upon his knee. "who asked him around here anyway?" demanded jerry furiously. "just because he owns this building doesn't mean he has a right to impose himself on the tenants, and i'll tell him so damn quick." "but, jerry, _i_ are ask him come up here. itchy fall down on those fire escape, and he are making so much noise on this house when he cry, that everybody who live on this house open those windows on court, and i are run down quick on those fire escape and everybody also run out see what's all those trouble. then i am cry so hard, bi-cause i are afraid itchy are hurt himself too bad, bi-cause he also are cry very loud." sunny lifted her nose sky-ward, illustrating how the dog's cries had emanated from him. "so then, everybody _very_ kind at me and itchy, and the janitor gentleman carry him bag ad these room, and the landlord gentleman say thas all ride henceforth i have thad little dog live wiz me ad these room also. he say it is very hard for liddle girl come from country way off be 'lone all those day, and mebbe some day he take me and itchy for ride ad those park. so i are say, 'thang you, i will like go vaery much, thang you.'" "well, make up your mind to it, you're not going, do you understand? i'll have no landlords taking you riding in any parks." having delivered this ultimatum as viciously as the circumstances called for, jerry leaned back in pretended ease and awaited further revelations from sunny. "--but," went on sunny, as if finishing a sentence, "that landlord gentleman are not also ask me marry wiz him, jerry. he already got big wife. i are see her. she are so big as jinx, and she smile on me very kind, and say she have hear of me from her hosban', that i am very lonely girl from japan, and thas very sad for me, and she goin' to take those ride wiz me also." "hm!" jerry felt ashamed of himself, but he did not propose to reveal it, especially when that little hand had crept back to its old place on his knee, and the diamond flaunted brazenly before his gaze. nobody but a "fat-head" would buy a diamond of that size anyway, was jerry's opinion. there was something extremely vulgar about diamonds. they were not nearly as pretty as rubies or emeralds or even turquoise, and jerry had never liked them. of course, miss falconer, like every other girl, had to have her diamond, and jerry recalled with irritation how, as a sophomore, he had purchased that first diamond. he neither enjoyed the expedition nor the memory of it. jinx's brazen ring made him think of miss falconer's. however, the thought of miss falconer was, for some reason or other, distasteful to jerry in these days, and, moreover, the girl before him called for his full attention as usual. "so you decided on jinx, did you? bobs and monty in the discard and the affluent fat and fair jinx the winner." "jerry, i are _prefer_ marry all my friends, but i say 'no' to each one of those." "what are you wearing jinx's ring for then?" "bi-cause it are loog nize on my hands, and he _ask_ me wear it there." new emotions were flooding over the contrite jerry. something was racing like champagne through his veins, and he suddenly realised how "damnably jolly" life was after all. still, even though sunny had admitted that no engagement existed between her and jinx, there was that ring. poor little girl! a fellow had to teach her all of the western conventions, she was that innocent and simple. "sunny, you don't want to wear a fellow's ring unless you intend to marry him, don't you understand that? the ring means that you are promised to him, do you get me?" "no! but i _are_ promise to jinx. i are promise that i will consider marry him some day if i do not marry some other man i _wan'_ ask me also." "another man. who----?" sunny's glance directed full upon him left nothing to the imagination. jerry's heart began to thump in a manner that alarmed him. "jerry," said sunny, "i going to wear jinx's ring _until_ that man also asking me. i _wan_ him do so, bi-cause i are lig' him mos' bes' of all my frien'. i think----" she had both of her hands on his knees now, and was leaning up looking so wistfully into his face that he tried to avert his own gaze. in spite of the lump that rose in his throat, in spite of the frantic beating of his heart, jerry did not ask the question that the girl was waiting to hear. after a moment, she said gently: "jerry, hatty are tell me that nex' year he are come a leap. then, he say, thas perlite for girl ask man make marriage wiz her. jerry, _i_ are goin' to wait till those year of leap are come, and then, me? i are goin' ask _you_ those question." for one thrilling moment there was a great glow in the heart of jerry hammond, and then his face seemed suddenly to turn grey and old. his voice was husky and there was a mist before his eyes. "sunny, i must tell you--sunny, i--i--am already engaged to be married to an american girl--a girl my people want me to marry. i've been engaged to her since my eighteenth year. i--_don't_ look at me like that, sunny, or----" the girl's head dropped to the level of the floor, her hands slipping helplessly from his knees. she seemed all in a moment to become purely japanese. there was that in her bowed head that was strangely reminiscent of some old and vanished custom of her race. she did not raise her head, even as she spoke: "i wishin' you ten thousand year of joy. sayonara for this night." * * * * * sunny had left him alone. jerry felt the inability to stir. he stared into the dying embers of his fire with the look of one who has seen a vision that has disappeared ere he could sense its full significance. it seemed at that moment to jerry as if everything desirable and precious in life were within reach, but he was unable to seize it. it was like his dream of beauty, ever above, but beyond man's power to completely touch. sunny was like that, as fragile, as elusive as beauty itself. the thought of his having hurt sunny tore his heart. she had aroused in him every impulse that was chivalrous. the longing to guard and cherish her was paramount to all other feelings. what was it professor barrowes had warned him of? that he should refrain from taking the bloom from the rose. had he, then, all unwittingly, injured little sunny? mechanically, jerry went into the hall, slowly put his hat on his head and passed out into the street. he walked up and down th street and along central park west to th street, retracing his steps three times to the studio building, and turning back again. his mind was in a chaos, and he knew not what to do. only one clear purpose seemed to push through the fog, the passionate determination to care for sunny. she came first of all. indeed she occupied the whole of his thought. the claim of the girl who had waited for him seven years seemed of minor importance when compared with the claim of the girl he loved. the disinclination to hurt another had kept him from breaking an engagement that had never been of his own desire, but now jerry knew there could be no more evasions. the time had come when he must face the issue squarely. his sense of honour demanded that he make a clean breast of the entire matter to miss falconer. he reached this resolve while still walking on th street. it gave him no more than time to catch the night train to greenwich. as he stepped aboard the train that was bearing him from sunny to miss falconer all of the fogs had cleared from jerry's mind. he was conscious of an immense sense of relief. it seemed strange to him that he had never taken this step before. judging the girl by himself, he felt that he knew exactly what she would say when with complete candour he should "lay his cards upon the table." he felt sure that she was a good sport. he did not delude himself with the idea that an engagement that had been irksome to himself had been of any joy to her. it was simply, so he told himself, a mistake of their parents. they had planned and worked this scheme, and into it they had dumped these two young people at a psychological moment. chapter xiii for two days sunny waited for jerry to return. she was lonely and most unhappy, but hers was a buoyant personality, and withal her hurt she kept up a bright face before her little world of that duplex studio. in spite of the two nights when no sleep at all came, and she lay through the long hours trying vainly not to think of the wife of jerry hammond, in the daytime she moved about the small concerns of the apartment with a smile of cheer and found a measure of comfort in her pets. it was all very well, however, to hug itchy passionately to her breast, and assure herself that she had in her arms one true and loving friend. always she set the dog sadly down again, saying: "ah, liddle honourable dog, you are jos liddle dog, thas all. how you can know whas ache on my heart. i do nod lig' you more for to-day." she fed mr. and mrs. satsuma, and whistled and sang to them. after all, a canary is only a canary. its bright, hard eye is blank and cold. even the goldfish, swimming to the top of the honourable bowl, and picking the crumb so cunningly from her finger, lost their charm for her. miss spring morning had long since been vanished with severe japanese reproaches for his inhuman treatment of sunny's first friends, the honourable mice, several of whose little bodies sunny had confided to a grave she herself had dug, with tears that aroused the janitor gentleman's sympathy, so that he permitted the interment in the back yard. the victrola, working incessantly the first day, supplied merely noise. on the second morning she banged the top impulsively down, and cried at caruso: "oh, i do not wan' hear your honourable voice to-day. shut you up!" midway in an aria from "rigoletto" the golden voice was quenched. she hovered about the telephone, and several times lifted the receiver, with the idea of calling one of her friends, but always she rejected the impulse. intuitively sunny knew that until the first pang of her refusal had passed her friends were better away from her. little comfort was to be extracted from hatton, who was acting in a manner that had sunny not been so absorbed by her own personal trouble would have caused her concern. hatton talked incessantly and feverishly and with tears about his missus, and what she had driven him to, and of how a poor man tries to do his duty in life, but women were ever trouble makers, and it was only "yuman nature" for a man to want a little pleasure, and he, hatton, had made this perfectly clear to mr. hammond when he had taken service with him. "a yuman being, miss," said hatton, "is yuman, and that's all there is to it. yuman nature 'as certain 'ankerings and its against yuman nature to gainsay them 'ankerings, if you'll pardon me saying so, miss." however, he assured sunny most earnestly that he was fighting the devil and all his works, which was just what "them 'ankerings" was, and he audibly muttered for her especial hearing in proof of his assertion several times through the day: "get thee be'ind me, satan." satan being "them 'ankerings, miss." in normal times sunny's fun and cheer would have been of invaluable assistance and diversion to hatton. indeed, his long abstention was quite remarkable since she had been there; but sunny, affect cheer as she might, could not hide from the sympathetic hatton's gaze the fact that she was most unhappy. in fact, sunny's sadness affected the impressionable hatton so that the second morning he could stand it no longer, and disappeared for several hours, to return, hiccoughing cravenly, and explaining: "i couldn't 'elp it, miss. my 'eart haches for you, and it ain't yuman nature to gainsay the yuman 'eart." "hatton," said sunny severely, "i are smell you on my nose. you are not smell good." "pardon me, miss," said hatton, beginning to weep. "hi'm sadly ashamed of myself, miss. if you'll pardon me, miss, i'll betake myself to less 'appy regions than mr. 'ammond's studio, miss, 'as it's my desire not to 'urt your sense of smell, miss. so if you'll pardon me, i'll say good-bye, miss, 'oping you'll be in a 'appier mood when next we meet." for the rest of that day there was no further sign from hatton. left thus alone in the apartment, sunny was sore put to find something to distract her, for all the old diversions, without jerry, began to pall. she wished wistfully that jerry had not forbidden her to make friends with other tenants in the house. she felt the strange need of a friend at this hour. there was one woman especially whom sunny would have liked to know better. she always waved to sunny in such a friendly way across the court, and once she called across to her: "do come over and see me. i want you to see some of the sketches i have made of you at the window." sunny pointed the lady out to jerry, and that young man's face became surprisingly inflamed and he ordered sunny so angrily not to continue an acquaintance with her unknown friend, that the poor child avoided going near the window for fear of giving offence. also, there was a gentleman who came and went periodically in the studio building, and whose admiring looks had all but embraced sunny even before she scraped an acquaintance with him. he did not live in this building, but came very frequently to call upon certain of the artists, including the lady across the court. like jinx, he always wore a flower in his buttonhole, but, unlike jinx, his clothes had a certain distinction that to the unsophisticated sunny seemed to spell the last word in style. she was especially fascinated by his tan-coloured spats, and once, examining them with earnest curiosity while waiting for the elevator, her glance arose to his face, and she met his all embracing smile with one of her own engaging ones. this man was in fact a well known dilettante and man about town, a dabbler a bit himself in the arts, but a monument of egotism. he had diligently built up a reputation as a patron and connoisseur of art. one sunday morning sunny came in from a little walk as far as the park, with itchy. in spite of an unexpectedly hard shower that had fallen soon after she had left, she returned smiling and perfectly dry; excited and delighted moreover over the fortune that had befallen her. "jerry!" she cried as soon as she entered, "i are git jost to those corner, when down him come those rain. so much blow! futen (the wind god) get very angery and blow me quick up street, but the rain fall down jos' lig' cloud are burst. streets flow lig' grade river. me? i are run quick and come up on steps of house, and there are five, ten other people also stand on those step and keep him dry. one gentleman he got beeg umberella. i feel sure that umberella it keep me dry. so i smile on those mans----" "you _what_?" "i make a smile on him. like these----" sunny illustrated innocently. "don't you know better than to smile at any man on the street?" sunny was taken aback. the japanese are a smiling nation, and the interchange of smiles among the sexes is not considered reprehensible; certainly not in the class from which sunny had come. "smile are not bad. he are kind thing, jerry. it make people feel happy, and it do lots good on those worl'. when i smile on thad gentlemen, he are smile ride bag on me ad once, and he take me by those arm, and say he bring me home all nize and dry. and, jerry, he say, he thing i am too nize piece--er--brick-brack--" bric-a-brac was a new word for sunny, but jerry recognised what she was trying to say--"to git wet. so he give me all those umberella. he bring me ride up ad these door, and he say he come see me very soon now as he lig' make sure i got good healt'. he are a very kind gentleman, jerry. here are his card." jerry took the card, glared at it, and began panically walking up and down the apartment, raging and roaring like an "angery tiger," as sunny eloquently described him to herself, and then flung around on her and read her such a scorching lecture that the girl turned pale with fright, and, as usual, the man was obliged to swallow his steam before it was all exploded. in parenthesis, it may be here added, that the orders given by jerry to that black boy at the telephone desk, embraced such a diabolical description of the injury that was destined to befall him should the personage in question ever step his foot across jerry's threshold, that sambo, his eyes rolling, never failed to assure the caller, who came very persistently thereafter, that "dat young lady she am move away, sah. yes, sah, she am left this department." it will be seen, therefore, that sunny, a stranger in a strange land, shut in alone in a studio, religiously following the instructions of jerry to refrain from making acquaintances with anyone about her, was in a truly sad state. she started to houseclean, but stopped midway in panic, recalling the japanese superstition that to clean or sweep a house when one of the family is absent is to precipitate bad fortune upon the house. so she got down all of jerry's clothes and piously pressed and sponged them, as she had seen hatton do, being very careful this time to avoid her first mistake in ironing. so earnestly had she applied herself to ironing the crease in the front of one of jerry's trousers that first time that a most disastrous accident was the result. jerry, wearing the pressed trousers especially to please her, found himself on the street the cynosure of all eyes as he manfully strode along with a complete split down the front of one of the legs, which the too ardent iron of sunny had scorched. having brushed and cleaned all of jerry's clothes on this day, she prepared her solitary lunch; but this she could not eat. thoughts of jerry sharing with her the accustomed meals was too much for the imaginative sunny, and pushing the rice away from her, she said: "oh, i do nod lig' put food any more ad my insides. i givin you to my friends." the contents of her bowl were emptied into the pail under the sink, which she kept always so clean, for she still was under the delusion that said pail helped to feed the janitor gentleman and his family. all of that afternoon hung heavily on her hands, and she vainly sought something to interest her and divert her mind from the thought of jerry. she found herself unconsciously listening for the bell, but, curiously enough, all of that day neither the buzzer, the telephone nor even the dumbwaiter rang. she made a tour of exploration to jerry's sacred room, lovingly arranging his pieces on his chiffonier, and washing her hands in some toilet water that especially appealed to her. then she found the bottle of hair tonic. sniffing it, she decided it was very good, and, painfully, sunny deciphered the legend printed on the outside, assuring a confiding hair world that the miraculous contents had the power to remove dandruff, invigorate, strengthen, force growth on bald heads, cause to curl and in every way improve and cause to shine the hair of the fortunate user of the same. "thas very good stuff," said sunny. "he do grade miracle on top those head." she decided to put the shampoo-tonic to the test, and accordingly washed her hair in jerry's basin, making an excellent job of it. descending to the studio, she lit the fireplace, and curled up on a big navaho by the fire. wrapped in a gorgeous bathrobe belonging to jerry, sunny proceeded to dry her hair. while she was in the midst of this process, the telephone rang. sambo at the desk announced that visitors were ascending. sunny had no time to dress or even to put up her hair, and when in response to the sharp bang upon the knocker she opened the door she revealed to the callers a vision that justified their worst fears. her hair unbound, shining and springing out in lovely curling disorder about her, wrapped about in the bright embroidered bathrobe which the younger woman recognised at once as her christmas gift to her fiancé, the work, in fact, of her own hands, sunny was a spectacle to rob a rival of complete hope and peace of mind. the cool fury of unrequited love and jealousy in the breast of the younger woman and the indignant anger in that of the older was whipped at the sight of sunny into active and violent eruption. "what are you doing in my son's apartment?" demanded the mother of jerry, raising to her eyes what looked to sunny like a gold stick on which grew a pair of glasses, and surveying with pronounced disapproval the politely bowing though somewhat flurried sunny. "i are live ad those house," said sunny, simply. "this are my home." "you live here, do you? well, i would have you know that i am the mother of the young man whose life you are ruining, and this young girl is his fiancée." "ho! i am very glad make you 'quaintance," said sunny, seeking to hide behind a politeness her shock at the discovery of the palpable rudeness of these most barbarian ladies. it was hard for her to admit that the ladies of jerry's household were not models of fine manners, as she had fondly supposed, but on the contrary bore faces that showed no trace of the kind hearts which the girl from japan had been taught by her mother to associate always with true gentility. the two women's eyes met with that exclamatory expression which says plainer than words: "of all the unbounded impudence, this is the worst!" "i have been told," went on mrs. hammond haughtily, "that you are a foreigner--a japanese." she pronounced the word as if speaking of something extremely repellent. sunny bowed, with an attempted smile, that faded away as jerry's mother continued ruthlessly: "you do not look like a japanese to me, unless you have been peroxiding your hair. in my opinion you are just an ordinary everyday bad girl." sunny said very faintly: "aexcuse me!" she turned like a hurt thing unjustly punished to the other woman, as if seeking help there. it had been arranged between the two women that mrs. hammond was to do the talking. miss falconer was having her full of that curious satisfaction some women take in seeing in person one's rival. her expression far more moved sunny than that of the angry older woman. "no one but a bad woman," went on mrs. hammond, "would live like this in a young man's apartment, or allow him to support her, or take money from him. decent girls don't do that sort of thing in america. you are old enough to get out and earn for yourself an honest living. aren't you ashamed of yourself? or are you devoid of shame, you bad creature?" "yes," said sunny, with such a look that jerry's mother's frown relaxed somewhat: "i are ashame. i are sawry thad i are bad--woman. aexcuse me this time. i try do better. i sawry i are--bad!" this was plainly a full and complete confession of wrong and its effect on the older woman was to arouse a measure of the hammond compunction which always followed a hasty judgment. for a moment mrs. hammond considered the advisability of reading to this girl a lecture that she had recently prepared to deliver before an institution for the welfare of such girls as she deemed sunny to be. however, her benevolent intention was frustrated by miss falconer. there is a japanese proverb which says that the tongue three inches long can kill a man six feet tall, but the tongue of one's enemy is not the worst thing to fear. the cold smile of the young woman staring so steadily at her had power to wound sunny far more than the lacerating tongue of the woman whom she realised believed she was fighting in her son's behalf. very silken and soft was the manner of miss falconer as insinuatingly she brought mrs. hammond back to the object of their call. she had used considerable tact and strategy in arranging this call upon sunny, having in fact induced jerry to remain for at least a day or two in greenwich, "to think matters over," and see "whether absence would not prove to him that what he imagined to be love was nothing but one of those common aberrations to which men who lived in the east were said to be addicted." jerry, feeling that he should at least do this for her, waited at greenwich. miss falconer had called in the able and belligerent aid of his mother. "mother, dear----" she already called mrs. hammond "mother." "suppose--er--we make a quick end to the matter. you know what we are here for. do let us finish and get away. you know, dear, that i am not used to this sort of thing, and really i'm beginning to get a nervous headache." stiffened and upheld by the young woman whom she had chosen as wife for her son, mrs. hammond delivered the ultimatum. "young woman, i want you to pack your things and clear out from my son's apartment at once. no argument! no excuses! if you do not realise the shamelessness of the life you are leading, i have nothing further to say; but i insist, insist most emphatically, on your leaving my boy's apartment this instant." a key turned in the lock. hatton, dusty and bedraggled, his hat on one side of his head and a cigarette twisting dejectedly in the corner of his mouth, stumbled in at the door. he stood swaying and smiling at the ladies, stuttering incoherent words of greeting and apology. "la-adiesh, beggin' y'r pardon, it's a pleasure shee thish bright shpring day." mrs. hammond, overwhelmed with shame and grief over the revelation of the disreputable inmates of her son's apartment, turned her broad back upon hatton. she recognised that man. he was the man she and jerry's father had on more than one occasion begged their son to be rid of. oh! if only jeremy hammond senior were here now! sunny, having heard the verdict of banishment, stood helplessly, like one who has received a death sentence, knowing not which way to turn. hatton staggered up the stairs, felt an uncertain course along the gallery toward his room, and fell in a muddled heap midway of the gallery. sunny, half blindly, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, had moved with mechanical obedience toward the door, when mrs. hammond haughtily recalled her. "you cannot go out on the street in that outrageous fashion. get your things, and do your hair up decently. we will wait here till you are ready." "and suppose you take that bathrobe off. it doesn't belong to you," said miss falconer cuttingly. "take only what belongs to you," said mrs. hammond. sunny slowly climbed up to her room. everything appeared now strange and like a queer dream to her. she could scarcely believe that she was the same girl who but a few days before had joyously flitted about the pretty room, which showed evidence of her intensely artistic and feminine hands. she changed from the bathrobe to the blue suit she had worn on the night she had arrived at jerry's studio. from a drawer she drew forth the small package containing the last treasures that her mother had placed in her hand. though she knew that mrs. hammond and miss falconer were impatiently awaiting her departure, she sat down at her desk and painfully wrote her first letter to jerry. "jerry sama: how i thank you three and four time for your kindness to me. i am sorry i are not got money to pay you back for all that same, but i will take nothing with me but those clothes on my body. only bad girls take money from gentleman at this america. i have hear that to-day, but i never know that before, or i would not do so. i have pray to amaterasu-oho-mikami, making happy sunshine of your life. may you live ten thousand year. sayonara. sunny." she came out along the gallery, bearing her mother's little package. kneeling by the half-awake but helpless hatton she thrust the letter into his hand. "good-bye, kind hatton," said sunny. "i sawry i not see your face no more. i sawry i are make all those trobble for you wiz those gas stove an' those honourable mice. i never do those ting again. i hope mebbe you missus come home agin some day ad you. sayonara." "wh-wheer y're goin', shunny. whatsh matter?" hatton tried vainly to raise himself. he managed to pull himself a few paces along, by holding to the gallery rails, but sprawled heavily down on the floor. the indignant voice of his master's mother ascended from the stairs: "if you do not control yourself, my good man, i will be forced to call in outside aid and have you incarcerated." downstairs, sunny, unmindful of the waiting women, ran by them into the kitchen. from goldfish to canaries she turned, whispering softly: "sayonara my friends. i sawry leaving you." she was opening the window onto the fire-escape, and itchy with a howl of joy had leaped into her arms, when mrs. hammond and miss falconer, suspicious of something underhand, appeared at the door. "what are you doing, miss? what is that you are taking?" demanded mrs. hammond. sunny turned, with her dog hugged up close to her breast. "i are say good-bye to my liddle dog," she said. "sayonara itchy. the gods be good unto you." she set the dog hastily back in the box, against his most violent protests, and itchy immediately set up such a woeful howling and baying as only a small mongrel dog who possesses psychic qualities and senses the departure of an adored one could be capable of. windows were thrown up and ejaculations and protests emanated from tenants in the court, but sunny had clapped both hands over her ears, and without a look back at her little friend, and ignoring the two women, she ran through the studio, and out of the front door. after her departure a silence fell between miss falconer and mrs. hammond. the latter's face suddenly worked spasmodically, and the strain of the day overtook jerry's mother. she sobbed unrestrainedly, mopping up the tears that coursed down her face. miss falconer fanned herself slowly, and with an absence of her usual solicitude for her prospective mother-in-law, she refrained from offering sympathy to the older woman, who presently said in a muffled voice: "oh, stella, i am afraid that we may have done a wrong act. it's possible that we have made a mistake about this girl. she seemed so very young, and her face--it was not a bad face, stella--quite the contrary, now i think of it." "well, i suppose that's the way you look at it. personally you can't expect me to feel any sort of sympathy for a bad woman like that." "stella, i've been thinking that a girl who would say good-bye to her dog like that cannot be wholly bad." "i have heard of murderers who trained fleas," said miss falconer. then, with a pretended yawn, she added, "but really we must be going now? it's getting very dark out, and i'm dining with the westmores at seven. i told matthews we'd be through shortly. he's at the curb now." she had picked up her gloves and was drawing them smoothly on, when mrs. hammond noticed the left hand was ringless. "why, my dear, where is your ring?" "why, you didn't suppose, did you, that i was going to continue my engagement to jerry hammond after what he told me?" "but our purpose in coming here----" "_my_ purpose was to make sure that if _i_ were not to have jerry neither should she--that japanese doll!" all the bottled-up venom of the girl's nature came forth in that single utterance. "do let us get away. really i'm bored to extinction." "you may go any time you choose, miss falconer," said jerry hammond's mother. "i shall stay here till my son returns." * * * * * it was less than half an hour later that jerry burst into the studio. he came in with a rush, hurrying across the big room toward the kitchen and calling aloud: "sunny! hi! sunny! i'm back!" so intent was he in discovering sunny that he did not see his mother, sitting in the darkened room by the window. through dim eyes mrs. hammond had been staring into the street, and listening to the nearby rumble of the sixth avenue elevated trains. somehow the roar of the elevated spelled to the woman the cruelty and the power of the mighty city, out into which she had driven the young girl, whose eyes had entreated her like a little wounded creature. the club woman thought of her admonitions and speeches to the girls she had professionally befriended, yet here, put to a personal test, she had failed signally. her son was coming through the studio again, calling up toward the gallery above: "hi! sunny, old scout, where are you?" he turned, with a start, as his mother called his name. his first impulse of welcome halted as he saw her face, and electrically there flashed through jerry a realisation of the truth. his mother's presence there was connected with sunny's absence. "mother, where is sunny? what are you doing here? where is sunny, i say?" he shot the questions at her frantically. mrs. hammond began to whimper, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief. "for heaven's sake, answer me. what have you done with sunny?" "jerry, how can i tell you? jerry--miss falcon-er and i--we--we thought it was for your good. i didn't realise that you c-cared so much about her, and i--and we----oh-h-h," she broke down, crying uncontrolledly, "we have driven that poor little girl out--into the street." "you what? what is that you say?" he stared at his mother with a look of loathing. "jerry, i thought--we thought her bad and we----" "bad! _sunny!_ bad! she didn't know what the word meant. my _god_!" he leaped up the stairs, calling the girl's name aloud, as if to satisfy himself that his mother's story was false, but her empty room told its own tale, and half way across the gallery he came upon hatton. he kicked the valet awake, and the latter raised up, stuttering and blubbering, and extending with shaking hand the letter sunny had left. the words leaped up at him and smote him to the soul. he did not see his mother. he did not hear her cries, imploring him not to go out like that. blindly, his heart on fire, jerry hammond dashed out from his studio, and plunged into the darkening street, to begin his search for the lost sunny, who had disappeared into that maelstrom that is new york. chapter xiv despite all that money and influence could do to aid in the search of the missing girl, no trace of sunny had been found since the day she passed through the door of the studio apartment and disappeared into the seething throngs under the sixth avenue elevated. every policeman in manhattan, brooklyn and the bronx; every private detective in the country, and the police and authorities throughout the country, aided in that search, keen to earn the enormous rewards offered by her friends. jerry's entire fortune was at the disposal of the department. jinx had instructed them to "go the limit" as far as he was concerned. bobs, his newspaper instinct keyed up to the highest tension, saw in every clue a promise of a solution, and "covered" the disappearance day and night. young monty, changed from the cheeriest interne at bellevue to the most pessimistic and gloomy, developed a weird passion for the morgue, and spent hours hovering about that ghastly part of the hospital. the four young men met each night at jerry's studio and cast up their barren results. jinx unashamedly and even noisily wept, the big tears splashing down his no longer ruddy cheeks. jinx had honestly loved sunny, and her loss was the first serious grief of his life. monty hugged his head and ruminated over the darkest possibilities. he had suggested to the police that they drag certain parts of the hudson river, and was indignant when they pointed out the impracticability of such a thing. in the spring the great river was swollen to its highest, and flowing along at a great speed, it would have been impossible to find what monty suggested. jerry, of all her friends, had himself the least under command. he was still nearly crazed by the catastrophe, and unable to sleep or rest, taking little or no nourishment, frantically going from place to place, he returned to his studio to pace up and down, as if half demented. despite the fact that her son seemed scarcely conscious of her existence, and practically ignored her, mrs. hammond continued to remain in the apartment. overwhelmed by remorse and anxiety for her son's health and sanity she could not bring herself to leave, even though she knew at this time her act had driven her son far away from her. a great change was visible in the mother of jerry. for the first time, possibly, she acquired a vague idea of what her son's work and life meant to him, and her conscience smote her when she realised how he had gone ahead with no encouragement or sympathy from home. on the contrary, she and his father had thrown every obstacle in his way. like many self-made men, jerry's father cherished the ambition to perpetuate the business he had successfully built up from what he always called "a shoestring." "i started with just a shoestring," jerry's father was wont to say, "and what's more, _i_ didn't have any education to speak of, yet i beat in the race most of the college bred bunch." however, his parents had had great faith in the change that would come to jerry after matrimony, and miss falconer, being a daughter of hammond, sr.'s, partner, the prospects up to this time had not been without hope. now, jerry's mother, away from the somewhat overpowering influence of his father, was seeing a new light. many a tear she dropped upon jerry's sketch books, and she suffered the pang of one who has had the opportunity to help one she loved, and who has withheld that sorely needed sympathy. for the first time, too, jerry's mother appreciated his right to choose his own love. in their anxiety to select for their son a suitable wife, they had overlooked his own wishes in the matter. now mrs. hammond became poignantly aware of his deep love for this strange girl from japan. she began to feel an unconscious tenderness toward the absent sunny, and gradually became acquainted with the girl's nature through the medium of the left behind treasures and friends. sunny's little mongrel dog, the canaries, the gold fish, the nailed up hole where she had fed the mice, her friend the "janitor gentleman," the black elevator boy, the butcher gentleman, the policeman on the beat who had never failed to return sunny's smiling greeting with a cheery "top o' the morning to yourself, miss," hatton--all these revealed more plainly than words could have told that hers was a sensitive and rare nature. in hatton's case, mrs. hammond found a problem upon her hands. the unfortunate valet blamed himself bitterly for sunny's going. he claimed that he had given his solemn word of honour to sunny, and had broken that word, when he should have been there: "like a man, ma'am, hin the place of mr. 'ammond, ma'am, to take care of miss sunny." far from reproving the man, the conscience-stricken mrs. hammond wept with him, and asked timid questions about the absent one. "miss sunny was not an hordinary young lady, begging your pardon, ma'am. she was what the french would call distankey. she was sweet and hinnercent as a baby lamb, hutterly hunconscious of her hown beauty hand charm. you wouldn't 'ave believed such hinnocence possible in the present day, ma'am, but miss sunny come from a race that's a bit hignorant, ma'am, hand it wasn't her fault that she didn't hunderstan' many of the proper conventions of life. but she was perfectly hinnocent and pure as a lily. hanyone who looked or spoke to 'er once would've seen that, ma'am. it shone right hout of miss sunny's heyes." "i saw it myself," said mrs. hammond, in a low voice. after a long, sniffling pause, hatton said: "begging your pardon, ma'am, i'm thinking that i don't deserve to work for mr. 'ammond any longer, but i 'avent the 'eart to speak to 'im at this time, and if you'll be so kind to hexplain things to 'im, i'll betake myself to some hother abode." "my good man, i am sure that even mr. jerry would not blame you. i am the sole one at fault. i take the full blame. i acknowledge it. i would not have you or anyone else share my guilt, and, hatton, i _want_ to be punished. your conscience, i am sure, is clear, but it would make us all very happy, and i am sure it would make--sunny." she spoke the word hesitatingly--"happy, too, if--if--well, if, my good hatton, you were to turn over a new leaf, and sign the pledge. drink, i feel sure, is your worst enemy. you must overcome it, hatton, or it will overcome you." "hi will, ma'am. hi'll do that. if you'll pardon me now, hi'll step right out and sign the pledge. i know just where to go, if you'll pardon me." hatton did know just where to go. he crossed the park to the east side and came to the brightly lighted salvation army barracks. a meeting was in progress, and a fiery tongued young woman was exhorting all the sinners of the world to come to glory. hatton was fascinated by the groans and loud amens that came from that chorus of human wreckage. pushing nearer to the front, he came under the penetrating eye of the salvation captain. she hailed him as a "brother," and there was something so unswervingly pure in her direct gaze that it had the effect of magnetising hatton. "brother," said the salvation captain, "are you saved?" "no, ma'am," said the unhappy hatton, "but begging your pardon, if it haren't hout of horder, hi'd like to be taking the pledge, ma'am." "nothing is out of order where a human soul is at stake," said the woman, smiling in an exalted way. "lift up your hand, my brother." hatton lifted his shaking hand, and, word for word, he repeated the pledge after the salvation captain. nor was there one in that room who found aught to laugh at in the words of hatton. "hi promise, with god's 'elp," said hatton, "to habstain from the use of halcoholic liquors as a beverage, from chewing tobaccer or speaking profane and himpure languidge." having thus spoken, hatton felt a glow of relief and a sense of transfiguration. he experienced, in fact, that hysterical exhilaration that "converts" feel, as if suddenly he were reborn, and had come out of the mud into the clean air. at such moments martyrs, heroes and saints are made. hatton, the automaton-like valet of the duplex studio, with his "yuman 'ankerings" was afire with a true spiritual fervour. we leave him then marching forth from the barracks with the salvation army, his head thrown up, and singing loudly of glory. * * * * * on the third day after the disappearance of sunny, professor timothy barrowes arrived in new york city with the dinornis skeleton of the quaternary period, dug up from the clay of the red deer cliffs of canada. this precious find was duly transported to the museum of natural history, where it was set up by the skilled hands of college workmen, who were zealots even as the little man who nagged and adjured them as he had the excavators on the red deer river. so absorbed, in fact, was professor barrowes by his fascinating employment, that he left his beloved fossil only when the pressing necessity of further funds from his friend and financial agent (jerry had raised the money to finance the dinornis) necessitated his calling upon jerry hammond, who had made no response to his latter telegrams and letters. accordingly professor barrowes wended his way from the museum to jerry's studio. here, enthused and happy over the success of his trip, he failed to notice the abnormal condition of jerry, whose listless hot hand dropped from his, and whose eye went roving absently above the head of his volubly chattering friend. it was only after the restless and continued pacing of the miserable jerry and the failure to respond to questions put to him continued for some time, that professor barrowes was suddenly apprized that all was not well with his friend. he stopped midway in a long speech in which words like mesozoic, triassic and jurassic prevailed and snapped his glasses suddenly upon his nose. through these he scrutinised the perturbed and oblivious jerry scientifically. the glasses were blinked off. professor barrowes seized the young man by the arm and stopped him as he started to cross the room for possibly the fiftieth time. "come! come! what is it? what is the trouble, lad?" jerry turned his bloodshot eyes upon his old teacher. his unshaven, haggard face, twitching from the effects of his acute nearness to nervous prostration, startled professor barrowes. lack of sleep, refusal of nourishment, the ceaseless search, the agonising fear and anguished longing took their full toll from the unhappy jerry, but as his glance met the firm one of his friend, a tortured cry broke from his lips. "oh, for god's sake, professor barrowes, why did you not come when i asked you to? sunny--_oh, my god!_" professor barrowes had jerry's hand gripped closely in his own, and the disjointed story came out at last. sunny had come! sunny had gone! he loved sunny! he could not live without sunny--but sunny had gone! they had turned her out into the streets--his own mother and miss falconer. for the first time, it may be said, since his discovery of the famous fossil of the red deer river, professor barrowes's mind left his beloved dinornis. he came back solidly to earth, shot back by the calling need of jerry. now the man of science was wide awake, and an upheaval was taking place within him. the words of his first telegram to jerry rattled through his head just then: "the dinornis more important than sunny." now as he looked down on the bowed head of the boy for whom he cherished almost a father's love, professor barrowes knew that all the dried-up fossils of all the ages were as a handful of worthless dust as compared with this single living girl. by main force professor barrowes made jerry lie down on that couch, and himself served him the food humbly prepared by his heartbroken mother, who told jerry's friend with a quivering lip that she felt sure he would not wish to take it from his mother's hands. there was no going out for jerry on that night. his protestations fell on deaf ears, and as a further precaution, professor barrowes secured possession of the key of the apartment. only when the professor pointed out to him the fact that a breakdown on his part would mean the cessation of his search would jerry finally submit to the older man taking his place temporarily. and so, at the telephone, which rang constantly all of that evening, professor barrowes took command. a thousand clues were everlastingly turning up. these were turned over to jinx and bobs, the former flying from one part of the city and country to another in his big car, and the latter, with an army of newspaper men helping him, and given full license by his paper, influenced by the elder hammond and potter. finally, professor barrowes, having given certain instructions to turn telephone calls over to monty in bobs' apartment, sat down to jerry's disordered work table, and, glasses perched on the end of his nose, he sorted out the mail. the afternoon letters still lay unopened, tossed down in despair by jerry, when he failed to find that characteristic writing that he knew was sunny's. but now professor barrowes' head had suddenly jerked forward. his chin came out curiously, and his eyes blinked in amazement behind his glasses. he set them on firmer, fiercely, and slowly reread that two-line epistle. the hand holding the paper shook, but the eyes behind the glasses were bright. "jerry--come hither, young man!" he growled, his dry old face quivering up with something that looked comically like a smile glaring through threatened tears. "read that." across the table jerry reached over and took the letter from the famous steel magnate of new york. he read it slowly, dully, and then with a sense as of something breaking in his head and heart. every word of those two lines sank like balm into his comprehension and consciousness. then it seemed that a surge of blood rushed through his being, blinding him. the world rocked for jerry hammond. he saw a single star gleaming in a firmament that was all black. down into immeasurable depths of space sank jerry hammond. chapter xv sunny, after she left jerry's apartment, might be likened to a little wounded wild thing, who has trailed off with broken wing. she had never consciously committed a wrong act. motherless, worse than fatherless, young, innocent, lovely, how should she fare in a land whose ways were as foreign to that from which she had come as if she had been transplanted to a new planet. as she turned into sixth avenue, under the roaring elevated structure, with its overloaded trains, crammed with the home-going workers of new york, she had no sense of direction and no clear purpose in mind. all she felt was that numb sense of pain at her heart and the impulse to get as far away as possible from the man she loved. swept along by a moving, seething throng that pressed and pushed and shoved and elbowed by her, sunny had a sick sense of home longing, an inexpressible yearning to escape from all this turmoil and noise, this mad rushing and pushing and panting through life that seemed to spell america. she sensed the fact that she was in the land of barbarians, where everyone was racing and leaping and screaming in an hysteria of speed. noise, noise, incessant noise and movement--that was america! no one stopped to think; no polite words were uttered to the stranger. it was all a chaos, a madhouse, wherein dark figures rushed by like shadows in the night and little children played in the mud of the streets. the charming, laughing, pretty days in the shelter of the studio of her friend had passed into this nightmare of the sixth avenue noise, where all seemed ugly, cruel and sinister. life in america was not the charming kindly thing sunny had supposed. beauty indeed she had brought in her heart with her, and that, though she knew it not, was why she had seen only the beautiful; but now, even for her, it had all changed. she had looked into faces full of hatred and malice; she had listened to words that whipped worse than the lash of hirata. as she went along that noisy, crowded avenue, there came, like a breath of spring, a poignant lovely memory of the home she had left. like a vision, the girl saw wide spaces, little blue houses with pink roofs and the lower floor open to the refreshing breezes of the spring. for it was springtime in japan just as it was in new york, and sunny knew that the trees would be freighted with a glorified frost of pink and white blossoms. the wistaria vines would hang in purple glory to peer at their faces in the crystal pools. the fluttering sleeves of the happy picnickers threading through lanes of long slender bamboos. the lotus in the ponds would soon open their white fingers to the sun. rosy cheeked children would laugh at sunny and pelt her with flower petals, and she would call back to them, and toss her fragrant petals back. it was strange as she went along that dirty way that her mind escaped from what was before and on all sides of her, and went out across the sea. she saw no longer the passing throngs. in imagination the girl from japan looked up a hill slope on which a temple shone. its peaks were twisted and the tower of the pagoda seemed ablaze with gold. countless steps led upward to the pagoda, but midway of the steps there was a classic torrii, in which was a small shrine. here on a pedestal, smiling down upon the kneeling penitents, kuonnon, the goddess of mercy, stood. to her now, in the streets of the american city, the girl of japan sent out her petition. "oh, kuonnon, sweet lady of mercy, permit the spirit of my honourable mother to walk with me through these dark and noisy streets." the shining goddess of mercy, trailing her robes among the million stars in the heavens above, surely heard that tiny petition, for certain it is that something warm and comforting swept over the breast of the tired sunny. we know that faith will "remove mountains." sunny's faith in her mother's spirit caused her to feel assured that it walked by her side. the japanese believe that we can think our dead alive, and if we are pure and worthy, we may indeed recall them. it came to pass, that after many hours, during which she walked from th street to th, and from the west to the east side of that avenue, that she stopped before a brightly lighted window, within which cakes and confections were enticingly displayed, and from the cellar of which warm odours of cooking were wafted to the famished girl. sunny's youth and buoyant health responded to that claim. her feet, in the unaccustomed american shoes--in japan she had worn only sandals and clogs--were sore and extremely weary from the long walk, and a sense of intense exhaustion added to that pang of emptiness within. by the baker's window, therefore, on the dingy third avenue of the upper east side, leaned sunny, staring in hungrily at the food so near and yet so far away. she asked herself in her quaint way: "what i are now to do? my honourable insides are ask for food." she answered her own question at once. "i will ask the advice of first person i meet. he will tell me." the streets were in a semi-deserted condition, such as follows after the home-going throngs have been tucked away into their respective abodes. there was a cessation of traffic, only the passing of the trains overhead breaking the hush of early night that comes even in the city of new york. it was now fifteen minutes to nine, and sunny had had nothing to eat since her scant breakfast. kuonnon, her mother's spirit, providence--call it what we may--suffered it that the first person whom sunny was destined to meet should be katy clarry, a product of the teeming east side, a shop girl by trade. she was crossing the street, with her few small packages, revealing her pitiful night marketing at adjacent small shops, when sunny accosted her. "aexcuse me. i lig' ask you question, please," said sunny with timid politeness. "uh-h-h?" miss clarry, her grey, clear eye sweeping the face of sunny in one comprehensive glance that took her "number," stopped short at the curb, and waited for the question. "i are hungry," said sunny simply, "and i have no money and no house in which to sleep these night. what i can do?" "gee!" katy's grey eyes flew wider. the girl before her seemed as far from being a beggar as anyone the east side girl had ever seen. something in the wistful, lovely face looking at her in the dark street tightened that cord that was all mother in the breast of katy clarry. after a moment: "are you stone broke then? out of work? you don't look's if you could buck up against tough luck. what you doin' on the streets? you ain't----? no, you ain't. i needn't insult you by askin' that. where's your home, girl?" "i got no home," said sunny, in a very faint voice. a subtle feeling was stealing over the tired sunny, and the whiteness of her cheeks, the drooping of her eyes, apprized katy of her condition. "say, don't be fallin' whatever you do. you don't want no cop to get 'is hands on you. you come along with me. i ain't got much, but you're welcome to share what i got. i'll stake you till you get a job. heh! get a grip on yourself. there! that's better. hold on to me. i'll put them packages under this arm. we ain't got far to walk. steady now. we don't want no cop to say we're full, because we ain't." katy led the trembling sunny along the dirty, dingy avenue to one of those melancholy side streets of the upper east side. they came to a house whose sad exterior proclaimed what was within. here katy applied her latch key, and in the dark and odorous halls they found their way up four flights of stairs. katy's room was at the far end of a long bare hall, and its dimensions were little more than the shining kitchenette of the studio apartment. katy struck a match, lit a kerosene lamp, and attached to the one half-plugged gas jet a tube at the end of which was a one-burner gas stove. sunny, sitting helplessly on the bed, was too dazed and weary to hold her position for long, and at katy's sharp: "heh, there! lie down," she subsided back upon the bed, sighing with relief as her exhausted body felt the comfort of katy's hard little bed. from sundry places katy drew forth a frying pan, a pitcher of water, a tiny kettle and a teapot. she put two knives and forks and spoons on the table, two cracked plates and two cups. she peeled a single potato, and added it to the two frankfurters frying on the pan. she chattered along as she worked, partly to hide her own feelings, and partly to set the girl at her ease. but indeed sunny was far from feeling an embarrassment such as katy in her place might have felt. the world is full of two kinds of people; those who serve, and those who are served, and to the latter family sunny belonged. not the lazy, wilful parasites of life, but the helpless children, whom we love to care for. katy, glancing with a maternal eye, ever and anon at the so sad and lovely face upon her pillow was curiously touched and animated with a desire to help her. "you're dog-tired, ain't you? how long you been out of work? i always feel more tired when i'm out o' work and looking for a job, than when i got one, though it ain't my idea of a rest exactly to stand on your feet all day long shoving out things you can't afford to have yourself to folks who mostly just want to look 'em over. some of them shoppers love to come in just about closin' hour. they should worry whether the girl behind the counter gets extra pay for overtime or if she's suffering from female weaknesses or not. of course, if i get into one of them big stores downtown, i can give a customer the laugh when the dingdong sounds for closin', but you can't do no such thing in harlem. we're still in the pioneer stage up here. i expect you're more used to the fifth avenue joints. you look it, but, say, i never got a look in at one of them jobs. they favour educated girls, and i ain't packed with learning, i'm telling the world." sunny said: "you loog good to me,"--a favourite expression of jerry's, and something in her accent and the earnestness with which she said it warmed katy, who laughed and said: "oh, go on. i ain't much on looks neither. there, now. draw up. all--l-ler _ready_! dinner is served. stay where you are on the bed. drop your feet over. i ain't got but the one chair, and i'll have it meself, thank you, don't mention it." katy pushed the table beside the bed, drew her own chair to the other side, set the kettle on the jet which the frying pan had released and proudly surveyed her labour. "not much, but looks pretty good to me. if there's one thing i love it is a hot dog." she put on sunny's plate the largest of the two frankfurters and three-quarters of the potato, cut her a generous slice of bread and poured most of the gravy on her plate, saying: "i always say sausage gravy beats anything in the butter line. tea'll be done in a minute, dearie. ain't got but one burner. gee! i wisht i had one of them two deckers that you can cook a whole meal at once with. ever seen 'em? how's your dog?" "dog?" "frankfurter--weeny, or in polite speech, sausage, dearie." "how it is good," said sunny with simple eloquence. "i thang you how much." "don't mention it. you're welcome. you'd do the same for me if i was busted. i always say one working girl should stake the other when the other is out of work and broke. there's unity in strength," quoted katy with conviction. "have some more--do! dip your bread in the gravy. pretty good, ain't it, if i do say it who shouldn't." "it mos' nices' food i are ever taste," declared sunny earnestly. while the tea was going into the cups: "my name's katy clarry. what's yours?" asked katy, a sense of well-being and good humour toward the world flooding her warm being. "sunny." "sunny! that's a queer name. gee! ain't it pretty? what's your other name?" "sindicutt." "sounds kind o' foreign. what are you, anyway? you ain't american--at least you don't look it or talk it, though heaven knows anything and everything calls itself american to-day," said the native-born american girl with scorn. "meaning no offence, you understand, but--well--you just don't look like the rest of us. you ain't a dago or a sheeny. i can see that, and you ain't a hun neither. are you a frenchy? you got queer kind of eyes--meaning no offence, for personally i think them lovely, i really do. i seen actresses with no better eyes than you got." katy shot her questions at sunny, without waiting for an answer. sunny smiled sadly. "katy, i are sawry thad i am not be american girl. i are born ad japan----" "_you_ ain't no chink. you can't tell me no such thing as that. i wasn't born yesterday. what are you, anyway? where do you come from? are you a royal princess in disguise?" the latter question was put jocularly, but katy in her imaginative way was beginning to question whether her guest might not in fact be some such personage. an ardent reader of the yellow press, by inheritance a romantic dreamer, in happier circumstances katy might have made a place for herself in the artistic world. her sordid life had been ever glorified by her extravagant dreams in which she moved as a princess in a realm where princes and lord and kings and dukes abounded. "no, i are not princess," said sunny sadly. "i not all japanese, katy, jos liddle bit. me? i got three kind of blood on my insides. i sawry thad my ancestors put them there. i are japanese and russian and american." "gee! you're what we call a mongrel. meaning no offence. you can't help yourself. personally i stand up first for the home-made american article but i ain't got no prejudice against no one. and anyway, you can _grow_ into an american if you want to. now we women have got the francheese, we got the right to vote and be nachelised too if we want to. so even if you have a yellow streak in you--and looking at you, i'd say it was gold moren't yellow--you needn't tell no one about it. no one'll be the wiser. you can trust me not to open my mouth to a living soul about it. what you've confided in me about being partly chink is just as if you had put the inflammation in a tomb. and it ain't going to make the least bit of difference between us. try one of them uneeda crackers. sop it in your tea now you're done with your gravy. pretty good, ain't it? i'll say it is." "katy, to-night i are going to tell you some things about me, bi-cause i know you are my good frien' now forever. i lig' your kind eye, katy." "go on! you're kiddin' me, sunny. if i had eyes like yours, it'd be a different matter. but i'm stuck on the idea of having you for a friend just the same. i ain't had a chum since i don't know when. if you knew what them girls was like in bamberger's--well, i'm not talkin' about no one behind their backs, but, say--sunny, i could tell you a thing or two'd make your hair stand on end. and as for tellin' me about your own past, say if you'll tell me yours, i'll tell you mine. i always say that every girl has some tradgedy or other in her life. mine began on the lower east side. i graduated up here, sunny. it ain't nothing to brag about, but it's heaven compared with what's downtown. i used to live in that gutter part of the town where god's good air is even begrudged you, and where all the dirty forriners and chinks--meanin' no offence, dearie, and i'll say for the chinks, that compared with some of them russian jews--gee! you're russian too, ain't you, but i don't mean no offence! take it from me, sunny, some of them east side forriners--i'll call them just that to avoid givin' offence--are just exactly like lice, and the smells down there--gee! the stock yards is a flower garden compared with it. well, we come over--my folks did--i was born there--i'm a real american, sunny. look me over. it won't hurt your eyes none. my folks come over from ireland. my mother often told me that they thought the streets of new york were just running with gold, before they come out. that simple they were, sunny. but the gold was nothing but plain, rotten dust. it got into the lungs and the spine of them all. father went first. then mother. lord only knows how they got it--doctor said it was from the streets, germs that someone maybe dumped out and come flyin' up into our place that was the only clean spot in the tenement house, i'll say that for my mother. there was two kids left besides me. i was the oldes' and not much on age at that, but i got me a job chasin' around for a millinery shop, and i did my best by the kids when i got home nights; but the cards was all stacked against me, sunny, and when that infantile parallysus come on the city, the first to be took was my k-kid brother, and me li-little s-sister she come down with it too and--ah-h-h-h!" katy's head went down on the table, and she sobbed tempestuously. sunny, unable to speak the words of comfort that welled up in her heart, could only put her arms around katy, and mingle her tears with hers. katy removed a handkerchief from the top of her waist, dabbed her eyes fiercely, shared the little ball with sunny, and then thrust it down the neck of her waist again. bravely she smiled at sunny again. "there yoh got the story of the clarry's of the east side of new york, late of limerick, ireland. you can't beat it for--for tradgedy, now can you? so spiel away at your own story, sunny. i'm thinkin' you'll have a hard time handin' me out a worse one than me own. don't spare me, kid. i'm braced for anything in this r-rotten world." chapter xvi it was well for sunny that her new friend was endowed with a generous and belligerent nature. having secured for sunny a position at the bamberger emporium, katy's loyalty to her friend was not dampened when on the third day sunny was summarily discharged. hands on hips, katy flew furiously to her brother's defence, and for the benefit of her brother and sister workers she relieved herself loudly of all her pent-up rage of the months. in true union style, katy marched out with sunny. the excuse for discharging sunny was that she did not write well enough to fill out the sales slips properly. nasty as the true reason was, there is no occasion to set forth the details here. suffice it to say that the two girls, both rosy from excitement and wrath, arm and arm marched independently forth from the emporium, katy loudly asserting that she would sue for her half week's pay, and sunny anxiously drawing her along, her breath coming and going with the fright she had had. "gee!" snorted katy, as they turned into the street on which was the dingy house in which they lived, "it did my soul good to dump its garbage on that pie-faced, soapy-eyed monk. you don't know what i been through since i worked for them people. you done me a good turn this mornin' when you let out that scream. i'd been expecting something like that ever since he dirtied you with his eyes. that's why i was hangin' around the office, in spite of the ribbon sales, when you went in. well, here we are!" here they were indeed, back in the small ugly room of that fourth floor, sitting, the one on the ricketty chair, and the other on the side of the hard bed. but the eyes of youth are veiled in sun and rose. they see nor feel not the filth of the world. sunny and katy, out of a job, with scarcely enough money between them to keep body and soul together, were yet able to laugh at each other and exchange jokes over the position in which they found themselves. after they had "chewed the rag," as katy expressively termed it, for awhile, that brisk young person removed her hat, rolled up her sleeves, and declared she would do the "family wash." "it's too late now," said katy, "to job hunt this morning. so i'll do the wash, and you waltz over across the street and do the marketin'. here's ten cents, and get a wiggle on you, because it's . now, and i got a plan for us two. i'll tell you what it is. there ain't no hurry. just wait a bit, dearie. first we'll have a bite to eat, though i'm not hungry myself. i always say, though, you can land a job better on a full than a empty stomach. well, lunch packed away in us, little you and me trots downtown--not to no th street, mind you, but downtown, to fifth avenoo, where the swell shops are, do you get me? i'd a done this long ago, for they say it's as easy to land on fifth avenoo as it is on third. it's like goods, sunny. the real silk is cheaper than the fake stuff, because it lasts longer and is wider, but if one ain't got the capital to invest in it in the first place, why you just have to make the best of the imitation cheese. if i could of dolled myself up like them girls that hold down the jobs on fifth avenoo, say, you can take it from me, i'd a made some of them henna-haired ladies look like thirty cents. now _you_ got the looks, and you got the clothes too. that suit you're wearin' don't look like no million dollars, but it's got a kick to it just the same. the goods is real. i been lookin' at it. where'd you get it?" "i get that suit ad japan, katy." "japan! what are you givin' us? you can't tell me no chink ever made a suit like that." sunny nodded vigorously. "yes, katy, japanese tailor gentleman make thad suit. he copy it from american suit just same on lady at hotel, and he tell me that he are just like twin suits." "i take off my hat to that chink, though i always have heard they was great on copying. however, it's unmaterial who made it, and it don't detract from its looks, and no one will be the wiser that a chink tailor made it. you can trust me not to open my mouth. the main thing is that that suit and your face--and everything about you is going to make a hit on fifth avenoo. you see how bamberger fell for you at the drop, and you could be there still and have the best goin' if you was like some ladies i know, though i'm not mentionin' no names. i'm not that kind, sunny. now, here's my scheme, and see if you can beat it. your face and suit'll land the jobs for us. my brains'll hold 'em for us. do you get me? you'll accept a position--you don't say job down there--only on condition that they take your friend--that's me--too. then together we prove the truth of 'unity being strength.' we'll hang together. said lincoln" (katy raised her head with true solemnity): '"together we rise, divided we fall!' shake on that, sunny." shake they did. "now you skedaddle off for that meat. ask for dog. it goes farther and is fillin'. give the butcher the soft look, and he'll give you your money's worth--maybe throw in an extra dog for luck." at the butcher shop, sunny, when her turn came, favoured the plump gentleman behind the counter to such an engaging smile that he hurriedly glanced about him to see if the female part of his establishment were around. the coast clear, he returned the smile with interest. leaning gracefully upon the long bloody butcher knife in one hand, the other toying with a juicy sirloin, he solicited the patronage of the smiling sunny. she put her ten cents down, and continuing the smile, said: "please you give me plenty dog meat for those money." "surest thing," said the flattered butcher. "i got a pile just waitin' for a customer like you." he disappeared into a hole in the floor, and returned up the ladder shortly, bearing an extremely large package, which he handed across to the surprised and overjoyed sunny, who cried: "ho! i are thang you. how you are kind. i thang you very moach. good-aday!" it so happened that when sunny had come out of the house upon that momentous marketing trip a pimply-faced youth was lolling against the railing of the house next door. his dress and general appearance made him conspicuous in that street of mean and poverty-stricken houses, for he wore the latest thing in short pinch-back coats, tight trousers raised well above silk-clad ankles, pointed and polished tan shoes, a green tweed hat and a cane and cigarette loosely hung in a loose mouth. a harmless enough looking specimen of the male family at first sight, yet one at which the sophisticated members of the same sex would give a keen glance and then turn away with a scowl of aversion and rage. society has classified this type of parasite inadequately as "cadet," but the neighbourhood in which he thrives designates him with one ugly and expressive term. as sunny came out of the house and ran lightly across the street, the youth wagged his cigarette from the corner of one side of his mouth to the other, squinted appraisingly at the hurrying girl, and then followed her across the street. through the opened door of the kosher butcher shop, he heard the transaction, and noted the joy of sunny as the great package was transferred to her arms. as she came out of the shop, hurrying to bear the good news to katy, she was stopped at the curb by the man, his hat gracefully raised, and a most ingratiating smile twisting his evil face into a semblance of what might have appeared attractive to an ignorant and weak minded girl. "i beg your pardon, miss--er--levine. i believe i met you at a friend's house." "you are mistake," said sunny. "my name are not those. good-a-day!" he continued to walk by her side, murmuring an apology for the mistake, and presently as if just discovering the package she carried, he affected concern. "allow me to carry that for you. it's entirely too heavy for such pretty little arms as yours." "thang you. i lig' better carry him myself," said sunny, holding tightly to her precious package. still the pimpled faced young man persisted at her side, and as they reached the curb, his hand at her elbow, he assisted her to the sidewalk. standing at the foot of the front steps, he practically barred her way. "you live here?" "yes, i do so." "i believe i know mrs. munson, the lady that keeps this house. relative of yours?" "no, i are got no relative." "all alone here?" "no, i got frien' live wiz me. aexcuse me. i are in hoarry eat my dinner." "i wonder if i know your friend. what is his name?" "his name are katy." "ah, don't hurry. i believe, now i think of it, i know katy. what's the matter with your comin' along and havin' dinner with me." "thang you. my frien' are expect me eat those dinner with her." "that's all right. i have a friend too. bring katy along, and we'll all go off for a blowout. what do you say? a sweet little girl like you don't need to be eatin' dog meat. i know a swell place where we can get the best kind of eats, a bit of booze to wash it down and music and dancing enough to make you dizzy. what do you say?" he smiled at sunny in what he thought was an irresistible and killing way. it revealed three decayed teeth in front, and brought his shifty eyes into full focus upon the shrinking girl. "i go ask my frien'," she said hurriedly. "aexcuse me now. you are stand ad my way." he moved unwillingly to let her pass. "surest thing. more the merrier. let's go up and get katy. what floor you on?" "i bring katy down," said sunny breathlessly, and running by the pasty faced youth, she opened the door, and closed it quickly behind her, shooting the lock closed. she ran up the stairs, as if pursued, and burst breathlessly into the little room where katy was singing a ditty composed to another of her name, and pasting her lately washed handkerchiefs upon the window pane and mirror. beautiful k-katy--luvully katy! you're the only one that ever i adore, wh-en the moon shines, on the cow shed, i'll be w-waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door!" sang the light-hearted and valiant katy clarry. "oh, katy," cried sunny breathlessly. "here are those dog." she laid the huge package before the amazed and incredulous katy. "for the love of mike! did schmidt sell you a whole cow?" katy tore the wrappings aside, and revealed the contents of the package. an assortment of bones of all sizes, large and small, a few pieces of malodorous meat, livers, lights and guts, and the insides of sundry chickens. katy sat down hard, exclaiming: "good night! what did you ask for?" "i ask him for dog meat," excitedly and indignantly declared sunny. "you got it! you poor simp. heaven help you. never mind, there's no need now of crying over spilled beans. it's too late now to change, so here's where we kiss our lunch a long and last farewell, and do some hustling downtown." "oh, katy, i am thad sorry!" cried sunny tragically. "it's all right, dearie. don't you worry. you can't help being ignorant. i ain't hungry myself anyway, and you're welcome to the cracker there. that'll do till we get back, and then, why, i believe we can boil some of them bones and get a good soup. i always say soup is just as fillin' as anything else, especially if you put a onion in it, and have a bit of bread to sop it up with, and i got the onion all right. so cheer up, we'll soon be dead and the worst is yet to come." "katy, there are a gentleman down on those street, who are want give us nize dinner to eat, with music and some danze. me? i am not care for those music, but i lig' eat those dinner, and i lig' also thad you eat him." "gentleman, huh?" katy's head cocked alertly. "yes, he speak at me on the street, and he say he take me and my frien' out to nize dinner. he are wait in those street now." katy went to the window, leaned far out, saw the man on the street, and drew swiftly in, her face turning first white, then red. "sunny, ain't you got any better sense than speak to a man on the street?" "ho, katy, i din nod speag ad those man," declared sunny indignantly. "he speag ad me, and i do nod lig' hees eye. i do nod lig' hees mout', nor none of hees face, but i speag perlite bi-cause he are ask me eat those dinner." "well, you poor little simp, let me tell you who _that_ is. he's the dirtiest swine in harlem. you're muddied if he looks at you. he's--he's--i can't tell you what he is, because you're so ignorunt you wouldn't understand. you and me go out with the likes of him! sa-ay, i'd rather duck into a sewer. i'd come out cleaner, believe me. now watch how little k-k-k-katy treats that kind of dirt." she transferred the more decayed of the meat and bones from the package to the pail of water which had recently served for her "family wash." this she elevated to the window, put her head out, and as if sweetly to signal the waiting one below, she called: "hi-yi-yi-yi--i-i!" and as the man below looked up expectantly, she gave him the full benefit of the pail's contents in his upturned face. the sight of the drenched, spluttering and foully swearing rat on the street below struck the funny side of the two young girls. clinging together, they burst into laughter, holding their sides, and with their young heads tossed back; but their laughter had an element of hysteria to it, and when at last they stopped, and the stream of profanity from below continued to pour into the room, katy soberly closed the window. for a while they stared at each other in a scared silence. then katy, squaring her shoulders, belligerently said: "well, we should worry over that one." sunny was standing now by the bureau. a very thoughtful expression had come to sunny's face, and she opened the top drawer and drew out her little package. "katy," she said softly, "here are some little thing ad these package, which mebbe it goin' to help us." "say, i been wonderin' what you got in that parcel ever since you been here. i'd a asked you, but as you didn't volunteer no inflamation, i was too much of a lady to press it, and i'm telling the world, i'd not open no package the first time myself, without knowin' what was in it, especially as that one looks kind of mysteriees and foreign looking. i heard about a lady named pandora something and when she come to open a box she hadn't no right to open, it turned into smoke and she couldn't get it back to where she wanted it to go. what you got there, dearie, if it ain't being too personal to ask? i'll bet you got gold and diamonds hidden away somewhere." sunny was picking at the red silk cord. lovingly she unwrapped the japanese paper. the touch of her fingers on her mother's things was a caress and had all the reverence that the japanese child pays in tribute to a departed parent. "these honourable things belong my mother," said sunny gently. "she have give them to me when she know she got die. see, katy, this are kakemona. it very old, mebbe one tousan' year ole. it belong at grade prince of satsuma. thas my mother ancestor. this kakemona, it are so ole as those ancestor," said sunny reverently. "old! gee, i should say it is. looks as if it belonged in a tomb. you couldn't hock nothing like that, dearie, meanin' no offence. what else you got?" "the poor simp!" said katy to herself, as sunny drew forth her mother's veil. in the gardens of the house of a thousand joys the face of the dancer behind the shimmering veil had aroused the enthusiasm of her admirers. now katy bit off the words that were about to explain to sunny that in her opinion a better veil could be had at dacy's for ninety-eight cents. all she said, however, was: "you better keep the veil, sunny. i know how one feels about a mother's old duds. i got a pair of shoes of my mother's that nothing could buy from me, though they ain't much to look at; but i know how you feel about them things, dearie." "this," said sunny, with shining eyes, "are my mother's fan. see, katy, takamushi, a grade poet ad japan, are ride two poem on thad fan and present him to my mother. thad is grade treasure. i do nod lig' to sell those fan." "i wouldn't. you just keep it, dearie. we ain't so stone broke that you have to sell your mother's fan." "these are flower that my mother wear ad her hair when she danze, katy." the big artificial poppies that once had flashed up on either side of the dancer's lovely face, sunny now pressed against her cheek. "ain't they pretty?" said katy, pretending an enthusiasm she did not feel. "you could trim a hat with them if flowers was in fashion this year, but they ain't, dearie. the latest thing is naked hats, sailors, like you got, or treecornes, with nothing on them except the lines. what's that you got there, sunny?" "that are a letter, katy. my mother gave me those letter. she say that some day mebbe i are need some frien'. then i must put those letter at post office box, or i must take those letter in my hand to thad man it are write to. he are frien' to me, my mother have said." katy grabbed the letter, disbelieving her eyes when she read the name inscribed in the thin japanese hand. it was addressed both in english and japanese, and the name was, stephen holt wainwright, broadway, new york city. "someone hold me up," cried katy. "i'm about to faint dead away." "oh, katy, do not be dead away! oh, katy, do not do those faint. here are those cracker. i am not so hungry as you." "my lord! you poor ignorunt little simp, don't you reckernise when a fellow is fainting with pure unadulterated joy? how long have you had that letter?" "four year now," said sunny sadly, thinking of the day when her mother had placed it in her hand, and of the look on the face of that mother. "why did you never mail it?" "i was await, katy. i are not need help. i have four and five good frien' to me then, and i do not need nuther one; but now i are beggar again. i nod got those frien's no more. i need those other one." "were you ever a _beggar_, sunny?" "oh, yes, katy, some time my mother and i we beg for something eat at japan. thad is no disgrace. the gods love those beggar jos' same rich man, and when he go on long journey to those meido, mebbe rich man go behind those beggar. i are hear thad at japan." "do you know who this letter is addressed to, dearie?" "no, katy, i cannot read so big a name. my mother say he will be frien' to me always." "sunny, i pity you for your ignorunce, but i don't hold it against you. you was born that way. why, a child could read that name. goodness knows i never got beyond the third grade, yet i _hope_ i'm able to read that. it says as plain as the nose on your face, sunny: stephen holt wainwright. now that's the name of one of the biggest guns in the country. he's a u. s. senator, or was and is, and he's so rich that he has to hire twenty or fifty cashiers to count his income that rolls in upon him from his vast estates. if you weren't so ignorunt, sunny, you'd a read about him in the _journal_. gee! his picture's in nearly every day, and pictures of his luxurious home and yacht and horses and wife, who's one of the big nobs in this suffrage scare. they call him 'the man of steel,' because he owns most of the steel in the world, and because he's got a mug--a face--on him like a steel trap. that's what i've heard and read, though i've never met the gentleman. i expect to, however, very soon, seeing he's a friend of yours. and now, lovey, don't waste no more tears over that other bunch of ginks, because this senator wainwright has got them all beat in the marathon." "katy, this letter are written by my mother ad the japanese language. mebbe those sen--a--tor kinnod read them. what i shall do?" "what you shall do, baby mine? did you think i was goin' to let precious freight like that go into any post box. perish the idea, lovey. you and me are going to waltz downtown to broadway, and we ain't going to do no walking what's more. the subway for little us. i'm gambling on mr. senator passing along a job to friends of his friends. get your hat on now, and don't answer back neither." on the way downstairs she gave a final stern order to sunny. "hold your hat pin in your hand as we come out. if his nibs so much as opens his face to you, jab him in the eye. i'll take care of the rest of him." thus bravely armed, the two small warriors issued forth, the general marshalling her army of one, with an elevated chin and nose and an eye that scorched from head to foot the craven looking object waiting for them on the street. "come along, dearie. be careful you don't get soiled as we pass." laughing merrily, the two girls, with music in their souls, danced up the street, their empty stomachs and their lost jobs forgotten. when they reached the subway, katy seized sunny's hand, and they raced down the steps just as the south ferry train pulled in. chapter xvii that was a long and exciting ride for sunny. above the roar of the rushing train katy shouted in her ear. perfectly at home in the subway, katy did not let a little thing like mere noise deter the steady flow of her tongue. the gist of her remarks came always back to what sunny was to do when they arrived at broadway; how she was to look; how speak. she was to bear in mind that she was going into the presence of american royalty, and she was to be neither too fresh nor yet too humble. americans, high and low, so katy averred, liked folks that had a kick to them, but not too much of a kick. sunny was to find out whether at some time or other in the past, senator wainwright had not put himself under deep obligations to some member of sunny's family. perhaps some of her relatives might have saved the life of this senator. even chinks were occasionally heroes, katy had heard. it might be, on the other hand, said katy, that sunny's mother had something "on" the senator. so much the better. katy had no objection, so she said, to the use of a bit of refined ladylike blackmail, for "the end justifies the means," said katy, quoting, so she said, from lincoln, the source of all her aphorisms. anyway, the long and short of it was, said katy, that sunny was on no account to get cold feet. she was to enter the presence of the mighty man with dignity and coolness. "keep your nerve whatever you do," urged katy. then once eye to eye with the man of power, she was to ask--it was possible, she might even be able to demand--certain favours. "ask and it shall be given to you. shut your mouth and it'll be taken away. that's how things go in this old world," said katy. sunny was to make application in both their names. if there were no vacancies in the senator's office, then she would delicately suggest that the senator could make such a vacancy. such things were done within katy's own experience. katy had no difficulty in locating the monstrous office building, and she led sunny along to the elevator with the experienced air of one used to ascending skyward in the crowded cars. sunny held tight to her arm as they made the breathless ascent. there was no need to ask direction on the th floor, since the wainwright structural steel company occupied the entire floor. it was noon hour, and katy and sunny followed several girls returning from lunch through the main entrance of the offices. a girl at a desk in the reception hall stopped them from penetrating farther into the offices by calling out: "no admission there. who do you want to see? name, please." katy swung around on her heel, and recognising a kindred spirit in the girl at the desk, she favoured her with an equally haughty and glassy stare. then in a very superior voice, katy replied: "we are friends of the senator. kindly announce us, if you please." a grin slipped over the face of the maiden at the desk, and she shoved a pad of paper toward katy. opposite the word "name" on the pad, katy wrote, "miss sindicutt." opposite the word: "business" she wrote "private and personal and intimate." the girl at the desk glanced amusedly at the pad, tore the first sheet off, pushed a button which summoned an office boy, to whom she handed the slip of paper. with one eye turned appraisingly upon the girls, he went off backwards, whistling, and disappeared through the little swinging gate that opened apparently into the great offices beyond. "i beg your pardon?" said katy to the girl at the desk. "i didn't say nothing," returned the surprised maiden. "i thought you said 'be seated.' i will, thank you. don't mention it," and katy grinned with malicious politeness on the discomfited young person, who patted her coiffure with assumed disdain. katy meanwhile disposed herself on the long bench, drew sunny down beside her, and proceeded to scrutinise and comment on all passers through the main reception hall into the offices within. once in a while she resumed her injunctions to sunny, as: "now don't be gettin' cold feet whatever you do. there ain't nothing to be afraid of. a cat may look at a king, him being the king and you the cat. no offence, dearie. ha, ha, ha! that's just my way of speaking. say, sunny, would you look at her nibs at the desk there. gee! ain't that a job? some snap, i'll say. nothin' to do, but give everyone the once over, push a button and send a boy to carry in your names. say, if you're a true friend of mine, you'll land me that job. it'd suit me down to a double tee." "katy, i goin' try get you bes' job ad these place. i am not so smart like you, katy----" "oh, well, you can't help that, dearie, and you got the face all right." "face is no matter. my mother are tell me many time, it is those heart that matter." "_sounds_ all right, and i ain't questionin' your mother's opinion, sunny, but you take it from me, you can go a darn sight further in this old world with a face than a heart." a man had come into the reception room from the main entrance. he started to cross the room directly to the little swinging door, then stopped to speak to a clerk at a wicket window. something about the sternness of his look, an air savouring almost of austerity aroused the imp in katy. "well, look who's here," she whispered behind her hand to sunny. "now watch little k-k-katy." as the man turned from the window, and proceeded toward the door, katy shot out her foot, and the man abstractedly stumbled against it. he looked down at the girl, impudently staring him out of countenance, and frowned at her exaggerated: "i _beg_ your pardon!" then his glance turning irritably from katy, rested upon sunny's slightly shocked face? he stopped abruptly, standing perfectly still for a moment, staring down at the girl. then with a muttered apology, senator wainwright turned and went swiftly through the swinging door. "well, of _all_ the nerve!" said katy. then to the girl at the desk: "who was his nibs?" "why, your friend, of course. i'm surprised you didn't recognise him," returned the girl sweetly. "him--senator wainwright." "the papers sometimes call him 'the man of steel,' but of course, intimate friends like you and your friend there probably call him by a nickname." "sure we do," returned katy brazenly. "i call him 'sen-sen' for short. i'd a known him in an instant with his hat off." "i want to know!" gibed the girl at the desk. the boy had returned, and thrusting his head over the short gate sang out: "this way, please, la-adies!" katy and sunny followed the boy across an office where many girls and men were working at desks. the click of a hundred typewriters, and the voices dictating into dictagraphs and to books impressed katy, but with her head up she swung along behind the boy. at a door marked "miss hollowell, private," the boy knocked. a voice within bade him "come," and the two girls were admitted. miss hollowell, a clear-eyed young woman of the clean-cut modern type of the efficient woman executive, looked up from her work and favoured them with a pleasant smile. "what can i do for you?" the question was directed at katy, but her trained eye went from katy to sunny, and there remained in speculative inquiry. "we have come to call upon the senator," said katy, "on important and private business." katy was gripping to that something she called her "nerve," but her manner to miss hollowell had lost the gibing patronising quality she had affected to the girl at the door. acute street gamin, as was katy, she had that unerring gift of sizing up human nature at a glance, a gift not unsimilar in fact to that possessed by the secretary of senator wainwright. miss hollowell smiled indulgently at katy's words. "_i_ see. well now, i'll speak for mr. wainwright. what can we do for you?" "nothing. _you_ can't do nothing," said katy. she was not to be beguiled by the smile of this superior young person. "my friend here--meet miss sindicutt--has a personal letter for senator wainwright, and she's takin' my advice not to let it out of her hands into any but his." "i'm awfully sorry, because mr. wainwright is very busy, and can't possibly see you. i believe i will answer the purpose as well. i'm mr. wainwright's secretary." "we don't want to speak to no secretary," said katy. "i always say: 'go to the top. slide down if you must. you can't slide up.'" miss hollowell laughed. "oh, very well then. perhaps some other time, but we're especially busy to-day, so i'm going to ask you to excuse us. _good_-day." she turned back to the papers on her desk, her pencil poised above a sheet of estimates. katy pushed sunny forward, and in dumb show signified that she should speak. miss hollowell glanced up and regarded the girl with singular attention. something in the expression, something in the back of the secretary's mind that concerned japan, which this strange girl had now mentioned caused her to wait quietly for her to finish the sentence. sunny held out the letter, and miss hollowell saw that fine script upon the envelope, with the japanese letters down the side. "this are a letter from japan," said sunny. "if you please i will lig' to give those to sen--thad is so big a name for me to say." the last was spoken apologetically and brought a sympathetic smile from miss hollowell. "can't i read it? i'm sure i can give you what information you want as well as mr. wainwright can." "it are wrote in japanese," said sunny. "you cannot read that same. _please_ you let me take it to thad gentleman." miss hollowell, with a smile, arose at that plea. she crossed the room and tapped on the door bearing the senator's name. even in a city where offices of the new york magnates are sometimes as sumptuously furnished as drawing rooms, the great room of senator wainwright was distinctive. the floor was strewn with priceless persian and chinese rugs, which harmonised with the remarkable walls, panelled half way up with mahogany, the upper part of which was hung with masterpieces of the american painters, whose work the steel magnate especially favoured. stephen wainwright was seated at a big mahogany desk table, that was at the far end of the room, between the great windows, which gave upon a magnificent view of the hudson river and part of the harbor. he was not working. his elbows on the desk, he seemed to be staring out before him in a mood of strange abstraction. his face, somewhat stony in expression, with straight grey eyes that had a curious trick when turned on one of seeming to pin themselves in an appraising stare, his iron grey hair and the grey suit which he invariably wore had given him the name of "the man of steel." miss hollowell, with her slightly professional smile, laid the slip of paper on the desk before him. "a miss sindicutt. she has a letter for you--a letter from japan she says. she wishes to deliver it in person." at the word "japan" he came slightly out of his abstraction, stared at the slip of paper, and shook his head. "don't know the name." "yes, i knew you didn't; but, still, i believe i'd see her if i were you." "very well. send her in." miss hollowell at the door nodded brightly to sunny, but stayed katy, who triumphantly was pushing forward. "sorry, but mr. wainwright will see just miss sindicutt." sunny went in alone. she crossed the room hesitantly and stood by the desk of the steel magnate, waiting for him to speak to her. he remained unmoving, half turned about in his seat, staring steadily at the girl before him. if a ghost had arisen suddenly in his path, senator wainwright could not have felt a greater agitation. after a long pause, he found his voice, murmuring: "i beg your pardon. be seated, please." sunny took the chair opposite him. their glances met and remained for a long moment locked. then the man tried to speak lightly: "you wished to see me. what can i do for you?" sunny extended the letter. when he took it from her hand, his face came somewhat nearer to hers, and the closer he saw that young girl's face, the greater grew his agitation. "what is your name?" he demanded abruptly. "sunny," said the girl simply, little dreaming that she was speaking the name that the man before her had himself invented for her seventeen and a half years before. the word touched some electrical cord within him. he started violently forward in his seat, half arising, and the letter in his hand dropped on the table before him face up. a moment of gigantic self-control, and then with fingers that shook, stephen wainwright slipped the envelope open. the words swam before him, but not till they were indelibly printed upon the man's conscience-stricken heart. through blurred vision he read the message from the dead to the living. "on this sixth day of the season of little plenty. a thousand years of joy. it is your honourable daughter, who knows not your name, who brings or sends to you this my letter. i go upon the long journey to the meido. i send my child to him through whom she has her life. sayonara. haru-no." for a long, long time the man sat with his two hands gripped before him on the desk, steadily looking at the girl before him, devouring every feature of the well-remembered face of the child he had always loved. it seemed to him that she had changed not at all. his little sunny of those charming days of his youth had that same crystal look of supreme innocence, a quality of refinement, a fragrance of race that seemed to reach back to some old ancestry, and put its magic print upon the exquisite young face. he felt he must have been blind not to have recognised his own child the instant his eye had fallen upon her. he knew now what that warm rush of emotion had meant when he had looked at her in that outer office. it was the intuitive instinct that his own child was near--the only child he had ever had. by exercising all the self-control that he could command, he was at last able to speak her name, huskily. "sunny, don't you remember me?" like her father, sunny was addicted to moments of abstraction. she had allowed her gaze to wander through the window to the harbour below, where she could see the great ships at their moorings. it made her think of the one she had come to america on, and the one on which jerry had sailed away from japan. painfully, wistfully, she brought her gaze back to her father's face. at his question she essayed a little propitiating smile. "mebbe i are see you face on american ad-ver-tise-ment. i are hear you are very grade man ad these america," said the child of stephen wainwright. he winced, and yet grew warm with pride and longing at the girl's delicious accent. he, too, tried to smile back at her, but something sharp bit at the man's eyelids. "no, sunny. try and think. throw your mind far back--back to your sixth year, if that may be." sunny's eyes, resting now in troubled question upon the face before her, grew slowly fixed and enlarged. through the fogs of memory slowly, like a vision of the past, she seemed to see again a little child in a fragrant garden. she was standing by the rim of a pool, and the man opposite her now was at her side. he was dressed in japanese kimona and hakama, and sunny remembered that then he was always laughing at her, shaking the flower weighted trees above her, till the petals fell in a white and pink shower upon her little head and shoulders. she was stretching out her hands, catching the falling blossoms, and, delightedly exclaiming that the flying petals were tiny birds fluttering through the air. she was leaning over the edge of the pool, blowing the petals along the water, playing with her father that they were white prayer ships, carrying the petitions to the gods who waited on the other side. she remembered drowsing against the arm of the man; of being tossed aloft, her face cuddled against his neck; of passing under the great wistaria arbour. ah, yes! how clearly she recalled it now! as her father transferred her to her mother's arms, he bent and drew that mother into his embrace also. two great tears welled up in the eyes of sunny, but ere they could fall, the distance between her and her father had vanished. stephen wainwright, kneeling on the floor by his long-lost child, had drawn her hungrily into his arms. "my own little girl!" said "the man of steel." chapter xviii stephen wainwright, holding his daughter jealously in his arms, felt those long-locked founts of emotion that had been pent up behind his steely exterior bursting all bounds. he had the immense feeling that he wanted for evermore to cherish and guard this precious thing that was all his own. "our actions are followed by their consequences as surely as a body by its shadow," says the japanese proverb, and that cruel act of his mad youth had haunted the days of this man, who had achieved all that some men sell their souls for in life. and yet the greatest of all prizes had escaped him--peace of mind. even now, as he held sunny in his arms, he was consumed by remorse and anguish. in his crowded life of fortune and fame, and a social career at the side of the brilliant woman who bore his name, stephen wainwright's best efforts had been unavailing to obliterate from his memory that tragic face that like a flower petal on a stream he had so lightly blown away. o-haru-no was her name then, and she was the child of a japanese woman of caste, whose marriage to an attaché of a russian embassy had, in its time, created a furore in the capital. her father had perished in a shipwreck at sea, and her mother had returned to her people, there, in her turn, to perish from grief and the cold neglect of the japanese relatives who considered her marriage a blot upon the family escutcheon. always a lover and collector of beautiful things, wainwright had harkened to the enthusiastic flights of a friend, who had "discovered" an incomparable piece of satsuma, and had accompanied him to an old mansion, once part of a satsuma yashiki, there to find that his friend's "piece of satsuma" was a living work of art, a little piece of bric-a-brac that the collector craved to add to his collections. he had purchased o-haru-no for a mere song, for her white skin had been a constant reproach and shame in the house of her ancestors. moreover, this branch of the ancient family had fallen upon meagre days, and despite their pride, they were not above bartering this humble descendant for the gold of the american. o-haru-no escaped with joy from the harsh atmosphere of the house of her ancestors to the gay home of her purchaser. the fact that he had practically bought his wife, and that she had been willing to become a thing of barter and sale, had from the first caused the man to regard her lightly. we value things often, not by their intrinsic value, but by the price we have paid for them, and o-haru-no had been thrown upon the bargain counter of life. however, it was not in stephen wainwright's nature to resist anything as pretty as the wife he had bought. a favourite and sardonic jest of his at that time was that she was the choicest piece in his collections, and that some day he purposed to put her in a glass case, and present her to the museum of art of his native city. had indeed stephen wainwright seen the dancer, as she lay among her brilliant robes, her wide sleeves outspread like the wings of a butterfly, and that perfectly chiselled face on which the smile that had made her famous still seemed faintly to linger, he might have recalled that utterance of the past, and realised that no object of art in the great museum of which his people were so proud, could compare with this masterpiece of death's grim hand. he tried to delude himself with the thought that the temporary wife of his young days was but an incident, part of an idyll that had no place in the life of the man of steel, who had seized upon life with strong, hot hands. but sunny! his own flesh and blood, the child whose hair had suggested her name. despite the galloping years she persisted ever in his memory. he thought of her constantly, of her strange little ways, her pretty coaxing ways, her smile, her charming love of the little live things, her perception of beauty, her closeness to nature. there was a quality of psychic sweetness about her, something rare and delicate that appealed to the epicure as exquisite and above all price. it was not his gold that had purchased sunny. she was a gift of the gods and his memory of his child contained no flaw. it was part of his punishment that the woman he married after his return to america from japan should have drifted farther and farther apart from him with the years. intuitively, his wife had recognised that hungry heart behind the man's cold exterior. she knew that the greatest urge in the character of this man was his desire for children. from year to year she suffered the agony of seeing the frustration of their hopes. highstrung and imaginative, mrs. wainwright feared that her husband would acquire a dislike for her. the idea persisted like a monomania. she sought distraction from this ghost that arose between them in social activities and passionate work in the cause of woman's suffrage. it was her husband's misfortune that his nature was of that unapproachable sort that seldom lets down the mask, a man who retired within himself, and sought resources of comfort where indeed they were not to be found. grimly, cynically, he watched the devastating effects of their separated interests, and in time she, too, in a measure was cast aside, in thought at least, just as the first wife had been. stephen wainwright grew grimmer and colder with the years, and the name applied to him was curiously suitable. this was the man whose tears were falling on the soft hair of the strange girl from japan. he had lifted her hat, that he might again see that hair, so bright and pretty that had first suggested her name. with awkward gentleness, he smoothed it back from the girl's thin little face. "sunny, you know your father now, fully, don't you? tell me that you do--that you have not forgotten me. you were within a few weeks of six when i went away, and we were the greatest of pals. surely you have not forgotten altogether. it seems just the other day you were looking at me, just as you are now. it does not seem to me as if you have changed at all. you are still my little girl. tell me--you have not forgotten your father altogether, have you?" "no. those year they are push away. you are my chichi (papa). i so happy see you face again." she held him back, her two hands on his shoulders, and now, true to her sex, she prepared to demand a favour from her father. "now i think you are going to give katy and me mos' bes' job ad you business." "job? who is katy?" "i are not told you yet of katy. katy are my frien'." "you've told me nothing. i must know everything that has happened to you since i left japan." "thas too long ago," said sunny sadly, "and i am hongry. i lig' eat liddle bit something." "what! you've had no lunch?" she told him the incident of the dog meat, not stopping to explain just then who katy was, and how she had come to be with her. he leaned over to the desk and pushed the button. miss holliwell, coming to the door, saw a sight that for the first time in her years of service with senator wainwright took away her composure. her employer was kneeling by a chair on which was seated the strange girl. her hat was off, and she was holding one of his hands with both of hers. even then he did not break the custom of years and explain or confide in his secretary, and she saw to her amazement that the eyes of the man she secretly termed "the sphinx" were red. all he said was: "order a luncheon, miss holliwell. have it brought up here. have mouquin rush it through. that is all." miss holliwell slowly closed the door, but her amazement at what she had seen within was turned to indignation at what she encountered without. as the door opened, katy pressed up against the keyhole, fell back upon the floor. during the period when sunny had been in the private office of miss holliwell's employer, she had had her hands full with the curious young person left behind. katy had found relief from her pent-up curiosity in an endless stream of questions and gratuitous remarks which she poured out upon the exasperated secretary. katy's tongue and spirit were entirely undaunted by the chilling monosyllabic replies of miss holliwell, and the latter was finally driven to the extremity of requesting her to wait in the outer office: "i'm awfully busy," said the secretary, "and really when you chatter like that i cannot concentrate upon my work." to which, with a wide friendly smile, rejoined katy: "cheer up, miss frozen-face. mums the word from this time on." "mum" she actually kept, but her alert pose, her cocked-up ears and eyes, glued upon the door had such a quality of upset about them that miss holliwell found it almost as difficult to concentrate as when her tongue had rattled along. now here she was engaged in the degrading employment of listening and seeing what was never intended for her ears and eyes. miss holliwell pushed her indignantly away. "what do you _mean_ by doing a thing like that?" between what she had seen inside her employer's private office, and the actions of this young gamin, miss holliwell was very much disturbed. she betook herself to the seat with a complete absence of her cultivated composure. when katy said, however: "gee! i wisht i knew whether sunny is safe in there with that gink," miss holliwell was forced to raise her hand to hide a smile that would come despite her best efforts. for once in her life she gave the wrong number, and was cross with the girl at the telephone desk because it was some time before mouquin's was reached. the carefully ordered meal dictated by miss holliwell aroused in the listening katy such mixed emotions, that, as the secretary hung up the receiver, the hungry youngster leaned over and said in a hoarse pleading whisper: "say, if you're orderin' for sunny, make it a double." inside, sunny was telling her father her story. "begin from the first," he had said. "omit nothing. i must know everything about you." graphically, as they waited for the lunch, she sketched in all the sordid details of her early life, the days of their mendicancy making the man feel immeasurably mean. sitting at the desk now, his eyes shaded with his hand, he gritted his teeth, and struck the table with repeated soundless blows when his daughter told him of hirata. but something, a feeling more penetrating than pain, stung stephen wainwright when she told him of those warmhearted men who had come into her life like a miracle and taken the place that he should have been there to fill. for the first time he interrupted her to take down the names of her friends, one by one, on a pad of paper. professor barrowes, zoologist and professor of archeology. wainwright had heard of him somewhere recently. yes, he recalled him now. some dispute about a recent "find" of the professor's. a question raised as to the authenticity of the fossil. opposition to its being placed in the museum--newspaper discussion. an effort on the professor's part to raise funds for further exploration in canada northwest. robert mapson, jr. senator wainwright knew the reporter slightly. he had covered stories in which senator wainwright was interested. on the _comet_. sunny's father knew the _comet_ people well. lamont potter, jr. philadelphia people. his firm did business with them. young potter at bellevue. j. lyon crawford, son of a man once at college with wainwright. sunny's father recalled some chaffing joke at the club anent "jinx's" political ambitions. as a prospect in politics he had seemed a joke to his friends. and, last, j. addison hammond, jr., "jerry." how sunny had pronounced that name! there was that about that soft inflection that caused her father to hold his pencil suspended, while a stab of jealousy struck him. "what does he do, sunny?" "ho! he are goin' be grade artist-arki-tuck. he make so beautiful pictures, and he have mos' beautiful thought on inside his head. he goin' to make all these city loog beautiful. he show how make 'partment houses, where all god light and there's garden grow on top, and there's house where they not put out liddle bebby on street. he's go sleep and play on those garden on top house." her father, his elbow on desk, his chin cupped on his hand, watched the girl's kindling face, and suffered pangs that he could not analyse. quietly he urged her to continue her story. unwilling she turned from jerry, but came back always to him. of her life in jerry's apartment, of hatton and his "yuman 'ankerings"; of itchy, with his two fleas; of mr. and mrs. satsuma in the gold cage, of count and countess taguchi who swam in the glass bowl; of the honourable mice; of the butcher and janitor gentlemen; of monty, of bobs, of jinx, who had asked her to marry them, and up to the day when mrs. hammond and miss falconer had come to the apartment and turned her out. then a pause to catch her breath in a wrathful sob, to continue the wistful tale of her prayer to kuonnon in the raging, noisy street; of the mother's gentle spirit that had gone with her on the dark long road that lead to--katy. it was then that miss holliwell tapped, and the waiters came in with the great loaded trays held aloft, bearing the carefully ordered meal and the paraphernalia that accompanies a luncheon de luxe. someone besides the waiters had slipped by miss holliwell. katy, clucking with her tongue against the roof of her mouth, tried to attract the attention of sunny, whose back was turned. sniffing those delicious odours, katy came farther into the room, and following the clucking she let out an unmistakably false cough and loud ahem! this time, sunny turned, saw her friend, and jumped up from her seat and ran to her. said katy in a whisper: "gee! you're smarter than i gave you credit for being. got him going, ain't you? well, pull his leg while the going's good, and say, sunny, if them things on the tray are for you, remember, i gave you half my hot dogs and i always say----" "this are my frien', katy," said sunny proudly, as the very grave faced man whom katy had tried to trip came forward and took katy's hand in a tight clasp. "katy, this are my--chichi--mr. papa," said sunny. katy gasped, staring with wide open mouth from senator wainwright to sunny. her head reeled with the most extravagantly romantic tale that instantly flooded it. then with a whoop curiously like that of some small boy, katy grasped hold of sunny about the waist. "whuroo!" cried katy. "i _knew_ you was a princess. gee. it's just like a dime novel--better than any story in hoist's even." there in the dignified office of the steel magnate the girl from the east side drew his daughter into one of the most delicious shimmies, full of sheer fun and impudent youth. for the first time in years, senator wainwright threw back his head and burst into laughter. now these two young radiant creatures, who could dance while they hungered, were seated before that gorgeous luncheon. sunny's father lifted the top from the great planked steak, entirely surrounded on the board with laced browned potatoes, ornamental bits of peas, beans, lima and string, asparagus, cauliflower and mushrooms. sunny let forth one long ecstatic sigh as she clasped her hands together, while katy laid both hands piously upon her stomach and raising her eyes as if about to deliver a solemn grace, she said: "home, sweet home, was never like this!" chapter xix society enjoys a shock. it craves sensation. when that brilliant and autocratic leader returned from several months' absence abroad, with a young daughter, of whose existence no one had ever heard, her friends were mystified. when, with the most evident pride and fondness she referred to the fact that her daughter had spent most of her life in foreign lands, and was the daughter of senator wainwright's first wife, speculation was rife. that the senator had been previously married, that he had a daughter of eighteen years, set all society agog, and expectant to see the girl, whose debut was to be made at a large coming out party given by her mother in her honour. the final touch of mystery and romance was added by the daughter herself. an enterprising society reporter, had through the magic medium of a card from her chief, mr. mapson, of the new york _comet_, obtained a special interview with miss wainwright on the eve of her ball, and the latter had confided to the incredulous and delighted newspaper woman the fact that she expected to be married at an early date. the announcement, however, lost some of its thrill when miss wainwright omitted the name of the happy man. application to her mother brought forth the fact that that personage knew no more about this coming event than the "throb sister," as she called herself. mrs. wainwright promptly denied the story, pronouncing it a probable prank of miss sunny and her friend, miss clarry. here mrs. wainwright sighed. she always sighed at the mention of katy's name, sighed indulgently, yet hopelessly. the latter had long since been turned over to the efficient hands of a miss woodhouse, a lady from bryn mawr, who had accompanied the wainwright party abroad. her especial duty in life was to refine katy, a task not devoid of entertainment to said competent young person from bryn mawr, since it stirred to literary activity certain slumbering talents, and in due time katy, through the pen of miss woodhouse, was firmly pinned on paper. however, this is not katy's story, though it may not be inapropos to mention here that the mrs. j. lyon crawford, jr., who for so long queened it over, bossed, bullied and shepherded the society of new york, was under the skin ever the same little general who had marched forth with her army of one down the steps of that east side tenement house, with hat pin ostentatiously and dangerously apparent to the craven rat of the east side. coming back to sunny. the newspaper woman persisting that the story had been told her with utmost candour and seriousness, mrs. wainwright sent for her daughter. sunny, questioned by her mother, smilingly confirmed the story. "but, my dear," said mrs. wainwright, "you know no young men yet. surely you are just playing. it's a game between you and katy, isn't it, dear? katy is putting you up to it, i'm sure." "no, mama, katy are--is--not do so. _i_ am! it is true! i am going to make marriage wiz american gentleman mebbe very soon." "darling, i believe i'd run along. that will do for just now, dear. _i'll_ speak to miss ah--what is the name?" "holman, of the _comet_." "ah, yes, miss holman. run along, dear," in a tone an indulgent mother uses to a baby. then with her club smile turned affably on miss holman: "our little sunny is so mischievous. now i'm quite sure she and miss clarry are playing some naughty little game. i don't believe i'd publish that if i were you, miss holman." miss holman laughed in mrs. wainwright's face, which brought the colour to a face that for the last few months had radiated such good humour upon the world. mrs. wainwright smiled, now discomfited, for she knew that the newspaper woman not only intended to print sunny's statement, but her mother's denial. "now, miss holman, your story will have no value, in view of the fact that the name of the man is not mentioned." "i thought that a defect at first," said miss holman, shamelessly, "but i'm inclined to think it will add to the interest. our readers dote on mysteries, and i'll cover the story on those lines. later i'll do a bit of sleuthing on the man end. we'll get him," and the man-like young woman nodded her head briskly and betook herself from the wainwright residence well satisfied with her day's work. an appeal to the editor of the _comet_ on the telephone brought back the surprising answer that they would not print the story if sunny--that editor referred to the child of senator wainwright as "sunny"--herself denied it. he requested that "sunny" be put on the wire. mrs. wainwright was especially indignant over this, because she knew that that editor had arisen to his present position entirely through a certain private "pull" of senator wainwright. of course, the editor himself did not know this, but senator wainwright's wife did, and she thought him exceedingly unappreciative and exasperating. mrs. wainwright sought sunny in her room. here she found that bewildering young person with her extraordinary friend enthusing over a fashion book devoted to trousseaux and bridal gowns. they looked up with flushed faces, and mrs. wainwright could not resist a feeling of resentment at the thought that her daughter (she never thought of sunny as "stepdaughter") should give her confidence to miss clarry in preference to her. however, she masked her feelings, as only mrs. wainwright could, and with a smile to katy advised her that miss woodhouse was waiting for her. katy's reply, "yes, ma'am--i mean, aunt emma," was submissive and meek enough, but it was hard for mrs. wainwright to overlook that very pronounced wink with which katy favoured sunny ere she departed. "and now, dear," said mrs. wainwright, putting her arm around sunny, "tell me all about it." sunny, who loved her dearly, cuddled against her like a child, but nevertheless shook her bright head. "ho! that is secret i not tell. i are a tomb." "tomb?" "yes, thas word lig' katy use when she have secret. she say it are--is--lock up in tomb." "to think," said mrs. wainwright jealously, "that you prefer to confide in a stranger like katy rather than your mother." "no, i not told katy yet," said sunny quickly. "she have ask me one tousan' time, and i are not tol' her." "but, darling, surely you want _me_ to know. is he any young man we are acquainted with?" sunny, finger thoughtfully on her lip, considered. "no-o, i think you are not know him yet." "is he one of the young men who--er----" it was painful for mrs. wainwright to contemplate that chapter in sunny's past when she had been the ward of four strange young men. in fact, she had taken sunny abroad immediately after that remarkable time when her husband had brought the strange young girl to the house and for the first time she had learned of sunny's existence. life had taken on a new meaning to mrs. wainwright after that. suddenly she comprehended the meaning of having someone to live for. her life and work had a definite purpose and impetus. her husband's child had closed the gulf that had yawned so long between man and wife, and was threatening to separate them forever. her love for sunny, and her pride in the girl's beauty and charm was almost pathetic. had she been the girl's own mother, she could not have been more indulgent or anxious for her welfare. sunny, not answering the last question, mrs. wainwright went over in her mind each one of the young men whose ward sunny had been. the first three, jinx, monty and bobs, she soon rejected as possibilities. there remained jerry hammond. private inquiries concerning jerry had long since established the fact that he had been for a number of years engaged to a miss falconer. mrs. wainwright had been much distressed because sunny insisted on writing numerous letters to jerry while abroad. it seemed very improper, so she told the girl, to write letters to another woman's fiancé. sunny agreed with this most earnestly, and after a score of letters had gone unanswered she promised to desist. mrs. wainwright appreciated all that mr. hammond had done for her daughter. sunny's father had indeed expressed that appreciation in that letter (a similar one had been sent to all members of the sunny syndicate) penned immediately after he had found sunny. he had, moreover, done everything in his power privately to advance the careers and interests of the various men who had befriended his daughter. but for his engagement to miss falconer, mrs. wainwright would not have had the slightest objection to sunny continuing her friendship with this mr. hammond, but really it was hardly the proper thing under the circumstances. however, she was both peeved and relieved when sunny's many epistles remained unanswered for months, and then a single short letter that was hardly calculated to revive sunny's childish passion for this jerry arrived. jerry wrote: "dear sunny. glad get your many notes. have been away. glad you are happy. hope see you when you return. jerry." a telegram would have contained more words, the ruffled mrs. wainwright was assured, and she acquired a prejudice against jerry, despite all the good she had heard of him. from that time on her rôle was to, as far as lay in her power, distract the dear child from thought of the man who very evidently cared nothing about her. of course, mrs. wainwright did not know of that illness of jerry hammond when he had hovered between life and death. she did not know that all of sunny's letters had come to his hand at one time, unwillingly given up by professor barrowes, who feared a relapse from the resulting excitement. she did not know that that shaky scrawl was due to the fact that jerry was sitting up in bed, and had penned twenty or more letters to sunny, in which he had exhausted all of the sweet words of a lover's vocabulary, and then had stopped short to contemplate the fact that he had done absolutely nothing in the world to prove himself worthy of sunny, had torn up the aforementioned letters, and penned the blank scrawl that told the daughter of senator wainwright nothing. but it was shortly after that that jerry began to "come back." he started upon the highroad to health, and his recuperation was so swift that he was able to laugh at the protesting and anxious barrowes, who moved heaven and earth to prevent the young man from returning to his work. jerry had been however, "away" long enough, so he said, and he fell upon his work with such zeal that no mere friend or mother could stop him. never had that star of beauty, of which he had always dreamed, seemed so close to jerry as now. never had the incentive to succeed been so vital and gloriously necessary. at the end of all his efforts, he saw no longer the elusive face of the imaginary "beauty," of which he loved to tell sunny, and which he despaired ever to reach. what was a figment of the imagination now took a definite lovely form. at the end of his rainbow was the living face of sunny. and so with a song within his heart, a light in his eyes, and a spring to his step, with kind words for everyone he met, jerry hammond worked and waited. mrs. wainwright, by this time, knew the futility of trying to force sunny to reveal her secret. not only was she very japanese in her ability to keep a secret when she chose, but she was stephen wainwright's child. her mother knew that for months she had neither seen nor written to jerry hammond, for sunny herself had told her so, when questioned. who then was the mysterious fiancé? could it possibly be someone she had known in japan? this thought caused mrs. wainwright considerable trepidation. she feared the possibility of a young russian, a japanese, a missionary. to make sure that jerry was not the one sunny had in mind, she asked the girl whether he had ever proposed to her, and sunny replied at once, very sadly: "no-o. i ask him do so, but he do not do so. he are got 'nother girl he marry then. jinx and monty and bobs are all ask me marry wiz them, but jerry never ask so." "oh, my dear, did you really _ask_ him to ask you to marry him?" "ho! i hint for him do so," said sunny, "but he do not do so. thas very sad for me," she admitted dejectedly. "very fortunate, i call it," said mrs. wainwright. thus jerry's elimination was completed, and for the nonce the matter of sunny's marriage was dropped pro tem, to be revived, however, on the night of her ball, when the story appeared under leaded type in the _comet_. chapter xx there have been many marvellous balls given in the city of new york, but none exceeding the famous cherry blossom ball. the guests stepped into a vast ball room that had been transformed into a japanese garden in spring. on all sides, against the walls, and made into arbours and groves, cherry trees in full blossom were banked, while above and over the galleries dripped the long purple and white heads of the wistaria. the entire arch of the ceiling was covered with cherry branches, and the floor was of heavy glass, in imitation of a lake in which the blossoms were reflected. through a lane of slender bamboo the guests passed to meet, under a cherry blossom bower, the loveliest bud of the season, sunny, in a fairy-like maline and chiffon frock, springing out about her diaphanously, and of the pale pink and white colors of the cherry blossoms. sunny, with her bright, shining hair coifed by the hand of an artist; sunny, with her first string of perfect pearls and a monstrous feather fan, that when dropped seemed to cover half her short fluffy skirts. sunny, with the brightest eyes, darting in and out and looking over the heads of her besieging guests, laughing, nodding, breathlessly parrying the questions that poured in on all sides. everybody wanted to know who _the_ man was. "oh, do tell us who he is," they would urge, and sunny would shake her bright head, slowly unfurl her monstrous fan, and with it thoughtfully at her lips she would say: "ho yes, it are true, and mebbe i will tell you some nother day." now among those present at sunny's party were five men whose acquaintance the readers of this story have already made. it so happened that they were very late in arriving at the wainwright dance, this being due to the fact that one of their number had to be brought there by physical force. jerry, at dinner, had read that story in the _comet_, and was reduced to such a condition of distraction that it was only by the united efforts of his four friends that he was forcibly shoved into that car. the party arrived late, as stated, and it may be recorded that as sunny's eyes searched that sea of faces before her, moving to the music of the orchestra and the tinkle of the japanese bells, they lost somewhat of their shining look, and became so wistful that her father, sensitive to every change in the girl, never left her side; but he could not induce the girl to dance. she remained with her parents in the receiving arbor. suddenly two spots of bright rose came to the cheeks of sunny, and she arose on tip-toes, just as she had done as a child on the tight rope. she saw that arriving party approaching, and heard katy's voice as she husbanded them to what she called "the royal throne." at this juncture, and when he was within but a few feet of the "throne" jerry saw sunny. one long look passed between them, and then, shameless to relate, jerry ducked into that throng of dancers. to further escape the wrathful hands of his friends, he seized some fat lady hurriedly about the waist and dragged her upon the glass floor. his rudeness covered up with as much tact as his friends could muster, they proceeded, as far as lay in their power, to compensate for his defection. they felt no sympathy nor patience with the acts of jerry. were they not all in the same boat, and equally stung by the story of sunny's engagement? both hands held out, sunny welcomed her friends. first professor barrowes: "ho! how it is good ad my eyes see your kind face again." alas! for sunny's several months with especial tutors and governesses, and the beautiful example of mrs. wainwright. always in moments of excitement she lapsed into her strangely-twisted english speech and topsy-turvy grammar. professor barrowes, with the dust in his eyes and brain of that recent triumphant trip into the northwest of canada, brushed aside by the illness of his friend, was on solid enough earth as sunny all but hugged him. bowing, beaming, chuckling, he took the fragrant little hand in his own, and with the pride and glow of a true discoverer, his eye scanned the fairylike creature before him. "ah! miss--ah--sunny. the pleasure is mine--entirely mine, i assure you. may i add that you still, to me, strongly resemble the child who came upon the tight rope, with a smile upon her face, and a dewdrop on her cheek. "may i add," continued professor barrowes, "that it is my devout hope, my dear, that you will always remain unchanged? i hope so devoutly. i wish it." "ho! mr. dear professor, i am jos' nothing but little moth. nothing moach good on these earth. but you--you are do so moach i am hear. you tich all those worl' _how_ those worl' are be ad the firs' day of all! tell me 'bout what happen to you. daikoku (god of fortune) he have been kind to you--yes?" "astounding kind--amazingly so. there is much to tell. if you will allow me, at an early date, i will do myself the pleasure of calling upon you, and--ah--going into detail. i believe you will be much interested in recent discoveries in a hitherto unexplored region of the canadian northwest, where i am convinced the largest number of fossils of the post pliocene and quaternary period are to be found. i had the pleasure of assisting in bringing back to the united states the full-sized skeleton of a dinornis. you no doubt have heard of the aspersions regarding its authenticity, but i believe we have made our--er--opponents appear pretty small, thanks to the aid of your father and other friends. in point of fact, i may say, i am indebted to your father for an undeserved recommendation, and a liberal donation, which will make possible the fullest research, and establish beyond question the--ah----" miss holliwell, smiling and most efficiently and inconspicuously managing the occasion, noting the congestion about sunny, and the undisguised expressions of deepening disgust and impatience on the faces of sunny's other friends, here interposed. she slipped her hand through the professor's arm, and with a murmured: "oh, professor barrowes, do try this waltz with me. it's one of the old ones, and this is leap year, so i am going to ask you." now miss holliwell had had charge of all the matters pertaining to the dinornis; her association with professor barrowes had been both pleasant and gratifying to the man of science. if anyone imagines that sixty-year-old legs cannot move with the expedition and grace of youth, he should have witnessed the gyrations and motions of the legs of professor barrowes as he guided the senator's secretary through the mazes of the waltz. came then monty, upright and rosy, and as shamelessly young as when over four years before, at seventeen, he imagined himself wise and aged-looking with his bone-ribbed glasses. the down was still on monty's cheek, and the adoration of the puppy still in his eyes. "sunny! it does my soul good to see you. you look perfectly great--yum-yum. jove, you gave us a fright, all right. haven't got over it yet. looked for you in the morgue, sunny, and here you are shining like--like a star." "monty! that face of you will make me always shine like star. what you are doing these day?" "oh, just a few little things. nothing to mention," returned monty, with elaborate carelessness, his heart thumping with pride and yearning to pour out the full tale into the sympathetic pink ear of sunny. "i got a year or two still to put in--going up to johns hopkins; then, sunny, i've a great job for next summer--between the postgraduate work. i'll get great, practical training from a field that--well----i'm going to panama, sunny. connection with fever and sanitary work. greatest opportunity of lifetime. i'm to be first assistant--it's the literal truth, to----" he whispered a name in sunny's ear which caused her to start back, gasping with admiration. "monty; how i am proud of you!" "oh, it's nothing much. don't know why in the world they picked _me_. my work wasn't better than the other chaps. i was conscientious enough and interested of course, but so were the other fellows. you could have knocked me down with a feather when they picked me for the job. why, i was fairly stunned by the news. haven't got over it yet. your father knows dr. roper, the chief, you know. isn't the world small? say, sunny, whose the duck you're engaged to? g'wan, tell your old chum." "ho, monty, i will tell you--tonide mebbe some time." "here, here, monty, you've hogged enough of sunny's attention. my turn now." bobs pushed the unwilling monty along, and the youngster, pretending a lofty indifference to the challenging smiles directed at him by certain members of the younger set, was nevertheless soon slipping over the floor, with the prettiest one of them all, whom mrs. wainwright especially led him to. bobs meanwhile was grinning at sunny, while she, with a maternal eye, examined "dear bobs," and noted that he had gotten into his clothes hastily, but that nevertheless he was the same charming friend. "by gum, you look positively edible," was his greeting. "what you been doing with yourself, and what's this latest story i'm hearing about your marrying some sonofagun?" "bobs, i are goin' to tell you 'bout those sonofagun some time this nide," smiled sunny, "but i want to know firs' of all tings, what you are do, dear bobs?" "i?" bobs rose up and down on his polished toes. "city editor of the _comet_, old top, that's my job. youngest ever known on the desk, but not, i hope, the least competent." "ho, bobs. you _are_ one whole editor man! how i am proud of you. now you are goin' right up to top notch. mebbe by'n by you get to be ambassador ad udder country and----" "whew-w! how can a mere man climb to the heights you expect of him. what i want to know is--how about that marriage story? i printed it, because it was good stuff, but who is the lucky dog? come on, now, you know you can tell me anything." "ho, bobs, i _are_ goin' tell you anything. loog, bobs, here are a frien' i wan' you speag ad. she also have wrote a book. her name are--is miss woodenhouse. she is ticher to my frien', miss clarry. she are----" "are! sunny?" "'am'. she am--no, is, very good ticher. she am--is--make me and katy spik and ride english jos same english lady." the young and edified instructor of katy clarry surveyed the young and edified editor of the new york _comet_ with a quizzical eye. the young editor in question returned that quizzical glance, grinned, offered his arm, and they whirled off to the music of a rippling two-step. sunny had swung around and seized the two plump soft hands of jinx, at whose elbow katy was pressing. katy, much to her delight, had been assisting miss holliwell in caring for the arriving guests, and had indeed quite surprised and amused that person by her talent for organisation and real ability. katy was in her element as she bustled about, in somewhat the proprietary manner of the floor walkers and the lady heads of departments in the stores where katy had one time worked. "jinx, jinx, jinx! my eyes are healty jos' loog ad you! i am _thad_ glad see you speag also wiz my bes' frien', katy." she clapped her hands excitedly. "how i thing it nize that you and katy be----" katy coughed loudly. sunny's ignorance at times was extremely distressing. katy had a real sympathy for mrs. wainwright at certain times. jinx had blushed as red as a peony. "have a heart, sunny!" nevertheless he felt a sleepish pride in the thought that sunny's best friend should have singled him out for special attention. jinx, though the desired one of aspiring mothers, was not so popular with the maidens, who were pushed forward and adjured to regard him as a most desirable husband. katy was partial to flesh. she had no patience with the artist who declared that bones were æsthetic and to suit his taste he liked to hear the bones rattle. katy averred that there was something awfully cosy about fat people. "i hear some grade news of you, jinx," said sunny admiringly. "i hear you are got nomin--ation be on staff those governor." "that's only the beginning, sunny. i'm going in for politics a bit. life too purposeless heretofore, and the machine wants me. at least, i've been told so. your father, sunny, has been doggone nice about it--a real friend. you know there was a bunch of city hicks that thought it fun to laugh at the idea of a fat man holding down any public job, but i guess the fat fellow can put it over some of the other bunch." "ho! i should say that so." "look at president taft," put in katy warmly. "he weighs more'n you do, i'll bet." "give a fellow a chance," said jinx bashfully. "if i keep on, i'll soon catch up with him." "sunny," said katy in her ear, "i feel like itchy. you remember you told me how after a bath he liked to roll himself in the dirt because he missed his fleas. that's me all over. i miss my fleas. i ain--aren't used to being refined. gee! i hope miss woodhouse didn't hear me say that. if she catches me talking like that--good-night! d'she ever make _you_ feel like a two-spot?"--scorch with a _look_! good-night!" a broad grin lighted up katy's wide irish face. shoving her arm recklessly through jinx's, she said: "come along, old skate, let's show 'em on the floor what reglar dancers like you and me can do." sunny watched them with shining eyes, and once as they whirled by, katy's voice floated above the murmurs of the dance and music: "gee! how light you are on your feet! plump men usually are. i always say----" and katy and jinx, monty and bobs and the professor and all her friends were lost to view in that moving, glittering throng of dancers, upon whom, like fluttering moths the cherry blossom petals were dropping from above alighting upon their heads and shoulders and giving them that festival look that sunny knew so well in japan. she had a breathing space for a spell, and now that very wistful longing look stole like a shadow back to the girl's young face. all unconsciously a sigh escaped her. instantly her father was at her side. "you want something, my darling?" "yes, papa. you love me very much, papa?" "_do_ i? if there's anything in the world you want that i can give you, you have only to ask, my little girl." "then papa, you see over dere that young man stand. you see him?" "young hammond?" "jerry." her very pronouncement of his name was a caress. "papa, i wan speag to him. all these night i have wan see him. see, wiz my fan i are do lig' this, and nod my head, and wiz my finger, too, i call him, but he do not come," dejectedly. "loog! i will do so again. you see!" she made an unmistakable motion with her hand and fan at jerry and that unhappy young fool turned his back and slunk behind some artificial camphor trees. "by george!" said senator wainwright. "sunny, do you want me to bring that young puppy to you?" "papa, jerry are not a puppy, but jus' same, i wan' you bring him unto me. please. and then, when he come, please you and mamma stand liddle bit off, and doan let nobody else speag ad me. i are got something i wan ask jerry all by me." the music had stopped, but the clapping hands of the dancers were clamouring for a repetition of the crooning dance song that had just begun its raging career in the metropolis. sunny saw her father clap jerry upon the shoulder. she saw his effort to escape, and her father's smiling insistence. a short interval of breathless suspense, and then the reluctant, very white, very stern young jerry was standing before sunny. he tried to avoid sunny's glance, but, fascinated, found himself looking straight into the girl's eyes. she was smiling, but there was something in her dewy glance that reached out and twisted the boy's heart strings sadly. "jerry!" said sunny softly, her great fan touching her lips, and looking up at him with such a glance that all his best resolves to continue calm seemed threatened with panic. he said, with what he flattered was an imitation of composure: "lovely day--er--night. how are you?" "i are so happy i are lig' those soap bubble. i goin' burst away." "yes, naturally you would be happy. beautiful day--er--night, isn't it?" he resolved to avoid all personal topics. he would shoot small talk at her, and she should not suspect the havoc that was raging within him. "how are your mother?" "well, thank you." "how are your frien', miss falconer?" "don't know, i'm sure." "hatton are tol' me all 'bout her," said sunny. "hatton? he's gone. i don't know where?" "he are officer at salavation army. he come to our house, and my father give him money for those poor people. hatton are tell me all 'bout you. i are sawry you sick long time, jerry. thas very sad news for me." jerry, tongue-tied for the moment, knew not what to say or where to look. sunny's dear glance was almost more than he could bear. "beautiful room this. decoration----" "jerry, that are your beautiful picture you are made. i am remember it all. one time you draw those picture like these for me, and you say thas mos' nize picture for party ever. i think so." jerry was silent. "jerry, how you are do ad those worl'? please tell me. i lig' to hear. are you make grade big success? are you found those beauty thad you are loog for always?" "beauty!" he said furiously. "i told you often enough that it was an elusive jade, that no one could ever reach. and as for success. i suppose i've made good enough. i was offered a partnership--i can't take it. i'll----i'll have to get away. sunny, for god's sake, answer me. is it true you are going to be married?" slowly the girl bowed with great seriousness, yet somehow her soft eyes rested in caress upon the young man's tortured face. "jerry," said sunny dreamily, "this are the year of leap, and i are lig' ask you liddle bit question." jerry neither heard nor understood the significance of the girlish words. his young face had blanched. all the joy of life seemed to have been extinguished. yet one last passionate question burst from him. "who--is--he?" slowly sunny raised that preposterous fan. she brought it to her face, so that its great expanse acted as a screen and cut her and jerry off from the rest of the world. her bright lovely gaze sank right into jerry's, and sunny answered softly: "_you!_" now what followed would furnish a true student of psychology with the most irrefutable proof of the devastating effect upon a young man of the superior and civilised west of association with a heathen people. even the unsophisticated eye of sunny saw that primitive purpose leap up in the eye of jerry hammond, as, held in leash only a moment, he proposed then and there to seize the girl bodily in his arms. it was at that moment that her oriental guile came to the top. sunny stepped back, put out her hand, moved it along the wall, behind the cherry petalled foliage, and then while jerry's wild, ecstatic intention brought him ever nearer to her, sunny found and pushed the button on the wall. instantly the room was plunged into darkness. a babble of murmuring sounds and exclamations; laughter, the sudden ceasing of the music, a soft pandemonium had broken loose, but in that blissful moment of complete darkness, oblivious to all the world, feeling and seeing only each other, jerry and sunny kissed. the end transcriber notes: passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. small caps were replaced with all caps. throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. those words were retained as-is. errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. on page , "firmanent" was replaced with "firmament". on page , "pantomine" was replaced with "pantomime". on page , "avaricous" was replaced with "avaricious". on page , "sutherlond" was replaced with "sutherland". on page , "firmanent" was replaced with "firmament". on page , "parent's" was replaced with "parents'". on page , a quotation mark was added after "i am personally situated." on page , a quotation mark was removed after "j. addison hammond" on page , "asumed" was replaced with "assumed". on page , "imcredible" was replaced with "incredible". on page , "asured" was replaced with "assured". on page , "archietects" was replaced with "architects". on page , the comma after "'ooking" was replaced with a period. on page , "ensconsed" was replaced with "ensconced". on page , "reeciver" was replaced with "receiver". on page , "repellant" was replaced with "repellent". on page , "belligerant" was replaced with "belligerent". produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) by w. somerset maugham _plays_: east of suez the circle the explorer mrs. dot a man of honour penelope jack straw lady frederick the tenth man landed gentry the unknown smith _novels_: of human bondage the moon and sixpence the trembling of a leaf liza of lambeth mrs. craddock the explorer the magician the merry-go-round on a chinese screen the land of the blessed virgin (_sketches and impressions in andalusia_) east of suez a play in seven scenes by w. somerset maugham new [illustration] york george h. doran company copyright, . by george h. doran company [illustration] east of suez. printed in the united states of america dramatis personÆ daisy george conway henry anderson harold knox lee tai cheng sylvia knox amah wu _the action of the play takes place in peking_ scenes scene page i a street in peking ii a small verandah on an upper storey of the british american tobacco company's premises iii the temple of fidelity and virtuous inclination iv the sitting-room in the andersons' apartments v the courtyard in the andersons' part of the temple vi a small room in a chinese house in peking vii the sitting-room in the andersons' apartments scene i east of suez scene i scene: _a street in peking_ _several shops are shown. their fronts are richly decorated with carved wood painted red and profusely gilt. the counters are elaborately carved. outside are huge sign-boards. the shops are open to the street and you can see the various wares they sell. one is a coffin shop, where the coolies are at work on a coffin: other coffins, ready for sale, are displayed; some of them are of plain deal, others are rich, with black and gold. the next shop is a money changer's. then there is a lantern shop in which all manner of coloured lanterns are hanging. after this comes a druggist where there are queer things in bottles and dried herbs. a small stuffed crocodile is a prominent object. next to this is a shop where crockery is sold, large coloured jars, plates, and all manner of strange animals. in all the shops two or three chinamen are seated. some read newspapers through great horn spectacles; some smoke water pipes._ _the street is crowded. here is an itinerant cook with his two chests, in one of which is burning charcoal: he serves out bowls of rice and condiments to the passers-by who want food. there is a barber with the utensils of his trade. a coolie, seated on a stool, is having his head shaved. chinese walk to and fro. some are coolies and wear blue cotton in various stages of raggedness; some in black gowns and caps and black shoes are merchants and clerks. there is a beggar, gaunt and thin, with an untidy mop of bristly hair, in tatters of indescribable filthiness. he stops at one of the shops and begins a long wail. for a time no one takes any notice of him, but presently on a word from the fat shopkeeper an assistant gives him a few cash and he wanders on. coolies, half naked, hurry by, bearing great bales on their yokes. they utter little sharp cries for people to get out of their way. peking carts with their blue hoods rumble noisily along. rickshaws pass rapidly in both directions, and the rickshaw boys shout for the crowd to make way. in the rickshaws are grave chinese. some are dressed in white ducks after the european fashion; in other rickshaws are chinese women in long smocks and wide trousers or manchu ladies, with their faces painted like masks, in embroidered silks. women of various sorts stroll about the street or enter the shops. you see them chaffering for various articles._ _a water-carrier passes along with a creaking barrow, slopping the water as he goes; an old blind woman, a masseuse, advances slowly, striking wooden clappers to proclaim her calling. a musician stands on the curb and plays a tuneless melody on a one-stringed fiddle. from the distance comes the muffled sound of gongs. there is a babel of sound caused by the talking of all these people, by the cries of coolies, the gong, the clappers, and the fiddle. from burning joss-sticks in the shops in front of the household god comes a savour of incense._ _a couple of mongols ride across on shaggy ponies; they wear high boots and astrakhan caps. then a string of camels sways slowly down the street. they carry great burdens of skins from the deserts of mongolia. they are accompanied by wild looking fellows. two stout chinese gentlemen are giving their pet birds an airing; the birds are attached by the leg with a string and sit on little wooden perches. the two chinese gentlemen discuss their merits. round about them small boys play. they run hither and thither pursuing one another amid the crowd._ end of scene i scene ii _a small verandah on an upper storey of the british american tobacco company's premises, the upper part of which the staff lives in. at the back are heavy arches of whitewashed masonry and a low wall which serves as a parapet. green blinds are drawn. there is a bamboo table on which are copies of illustrated papers. a couple of long bamboo chairs and two or three smaller arm chairs. the floor is tiled._ _on one of the long chairs_ harold knox _is lying asleep. he is a young man of pleasing appearance_. _he wears white ducks, but he has taken off his coat, which lies on a chair, and his collar and tie and pin. they are on the table by his side. he is troubled by a fly and, half waking but with his eyes still closed, tries to drive it away._ knox. curse it. [_he opens his eyes and yawns._] boy! wu. [_outside._] ye. knox. what's the time? [wu _comes in; he is a chinese servant in a long white gown with a black cap on his head_. _he bears a tray on which is a bottle of whisky, a glass and a syphon._] wu. my no sabe. knox. anyhow it's time for a whisky and soda. [wu _puts the tray down on the table_. knox _smiles_.] intelligent anticipation. model servant and all that sort of thing. [wu _pours out the whisky_.] you don't care if i drink myself to death, wu--do you? [wu _smiles, showing all his teeth_.] fault of the climate. give me the glass. [wu _does so_.] you're like a mother to me, wu. [_he drinks and puts down the glass._] by george, i feel another man. the bull-dog breed, wu. never say die. rule britannia. pull up the blinds, you lazy blighter. the sun's off and the place is like a oven. [wu _goes over and pulls up one blind after the other_. _an expanse of blue sky is seen._ henry anderson _comes in_. _he is a man of thirty, fair, good-looking, with a pleasant, honest face. his obvious straightforwardness and sincerity make him attractive._] harry. [_breezily._] hulloa, harold, you seem to be taking it easy. knox. there was nothing to do in the office and i thought i'd get in my beauty sleep while i had the chance. harry. i thought you had your beauty sleep before midnight. knox. i'm taking time by the forelock so as to be on the safe side. harry. are you going on the loose again to-night? knox. again, henry? harry. you were blind last night. knox. [_with great satisfaction._] paralytic.... hulloa, who's this? [_he catches sight of the_ amah _who has just entered_. _she is a little, thin, wrinkled, elderly chinawoman in a long smock and trousers. she has gold pins in her sleek black hair. when she sees she has been noticed she smiles obsequiously._] well, fair charmer, what can we do for you? harry. what does she want, wu? knox. is this the face that launched a thousand ships? amah. my missy have pay my letter. harry. [_with sudden eager interest._] are you mrs. rathbone's amah? have you got a letter for me? amah. my belong missy rathbone amah. harry. well, hurry up, don't be all night about it. lend me a dollar, harold. i want to give it to the old girl. [_the_ amah _takes a note out of her sleeve and gives it to_ harry. _he opens it and reads._ knox. i haven't got a dollar. give her a chit or ask wu. he's the only man i know who's got any money. harry. let me have a dollar, wu. chop-chop. wu. my go catchee. [_he goes out._ _the_ amah _is standing near the table_. _while_ knox _and_ harry _go on talking she notices_ knox's _pin_. _she smiles and smiles and makes little bows to the two men, but at the same time her hand cautiously reaches out for the pin and closes on it. then she secretes it in her sleeve._ harry. i thought you were going to play tennis this afternoon. knox. so i am later on. harry. [_smiling._] do it now, dear boy. that is a precept a business man should never forget. knox. i should hate to think you wanted to be rid of me. harry. i dote on your company, but i feel that i mustn't be selfish. knox. [_pulling his leg._] to tell you the truth i don't feel very fit to-day. harry. a little bilious, i dare say. half a dozen hard sets are just what you want. [_he hands_ knox _his coat_.] knox. what is this? harry. your coat. knox. you're making yourself almost more distressingly plain than nature has already made you. [wu _comes back and hands_ harry _a dollar, and then goes out_. harry _gives the dollar to the_ amah. harry. here's a dollar for you, amah. you go back to missy and tell her it's all right and will she come chop-chop. sabe? amah. my sabe. goo'-bye. knox. god bless you, dearie. it's done me good to see your winsome little face. harry. [_with a smile._] shut up, harold. [_the_ amah _with nods, smiles and bows, goes out_. knox. harry, my poor friend, is it possible that you have an assignation? harry. what is possible is that if you don't get out quick i'll throw you out. knox. why didn't you say you were expecting a girl? harry. i'm not; i'm expecting a lady. knox. are you sure you know how to behave? if you'd like me to stay and see you don't do the wrong thing i'll chuck my tennis. i'm always ready to sacrifice myself for a friend. harry. has it struck you that the distance from the verandah to the street is very considerable? knox. and the pavement is hard. i flatter myself i can take a hint. i wonder where the devil my pin is. i left it on the table. harry. i expect wu put it away. knox. it's much more likely that old woman pinched it. harry. oh, nonsense. she wouldn't dream of such a thing. i believe mrs. rathbone's had her for ages. knox. who is mrs. rathbone? harry. [_not wishing to be questioned._] a friend of mine. [george conway _comes in_. _he is a tall, dark man in the early thirties. he is a handsome, well-built fellow, of a somewhat rugged appearance, but urbane and self-assured._ george. may i come in? harry. [_eagerly, shaking him warmly by the hand._] at last. by jove, it's good to see you again. you know knox, don't you? george. i think so. knox. i wash bottles in the b. a. t. i don't expect the legation bloods to be aware of my existence. george. [_with a twinkle in his eye._] i don't know that an assistant chinese secretary is such a blood as all that. knox. you've just been down to fuchow, haven't you? george. yes, i only got back this morning. knox. did you see freddy baker by any chance? george. yes, poor chap. knox. oh, i've got no pity for him. he's just a damned fool. harry. why? knox. haven't you heard? he's married a half-caste. harry. what of it? i believe she's a very pretty girl. knox. i daresay she is. but hang it all, he needn't have married her. george. i don't think it was a very wise thing to do. harry. i should have thought all those prejudices were out of date. why shouldn't a man marry a half-caste if he wants to? knox. it can't be very nice to have a wife whom even the missionary ladies turn up their noses at. harry. [_with a shrug of the shoulders._] you wait till freddy's number one in hankow and can entertain. i bet the white ladies will be glad enough to know his missus then. george. yes, but that's just it. he'll never get a good job with a eurasian wife. harry. he's in jardine's, isn't he? do you mean to say it's going to handicap a man in a shipping firm because he's married a woman who's partly chinese? george. of course it is. jardine's are about the most important firm in china and the manager of one of their principal branches has definite social obligations. freddy baker will be sent to twopenny halfpenny outports where his wife doesn't matter. knox. i think he's damned lucky if he's not asked to resign. harry. it's cruel. his wife may be a charming and cultivated woman. knox. have you ever known a half-caste that was? harry. i have. knox. well, i've been in this country for seven years and i've never met one, male or female, that didn't give me the shivers. harry. i've no patience with you. you're a perfect damned fool. knox. [_a little surprised, but quite good-humoured._] you're getting rather excited, aren't you? harry. [_hotly._] i hate injustice. george. do you think it really is injustice? the english are not an unkindly race. if they've got a down on half-castes there are probably very good grounds for it. harry. what are they? knox. we don't much like their morals, but we can't stick their manners. george. somehow or other they seem to inherit all the bad qualities of the two races from which they spring and none of the good ones. i'm sure there are exceptions, but on the whole the eurasian is vulgar and noisy. he can't tell the truth if he tries. knox. to do him justice, he seldom tries. george. he's as vain as a peacock. he'll cringe when he's afraid of you and he'll bully when he's not. you can never rely on him. he's crooked from the crown of his german hat to the toes of his american boots. knox. straight from the shoulder. take the count, old man. harry. [_frigidly._] oughtn't you to be going? knox. [_smiling._] no, but i will. harry. i'm sorry if i was rude to you just now, old man. knox. silly ass, you've broken no bones; my self-esteem, thank god, is unimpaired. [_he goes out._ harry. i say, i'm awfully glad you're back, george. you can't think how i miss you when you're away. george. as soon as the shooting starts we'll try and get two or three days together in the country. harry. yes, that would be jolly. [_calling._] wu. wu. [_outside._] ye'. harry. bring tea for three. george. who is the third? harry. when you said you could come round i asked somebody i want you very much to meet. george. who is that? harry. mrs. rathbone ... i'm going to be married to her and we want you to be our best man. george. harry. harry. [_boyishly._] i thought you'd be surprised. george. my dear old boy, i am so glad. i hope you'll be awfully happy. harry. i'm awfully happy now. george. why have you kept it so dark? harry. i didn't want to say anything till it was all settled. besides, i've only known her six weeks. i met her when i was down in shanghai.... george. is she a widow? harry. yes, she was married to an american in the f. m. s. george. is she american? harry. only by marriage. i'm afraid she didn't have a very happy married life. george. poor thing. i think i'd take a small bet that you won't beat her. harry. i mean to try my best to make her happy. george. you old fool, i've never known a man who was likely to make a better husband. harry. i'm most awfully in love with her, george. george. isn't that ripping? how old is she? harry. only twenty-two. she's the loveliest thing you ever saw. george. and is she in love with you? harry. she says so. george. she damned well ought to be. harry. i do hope you'll like her, george. george. of course i shall. you're not the sort of chap to fall in love with a woman who isn't nice. [harry _walks up and down for a moment restlessly_. harry. will you have a whisky and soda? george. no, thanks ... i'll wait for tea. harry. she ought to be here in a moment. [_suddenly making up his mind._] it's no good beating about the bush. i may as well tell you at once. her--her mother was chinese. george. [_unable to conceal his dismay._] oh, harry. [_a pause._] i wish i hadn't said all that i did just now. harry. of course you didn't know. george. [_gravely._] i should have had to say something very like it, harry. but i shouldn't have put it so bluntly. harry. you said yourself there were exceptions. george. i know. [_distressed._] won't your people be rather upset? harry. i don't see how it can matter to them. they're nine thousand miles away. george. who was her father? harry. oh, he was a merchant. he's dead. and her mother is too. george. that's something. i don't think you'd much like having a chinese mother-in-law about the place. harry. george, you won't let it make any difference, will you? we've known one another all our lives. george. my dear old chap, as far as i'm concerned i shouldn't care if you married the first cousin of the ace of spades. i don't want you to make a hash of things. harry. wait till you see her. she's the most fascinating thing you ever met. george. yes, they can be charming. i was awfully in love with a half--with a eurasian girl myself years ago. it was before you came out to the country. i wanted to marry her. harry. why didn't you? george. it was up in chung-king. i'd just been appointed vice-consul. i was only twenty-three. the minister wired from peking that i'd have to resign if i did. i hadn't a bob except my salary and they transferred me to canton to get me away. harry. it's different for you. you're in the service and you may be minister one of these days. i'm only a merchant. george. even for you there'll be difficulties, you know. has it occurred to you that the white ladies won't be very nice? harry. i can do without their society. george. you must know some people. it means you'll have to hobnob with eurasian clerks and their wives. i'm afraid you'll find it pretty rotten. harry. if you'll stick to me i don't care. george. i suppose you've absolutely made up your mind? harry. absolutely. george. in that case i've got nothing more to say. you can't expect me not to be a little disappointed, but after all the chief thing is your happiness, and whatever i can do i will. you can put your shirt on that. harry. you're a brick, george. george. the little lady ought to be here, oughtn't she? harry. i think i hear her on the stairs. [_he goes to the entrance and then out._ wu _brings in the tea and sets it on the table_. george _walks over to the parapet and looks thoughtfully before him_. _there is a sound of voices in the adjoining room._ harry. [_outside._] come in; he's on the verandah. daisy. [_outside._] one brief look in the glass and then i'm ready. [harry _enters_. harry. she's just coming. george. i bet she's powdering her nose. daisy. here i am. [daisy _enters_. she _is an extremely pretty woman, beautifully, perhaps a little showily, dressed_. _she has a pale, very clear, slightly sallow skin, and beautiful dark eyes. there is only the very faintest suspicion in them of the chinese slant. her hair is abundant and black._ harry. this is george conway, daisy. [george _stares at her_. _at first he is not quite sure that he recognizes her, then suddenly he does, but only the slightest movement of the eyes betrays him._ daisy. how do you do. i told harry i had an idea i must have met you somewhere. i don't think i have after all. harry. george flatters himself he's not easily forgotten. daisy. but i've heard so much about you from harry that i feel as though we were old friends. george. it's very kind of you to say so. harry. supposing you poured out the tea, daisy. george. i'm dying for a cup. [_she sits down and proceeds to do so._ daisy. harry is very anxious that you should like me. harry. george and i have known one another since we were kids. his people and mine live quite close to one another at home. daisy. but i'm not blaming you. i'm only wondering how i shall ingratiate myself with him. harry. he looks rather severe, but he isn't really. i think you've only got to be your natural charming self. daisy. have you told him about the house? harry. no. [_to george._] you know the temple the harrisons used to have. we've taken that. george. oh, it's a ripping place. but won't you find it rather a nuisance to have those old monks on the top of you all the time? harry. oh, i don't think so. our part is quite separate, you know, and the harrisons made it very comfortable. [harold knox _comes in_. _he has changed into tennis things._ knox. i say, harry ... [_he sees_ daisy.] oh, i beg your pardon. harry. mr. knox--mrs. rathbone. [knox _gives her a curt nod, but she holds out her hand affably_. _he takes it._ daisy. how do you do. knox. i'm sorry to disturb you, harry, but old ku faung min is downstairs and wants to see you. harry. tell him to go to blazes. the office is closed. knox. he's going to hankow to-night and he says he must see you before he goes. he's got some big order to give. harry. oh, curse him. i know what he is. he'll keep me talking for half an hour. d'you mind if i leave you? daisy. of course not. it'll give me a chance of making mr. conway's acquaintance. harry. i'll get rid of him as quickly as i can. [_he goes out accompanied by knox._ knox. [_as he goes._] good-bye. [george _looks at_ daisy _for a moment_. _she smiles at him. there is a silence._ george. why didn't you warn me that it was you i was going to meet? daisy. i didn't know what you'd say about me to harry if you knew. george. it was rather a risk, wasn't it? supposing i'd blurted out the truth. daisy. i trusted to your diplomatic training. besides, i'd prepared for it. i told him i thought i'd met you. george. harry and i have been pals all our lives. i brought him out to china and i got him his job. when he had cholera he would have died if i hadn't pulled him through. daisy. i know. and in return he worships the ground you tread on. i've never known one man think so much of another as he does of you. george. all that's rot, of course. sometimes i don't know how i'm going to live up to the good opinion harry has of me. but when you've done so much for a pal as i have for him it gives you an awful sense of responsibility towards him. daisy. what do you mean by that? [_a short pause._ george. i'm not going to let you marry him. daisy. he's so much in love with me that he doesn't know what to do with himself. george. i know he is. but if you were in love with him you wouldn't be so sure of it. daisy. [_with a sudden change of tone._] why not? i was sure of your love. and god knows i was in love with you. [george _makes a gesture of dismay_. _he is taken aback for a moment, but he quickly recovers._ george. you don't know what sort of a man harry is. he's not like the fellows you've been used to. he's never knocked around as most of us do. he's always been as straight as a die. daisy. i know. george. have mercy on him. even if there were nothing else against you he's not the sort of chap for you to marry. he's awfully english. daisy. if he doesn't mind marrying a eurasian i really don't see what business it is of yours. george. but you know very well that that isn't the only thing against you. daisy. i haven't an idea what you mean. george. haven't you? you forget the war. when we heard there was a very pretty young woman, apparently with plenty of money, living at the hong kong hotel on very familiar terms with a lot of naval fellows, it became our business to make enquiries. i think i know everything there is against you. daisy. have you any right to make use of information you've acquired officially? george. don't be a fool, daisy. daisy. [_passionately._] tell him then. you'll break his heart. you'll make him utterly wretched. but he'll marry me all the same. when a man's as much in love as he is he'll forgive everything. george. i think it's horrible. if you loved him you couldn't marry him. it's heartless. daisy. [_violently._] how dare you say that? you. you. you know what i am. yes, it's all true. i don't know what you know but it can't be worse than the truth. and whose fault is it? yours. if i'm rotten it's you who made me rotten. george. i? no. you've got no right to say that. it's cruel. it's infamous. daisy. i've touched you at last, have i? because you know it's true. don't you remember when i first came to chung-king? i was seventeen. my father had sent me to england to school when i was seven. i never saw him for ten years. and at last he wrote and said i was to come back to china. you came and met me on the boat and told me my father had had a stroke and was dead. you took me to the presbyterian mission. george. that was my job. i was awfully sorry for you. daisy. and then in a day or two you came and told me that my father hadn't left anything and what there was went to his relations in england. george. naturally he didn't expect to die. daisy. [_passionately._] if he was going to leave me like that why didn't he let me stay with my chinese mother? why did he bring me up like a lady? oh, it was cruel. george. yes. it was unpardonable. daisy. i was so lonely and so frightened. you seemed to be sorry for me. you were the only person who was really kind to me. you were practically the first man i'd known. i loved you. i thought you loved me. oh, say that you loved me then, george. george. you know i did. daisy. i was very innocent in those days. i thought that when two people loved one another they married. i wasn't a eurasian then, george. i was like any other english girl. if you'd married me i shouldn't be what i am now. but they took you away from me. you never even said good-bye to me. you wrote and told me you'd been transferred to canton. george. i couldn't say good-bye to you, daisy. they said that if i married you i'd have to leave the service. i was absolutely penniless. they dinned it into my ears that if a white man marries a eurasian he's done for. i wouldn't listen to them, but in my heart i knew it was true. daisy. i don't blame you. you wanted to get on, and you have, haven't you? you're assistant chinese secretary already and harry says you'll be minister before you've done. it seems rather hard that i should have had to pay the price. george. daisy, you'll never know what anguish i suffered. i can't expect you to care. it's very natural if you hate me. i was ambitious. i didn't want to be a failure. i knew that it was madness to marry you. i had to kill my love. i couldn't. it was stronger than i was. at last i couldn't help myself. i made up my mind to chuck everything and take the consequences. i was just starting for chung-king when i heard you were living in shanghai with a rich chinaman. [daisy _gives a little moan_. _there is a silence._ daisy. they hated me at the mission. they found fault with me from morning till night. they blamed me because you wanted to marry me and they treated me as if i was a designing cat. when you went away they heaved a sigh of relief. then they started to convert me. they thought i'd better become a school teacher. they hated me because i was seventeen. they hated me because i was pretty. oh, the brutes. they killed all the religion i'd got. there was only one person who seemed to care if i was alive or dead. that was my mother. oh, i was so ashamed the first time i saw her. at school in england i'd told them so often that she was a chinese princess that i almost believed it myself. my mother was a dirty little ugly chinawoman. i'd forgotten all my chinese and i had to talk to her in english. she asked me if i'd like to go to shanghai with her. i was ready to do anything in the world to get away from the mission and i thought in shanghai i shouldn't be so far away from you. they didn't want me to go, but they couldn't keep me against my will. when we got to shanghai she sold me to lee tai cheng for two thousand dollars. george. how terrible. daisy. i've never had a chance. oh, george, isn't it possible for a woman to turn over a new leaf? you say that harry's good and kind. don't you see what that means to me? because he'll think me good i shall be good. after all, he couldn't have fallen in love with me if i'd been entirely worthless. i hate the life i've led. i want to go straight. i swear i'll make him a good wife. oh, george, if you ever loved me have pity on me. if harry doesn't marry me i'm done. george. how can a marriage be happy that's founded on a tissue of lies? daisy. i've never told harry a single lie. george. you told him you hadn't been happily married. daisy. that wasn't a lie. george. you haven't been married at all. daisy. [_with a roguish look._] well then, i haven't been happily married, have i? george. who was this fellow rathbone? daisy. he was an american in business at singapore. i met him in shanghai. i hated lee. rathbone asked me to go to singapore with him and i went. i lived with him for four years. george. then you went back to lee tai cheng. daisy. rathbone died. there was nothing else to do. my mother was always nagging me to go back to him. he's rich and she makes a good thing out of it. george. i thought she was dead. daisy. no. i told harry she was because i thought it would make it easier for him. george. she isn't with you now, is she? daisy. no, she lives at ichang. she doesn't bother me as long as i send her something every month. george. why did you tell harry that you were twenty-two? it's ten years since you came to china and you were seventeen then. daisy. [_with a twinkle in her eye._] any woman of my age will tell you that seventeen and ten are twenty-two. [george _does not smile_. _with frowning brow he walks up and down._ george. oh, i wish to god i knew nothing about you. i can't bring myself to tell him and yet how can i let him marry you in absolute ignorance? oh, daisy, for your sake as well as for his i beseech you to tell him the whole truth and let him decide for himself. daisy. and break his heart? there's not a missionary who believes in god as he believes in me. if he loses his trust in me he loses everything. tell him if you think you must, if you have no pity, if you have no regret for all the shame and misery you brought on me, you, you, you--but if you do, i swear, i swear to god that i shall kill myself. i won't go back to that hateful life. [_he looks at her earnestly for a moment._ george. i don't know if i'm doing right or wrong. i shall tell him nothing. [daisy _gives a deep sigh of relief_, harry _comes in_. harry. i say, i'm awfully sorry to have been so long. i couldn't get the old blighter to go. daisy. [_with complete self-control._] if i say you've been an age it'll look as though mr. conway had been boring me. harry. i hope you've made friends. daisy. [_to_ george.] have we? george. i hope so. but now i think i must bolt. i have a long chinese document to translate. [_holding out his hand to_ daisy.] i hope you'll both be very happy. daisy. i think i'm going to like you. george. good-bye, harry, old man. harry. i shall see you later on in the club, sha'n't i? george. if i can get through my work. [_he goes out._ harry. what have you and george been talking about? daisy. we discussed the house. it'll be great fun buying the things for it. harry. i could have killed that old chink for keeping me so long. i grudge every minute that i spend away from you. daisy. it's nice to be loved. harry. you do love me a little, don't you? daisy. a little more than a little, my lamb. harry. i wish i were more worth your while. you've made me feel so dissatisfied with myself. i'm such a rotter. daisy. you're not going to disagree with me already. harry. what about? daisy. about you. i think you're a perfect duck. [_the_ amah _appears_. harry. hulloa, who's this? daisy. oh, it's my amah. harry. i didn't recognize her for a moment. daisy. she doesn't approve of my being alone with strange gentlemen. she looks after me as if i was a child of ten. amah. velly late, missy daisy. time you come along. harry. oh, nonsense. daisy. she wants me to go and be fitted. she never lets me go out in peking alone. harry. she's quite right. daisy. amah, come and be introduced to the gentleman. he's going to be your master now. amah. [_smiling, with little nods._] velly nice gentleman. you keep missy daisy old amah--yes? velly good amah--yes? daisy. she's been with me ever since i was a child. harry. of course we'll keep her. she was with you when you were in singapore? daisy. [_with a little sigh._] yes, i don't know what i should have done without her sometimes. harry. oh, daisy, i do want to make you forget all the unhappiness you have suffered. [_he takes her in his arms and kisses her on the lips._ _the_ amah _chuckles to herself silently_. end of scene ii. scene iii scene: _the temple of fidelity and virtuous inclination. the courtyard of the temple is shown. at the back is the sanctuary in which is seen the altar table; on this are two large vases in each of which are seven lotus flowers, gilt but discoloured by incense, and in the middle there is a sand-box in which are burning joss-sticks; behind is the image of buddha. the sanctuary can be closed by huge doors. these are now open. a flight of steps leads up to it._ _a service is finishing. the monks are seen on each side of the altar kneeling in two rows. they are clad in grey gowns and their heads are shaven. they sing the invocation to buddha, repeating the same words over and over again in a monotonous chaunt._ daisy _stands outside the sanctuary door, on the steps, listlessly_. _the_ amah _is squatting by her side_. _now the service ends; the monks form a procession and two by two, still singing, come down the steps and go out. a tiny acolyte blows out the oil lamps and with an effort shuts the temple doors._ daisy _comes down the steps and sits on one of the lower ones_. _she is dreadfully bored._ amah. what is the matter with my pletty one? daisy. what should be the matter? amah. [_with a snigger._] hi, hi. old amah got velly good eyes in her head. daisy. [_as though talking to herself._] i've got a husband who adores me and a nice house to live in. i've got a position and as much money as i want. i'm safe. i'm respectable. i ought to be happy. amah. i say, harry no good, what for you wanchee marry? you say, i wanchee marry, i wanchee marry? well, you married. what you want now? daisy. they say life is short. good god, how long the days are. amah. you want pony--harry give you pony. you want jade ring--harry give you jade ring. you want sable coat--harry give you sable coat. why you not happy? daisy. i never said i wasn't happy. amah. hi, hi. daisy. if you laugh like that i'll kill you. amah. you no kill old amah. you want old amah. i got something velly pletty for my little daisy flower. daisy. don't be an old fool. i'm not a child any more. [_desperately._] i'm growing older, older, older. and every day is just like every other day. i might as well be dead. amah. look this pletty present old amah have got. [_she takes a jade necklace out of her sleeve and puts it, smiling, into_ daisy's _hand_. daisy. [_with sudden vivacity,_] oh, what a lovely chain. it's beautiful jade. how much do they want for it? amah. it's a present for my little daisy. daisy. for me? it must have cost five hundred dollars. who is it from? amah. to-day is my little daisy's wedding-day. she have married one year. perhaps old amah want to give her little flower present. daisy. you! have you ever given me anything but a beating? amah. lee tai cheng pay me necklace and say you give to daisy. daisy. you old hag. [_she flings the necklace away violently._] amah. you silly. worth plenty money. you no wanchee, i sell rich amelican. [_she is just going after the necklace, when_ daisy _catches her violently by the arm_. daisy. how dare you? how dare you? i told you that you were never to let lee tai speak to you again. amah. you very angry, daisy. you very angry before, but you go back to lee tai; he think perhaps you go back again. daisy. tell him that i loathe the sight of him. tell him that if i were starving i wouldn't take a penny from him. tell him that if he dares to come round here i'll have him beaten till he screams. amah. hi, hi. daisy. and you leave me alone, will you. harry hates you. i've only got to say a word and he'll kick you out in five minutes. amah. what would my little daisy do without old amah, hi, hi? what for you no talkee true? you think old amah no got eyes? [_with a cunning, arch look._] i got something make you very glad. [_she takes a note out of her sleeve._] daisy. what's that? amah. i got letter. daisy. [_snatching it from her._] give it me. how dare you hide it? amah. have come when you long harry. i think perhaps you no wanchee read when harry there. [daisy _tears it open_.] what he say? daisy. [_reading._] "i'm awfully sorry i can't dine with you on thursday, but i'm engaged. i've just remembered it's your wedding-day and i'll look in for a minute. ask harry if he'd like to ride with me." amah. is that all? daisy. "yours ever. george conway." amah. you love him very much, george conway? daisy. [_taking no notice of her, passionately._] at last. i haven't seen him for ten days. ten mortal days. oh, i want him. i want him. amah. why you no talkee old amah? daisy. [_desperately._] i can't help myself. oh, i love him so. what shall i do? i can't live without him. if you don't want me to die make him love me. amah. you see, you want old amah. daisy. oh, i'm so unhappy. i think i shall go mad. amah. sh, sh. perhaps he love you too. daisy. never. he hates me. why does he avoid me? he never comes here. at first he was always looking in. he used to come out and dine two or three days a week. what have i done to him? he only comes now because he does not want to offend harry. harry, harry, what do i care for harry? amah. sh. don't let him see. give amah the letter. [_she snatches it from_ daisy _and hides it in her dress as_ harry _comes in_. daisy _pulls herself together_. harry. i say, daisy, i've just had the ponies saddled. put on your habit and let's go for a ride. daisy. i've got a headache. harry. oh, my poor child. why don't you lie down? daisy. i thought i was better in the air. but there's no reason why you shouldn't ride. harry. oh, no, i won't ride without you. daisy. why on earth not? it'll do you good. you know when my head's bad i only want to be left alone. your pony wants exercising. harry. the boy can do that. daisy. [_trying to conceal her growing exasperation._] please do as i ask. i'd rather you went. harry. [_laughing._] of course if you're so anxious to get rid of me.... daisy. [_smiling._] i can't bear that you should be done out of your ride. if you won't go alone you'll just force me to come with you. harry. i'll go. give me a kiss before i do. [_she puts up her lips to his._] i'm almost ashamed of myself, i'm just as madly in love with you as the day we were married. daisy. you are a dear. have a nice ride, and when you come back i shall be all right. harry. that's ripping. i shan't be very long. [_he goes out. the lightness, the smile, with which she has spoken to harry disappear as he goes, and she looks worried and anxious._ daisy. supposing they meet? amah. no can. harry go out back way. daisy. yes, i suppose he will. i wish he'd be quick. [_violently._] i must see george. amah. [_picking up the necklace._] velly pletty necklace. you silly girl. why you no take? daisy. oh, damn, why can't you leave me alone? [_listening._] what on earth is harry doing? i thought the pony was saddled. amah. [_looking at the necklace._] what shall i do with this? daisy. throw it in the dust-bin. amah. lee tai no likee that very much. daisy. [_hearing the sound of the pony, with a sigh of relief._] he's gone. now i'm safe. where's my bag? [_she takes a little mirror out of it and looks at herself._] i look perfectly hideous. amah. don't be silly. you velly pletty girl. daisy. [_her ears all alert._] there's someone riding along. amah. that not pony. that peking cart. daisy. you old fool, i tell you it's a pony. at last. oh, my heart's beating so.... it's stopping at the gate. it's george. oh, i love him. i love him. [_to the_ amah, _stamping her foot_.] what are you waiting for? i don't want you here now, and don't listen, d'you hear. get out, get out. amah. all-light. my go away. [_the_ amah _slinks away_. daisy _stands waiting for_ george, _holding her hands to her heart as though to stop the anguish of its beating_. _she makes a great effort at self-control as_ george _enters_. _he is in riding kit. he has a bunch of orchids in his hand._ george. hulloa, what are you doing here? daisy. i was tired of sitting in the drawing-room. george. i remembered it was your wedding-day. i've brought you a few flowers. [_she takes them with both hands._] daisy. thank you. that _is_ kind of you. george. [_gravely._] i hope you'll always be very happy. i hope you'll allow me to say how grateful i am that you've given harry so much happiness. daisy. you're very solemn. one would almost think you'd prepared that pretty speech beforehand. george. [_trying to take it lightly._] i'm sorry if it didn't sound natural. i can promise you it was sincere. daisy. shall we sit down? george. i think we ought to go for our ride while the light lasts. i'll come in and have a drink on the way back. daisy. harry's out. george. is he? i sent you a note this morning. i said i couldn't dine on thursday and i'd come and fetch harry for a ride this afternoon. daisy. i didn't tell him. george. no? daisy. i don't see you very often nowadays. george. there's an awful lot of work to do just now. they lead me a dog's life at the legation. daisy. even at night? at first you used to come and dine with us two or three nights a week. george. i can't always be sponging on you. it's positively indecent. daisy. we don't know many people. it's not always very lively here. i should have thought if you didn't care to come for my sake you'd have come for harry's. george. i come whenever you ask me. daisy. you haven't been here for a month. george. it just happens that the last two or three times you've asked me to dine i've been engaged. daisy. [_her voice breaking._] you promised that we'd be friends. what have i done to turn you against me? george. [_his armour pierced by the emotion in her voice._] oh, daisy, don't speak like that. daisy. i've tried to do everything i could to please you. if there's anything i do that you don't like, won't you tell me? i promise you i won't do it. george. oh, my dear child, you make me feel such an awful beast. daisy. is it the past that you can't forget? george. good heavens, no, what do i care about the past? daisy. i have so few friends. i'm so awfully fond of you, george. george. i don't think i've given you much cause to be that. daisy. there must be some reason why you won't ever come near me. why won't you tell me? george. oh, it's absurd, you're making a mountain out of a molehill. daisy. you used to be so jolly, and we used to laugh together. i looked forward so much to your coming here. what has changed you? george. nothing has changed me. daisy. [_with a passion of despair._] oh, i might as well batter my head against a brick wall. how can you be so unkind to me? george. for god's sake ... [_he stops._] heaven knows, i don't want to be unkind to you. daisy. then why do you treat me as an outcast? oh, it's cruel, cruel. [george _is excessively distressed_. _he walks up and down, frowning._ _he cannot bear to look at_ daisy _and he speaks with hesitation_. george. you'll think me an awful rotter, daisy, but you can't think me more of a rotter than i think myself. i don't know how to say it. it seems such an awful thing to say. i'm so ashamed of myself. i don't suppose two men have ever been greater pals than harry and i. he's married to you and he's awfully in love with you. and i think you're in love with him. i was only twenty-three when i--first knew you. it's an awful long time ago, isn't it? there are some wounds that never quite heal, you know. oh, my god, don't you understand? [_his embarrassment, the distraction of his tone, and the way the halting words fall unwillingly from his lips have betrayed the truth to_ daisy. _she does not speak, she does not stir, she looks at him with great shining eyes. she hardly dares to breathe._] if ever you wanted revenge on me you've got it now. you must see that it's better that i shouldn't come here too often. forgive me--goodby. [_he hurries away with averted face._ daisy _stands motionless, erect; she is almost transfigured_. _she draws a long breath._ daisy. oh, god! he loves me. [_she takes the orchids he has brought her and crushes them to her heart._ _the_ amah _appears_. amah. you wantchee buy manchu dress, daisy? daisy. go away. amah. velly cheap. you look see. no likee, no buy. daisy. [_impatiently._] i'm sick of curio-dealers. amah. velly pletty manchu dresses. [_she draws aside a little and allows a man with a large bundle wrapped up in a blue cotton cloth to come in. he is a chinese. he is dressed in a long black robe and a round black cap._ _it is_ lee tai cheng. _he is big and rather stout. from his smooth and yellow face his black eyes gleam craftily. he lays his bundle on the ground and unties it, showing a pile of gorgeous manchu dresses._ daisy _has taken no notice of him_. _suddenly she sees that a man, with his back turned to her, is there._ daisy. [_to the_ amah.] i told you i wouldn't see the man. send him away at once. lee tai. [_turning round, with a sly smile._] you look see. no likee, no buy. daisy. [_with a start of surprise and dismay._] lee! lee tai. [_coming forward coolly._] good afternoon, daisy. daisy. [_recovering herself._] it's lucky for you i'm in a good temper or i'd have you thrown out by the boys. what have you brought this junk for? lee tai. a curio-dealer can come and go and no one wonders. amah. lee tai velly clever man. daisy. give me that chain. [_the_ amah _takes it out of her sleeve and gives it to her_. daisy _flings it contemptuously at_ lee tai's _feet_.] take it. pack up your things and go. if you ever dare to show your face here again, i'll tell my husband. lee tai. [_with a chuckle._] what will you tell him? don't you be a silly girl, daisy. daisy. what do you want? lee tai. [_coolly._] you. daisy. don't you know that i loathe you? you disgust me. lee tai. what do i care? perhaps if you loved me i shouldn't want you. your hatred is like a sharp and bitter sauce that tickles my appetite. daisy. you beast. lee tai. i like the horror that makes your body tremble when i hold you in my arms. and sometimes the horror turns on a sudden into a wild tempest of passion. daisy. you liar. lee tai. leave this stupid white man. what is he to you? daisy. he is my husband. lee tai. it is a year to-day since you were married. what has marriage done for you? you thought when you married a white man you'd become a white woman. do you think they can look at you and forget? how many white women do you know? how many friends have you got? you're a prisoner. i'll take you to singapore or calcutta. don't you want to amuse yourself? do you want to go to europe? i'll take you to paris. i'll give you more money to spend in a week than your husband earns in a year. daisy. i'm very comfortable in peking, thank you. lee tai. [_snapping his fingers._] you don't care that for your husband. he loves you. you despise him. don't you wish with all your heart that you hadn't married him? amah. he very silly white man. he no likee daisy's old amah. perhaps one day he b'long sick. daisy cry velly much if he die? daisy. [_impatiently._] don't be such a fool. amah. perhaps one day he drink whisky soda. oh, velly ill, velly ill. what's the matter with me? no sabe. no can stand. doctor no sabe. then die. hi, hi. daisy. you silly old woman. harry's not a chinaman and he wouldn't call in a chinese doctor. lee tai. [_with a smile._] china is a very old and a highly civilized country, daisy. when anyone is in your way, it's not very difficult to get rid of him. daisy. [_scornfully._] and do you think i'd let poor harry be murdered so that i might be free to listen to your generous proposals? you must think i'm a fool if you expect me to risk my neck for that. lee tai. you don't take _any_ risk, daisy. you know nothing. amah. lee tai velly clever man, daisy. daisy. i thought so once. lee tai, you're a damned fool. get out. lee tai. freedom is a very good thing, daisy. daisy. what should i do with it? lee tai. wouldn't you like to be free now? [_she looks at him sharply. she wonders if it can possibly be that he suspects her passion for george conway. he meets her glance steadily._] one day sen shi ming was sitting with his wife looking at a tang bronze that he had just bought when he heard someone in the street crying for help. sen shi was a very brave man and he snatched up a revolver and ran out. sen shi forgot that he had cheated his brother out of a house in hatamen street or he would have been more prudent. sen shi was found by the watchman an hour later with a dagger in his heart. who killed cock-robin? amah. hi, hi. sen shi velly silly man. lee tai. his brother knew that. they had grown up together. if i heard cries for help outside my house late in the night, i should ask myself who had a grudge against me, and i should make sure the door was bolted. but white men are very brave. white men don't know the chinese customs. would you be very sorry if an accident happened to your excellent husband? daisy. i wonder what you take me for? lee tai. why do you pretend to me, daisy? do you think i don't know you? daisy. the door is a little on the left of you, lee tai. would you give yourself the trouble of walking through it? lee tai. [_with a smile._] i go, but i come back. perhaps you'll change your mind. [_he ties up his bundle and is about to go._ harry _enters_. daisy. oh, harry, you're back very soon! harry. yes, the pony went lame. fortunately i hadn't gone far before i noticed it. who's this? daisy. it's a curio-dealer. he has nothing i want. i was just sending him away. [lee tai _takes up his bundle and goes out_. harry. [_noticing the orchids._] someone been sending you flowers? daisy. george. harry. rather nice of him. [_to the_ amah.] run along, amah, i want to talk to missy. amah. all light. harry. and don't let me catch you listening round the corner. amah. my no listen. what for i listen? harry. run along--chop-chop. amah. can do. [_she goes out._] harry. [_with a laugh._] i couldn't give you a greater proof of my affection than consenting to have that old woman around all the time. daisy. i don't know why you dislike her. she's devoted to me. harry. that's the only reason i put up with her. she gives me the creeps. i have the impression that she watches every movement i make. daisy. oh, what nonsense! harry. and i've caught her eavesdropping. daisy. was it amah that you wanted to talk to me about? harry. no, i've got something to tell you. how would you like to leave peking? daisy. [_with a start, suddenly off her guard._] not at all. harry. i'm afraid it's awfully dull for you here, darling. daisy. i don't find it so. harry. you're so dear and sweet. are you sure you don't say that on my account? daisy. i'm very fond of peking. harry. we've been married a year now. i don't want to hurt your feelings, darling, but it's no good beating about the bush, and i think it's better to be frank. daisy. surely you can say anything you like to me without hesitation. harry. things have been a little awkward in a way. the women i used to know before we married left cards on you-- daisy. having taken the precaution to discover that i should be out. harry. and you returned those cards and that was the end of it. i asked george what he thought about my taking you to the club to play tennis and he said he thought we'd better not risk it. the result is that you don't know a soul. daisy. have i complained? harry. you've been most awfully decent about it, but i hate to think of your spending day after day entirely by yourself. it can't be good for you to be so much alone. daisy. i might have known mrs. chuan. she's a white woman. harry. oh, my dear, she was--heaven knows what she was! she's married to a chinaman. it's horrible. she's outside the pale. daisy. and there's bertha raymond. she's very nice, even though she is a eurasian. harry. i'm sure she's very nice, but we couldn't very well have the raymonds here and refuse to go to them. her brother is one of the clerks in my office. i don't want to seem an awful snob.... daisy. you needn't hesitate to say anything about the eurasians. you can't hate and despise them more than i do. harry. i don't hate and despise them. i think that's odious. but sometimes they're not very tactful. i don't know that i much want one of my clerks to come and slap me on the back in the office and call me old chap. daisy. of course not. harry. the fact is we've been trying to do an impossible thing. it's no good kicking against the pricks. what with the legations and one thing and another peking's hopeless. we'd far better clear out. daisy. but if i don't mind why should you? harry. well, it's not very nice for me either. it's for my sake just as much as for yours that i'd be glad to go elsewhere. of course everybody at the club knows i'm married. some of them ignore it altogether. i don't mind that so much. some of them ask after you with an exaggerated cordiality which is rather offensive. and every now and then some fool begins to slang the eurasians and everybody kicks him under the table. then he remembers about me and goes scarlet. by god, it's hell. daisy. [_sulkily._] i don't want to leave peking. i'm very happy here. harry. well, darling, i've applied for a transfer. daisy. [_with sudden indignation._] without saying a word to me? harry. i thought you'd be glad. i didn't want to say anything till it was settled. daisy. do you think i am a child to have everything arranged for me without a word? [_trying to control herself._] after all, you'd never see george. surely you don't want to lose sight of your only real friend. harry. i've talked it over with george and he thinks it's the best thing to do. daisy. did he advise you to go? harry. strongly. daisy. [_violently._] i won't do it. i won't leave peking. harry. why should his advice make the difference? daisy. why? [_she is confused for a moment, but quickly recovers herself._] i won't let george conway--or anybody else--decide where i'm to go. harry. don't be unreasonable, darling. daisy. i won't go. i tell you i won't go. harry. well, i'm afraid you must now. it's all settled. the transfer is decided. daisy. [_bursting into tears._] oh, harry, don't take me away from here. i can't bear it. i want to stay here. harry. oh, darling, how can you be so silly! you'll have a much better time at one of the outports. you see, there are so few white people there that they can't afford to put on frills. they'll be jolly glad to know us both. we shall lead a normal life and be like everybody else. daisy. [_sulkily._] where do you want to go? harry. i've been put in charge of our place at chung-king. daisy. [_starting up with a cry._] chung-king! of course you'd choose chung-king. harry. why, what's wrong with it? do you know it? daisy. no--oh, what am i talking about? i'm all confused. yes, i was there once when i was a girl. it's a hateful place. harry. oh, nonsense! the consul's got a charming wife, and there are quite a nice lot of people there. daisy. [_distracted._] oh, what shall i do? i'm so unhappy. if you cared for me at all you wouldn't treat me so cruelly. you're ashamed of me. you want to hide me. why should i bury myself in a hole two thousand miles up the river? i won't go! i won't go! i won't go! [_she bursts into a storm of hysterical weeping._] harry. [_trying to take her in his arms._] oh, daisy, for god's sake don't cry. you know i'm not ashamed of you. i love you more than ever. i love you with all my heart. daisy. [_drawing away from him._] don't touch me. leave me alone. i hate you. harry. don't say that, daisy. it hurts me frightfully. daisy. oh, go away, go away! harry. [_seeking to reason with her._] i can't leave you like this. daisy. go, go, go, go, go! i don't want to see you! oh, god, what shall i do? [_she flings herself doom on the steps, weeping hysterically._ harry, _much distressed, looks at her in perplexity_. _the_ amah _comes in_. amah. you make missy cly. you velly bad man. harry. what the devil do you want? amah. [_going up to_ daisy _and stroking her head_.] what thing he talkee my poor little flower? maskee. he belong velly bad man. harry. shut up, you old ... i won't have you talk like that. i've put up with a good deal from you, but if you try to make mischief between daisy and me, by god, i'll throw you out into the street with my own hands. amah. what thing you do my daisy? don't cly, daisy. harry. darling, don't be unreasonable. daisy. go away, don't come near me. i hate you. harry. how _can_ you say anything so unkind? daisy. send him away. [_she begins to sob again more violently._] amah. you go away. you no can see she no wanchee you. you come back bimeby. my sabe talk to little flower. [harry _hesitates for a moment_. _he is harassed by the scene. then he makes up his mind the best thing is to leave_ daisy _with the_ amah. _he goes out._ daisy _raises her head cautiously_. daisy. has he gone? amah. yes. he go drink whisky soda. daisy. do you know what he wants? amah. what for he tell me no listen? so fashion i sabe he say something i wanchee hear. he wanchee you leave peking. daisy. i won't go. amah. harry velly silly man. he alla same pig. you pull thisa way, he pull thata way. if harry say you go from peking--you go. daisy. never, never, never! amah. you go away from peking you never see george anymore. daisy. i should die. oh, i want him! i want him to love me. i want him to hurt me. i want.... [_in her passion she has dug her hands hard into the_ amah.] amah. [_pushing away_ daisy's _hands_.] oh! daisy. he loves me. that's the only thing that matters. all the rest.... amah. harry wanchee you go chung-king. missionary ladies like see you again, daisy. perhaps they ask you how you like living along lee tai cheng. perhaps somebody tell harry. daisy. the fool. of all the places in china he must hit upon chung-king. amah. you know harry. if he say go chung-king, he go. you cly, he velly solly, he all same go. daisy. oh, i know his obstinacy. when he's once made up his mind--[_contemptuously._]--he prides himself on his firmness. oh, what shall i do? amah. i think more better something happen to harry. daisy. no, no, no! amah. what you flightened for? you no do anything. i tell lee tai more better something happen to harry. i say you not velly sorry if harry die. daisy. [_putting her hands over her ears._] be quiet! i won't listen to you. amah. [_roughly tearing her hands away._] don't you be such a big fool, daisy. you go to chung-king and harry know everything. maybe he kill you. daisy. what do i care? amah. you go to chung-king, you never see george no more. george, he love my little daisy. when harry gone--george, he come say.... daisy. oh, don't tempt me, it's horrible! amah. he put his arms round you and you feel such a little small thing, you hear his heart beat quick, quick against your heart. and he throw back your head and he kiss you. and you think you die, little flower. daisy. oh, i love him, i love him! amah. hi, hi. daisy. [_thinking of the scene with george._] he would hardly look at me and his hands were trembling. he was as white as a sheet. amah. [_persuasively._] i tell you, daisy. you no say yes, you no say no. i ask buddha. daisy. [_frightened._] what for? amah. if buddha say yes, i talk with lee tai; if buddha say no, i do nothing. then you go to chung-king and you never see george any more. [_the_ amah _goes up the temple steps and flings open the great doors_. daisy _watches her with an agony of horror, expectation, and dread. the_ amah _lights some joss-sticks on the altar, and strikes a deep-toned gong._ harry _comes in, followed by_ lee tai _with his bundle_. harry. [_anxious to make his peace._] daisy, i found this fellow hanging about in the courtyard. i thought i'd like to buy you a manchu dress that he's got. daisy. [_after a moment's reflection, with a change of tone._] that's very nice of you, harry. harry. it's a real beauty. you'll look stunning in it. lee tai. [_showing the dress, speaking in pidgin english._] firs class dless. he belong manchu plincess. manchus no got money. no got money, no can chow. manchus sell velly cheap. you takee, missy. [daisy _and_ lee tai _exchange glances_. daisy _is grave and tragic, whereas_ lee tai _has an ironical glint in his eyes. meanwhile the_ amah _has been bowing before the altar. she goes down on her knees and knocks her head on the ground_. harry. what in god's name is amah doing? daisy. she's asking buddha a question. harry. what question? daisy. [_with a shadow of a smile._] how should i know? harry. what's the idea? daisy. haven't you ever seen the chinese do it? you see those pieces of wood she's holding in her hands. she's holding them out to the buddha so that he may see them and she's telling him that he must answer the question. [_meanwhile the_ amah, _muttering in a low tone, is seen doing what_ daisy _describes_.] the buddha smells the incense of the burning joss-sticks, and he's pleased and he listens to what she says. harry. [_smiling._] don't be so absurd, daisy. one might almost think you believed all this nonsense. why, you're quite pale. daisy. then she gets up. the pieces of wood are flat on one side and round on the other. she'll lift them above her head and she'll drop them in front of the buddha. if they fall with the round side uppermost it means yes. [daisy _has been growing more and more excited as the ceremony proceeds. now the_ amah _steps back a little and she raises her arms_. daisy _gives a shriek and starts to run forward_.] no! no! stop! harry. [_instinctively seizing her arms._] daisy! [_at the same moment the_ amah _has let the pieces of wood fall. she looks at them for an instant and then turns round_. amah. buddha talkee, can do. daisy. [_to_ harry.] why did you stop me? harry. daisy, how can you be so superstitious? what is the result? daisy. amah asked buddha a question and the answer is yes. [_she puts her hand to her heart for an instant, then looking at_ harry _she smiles_.] i'm sorry i was silly and unreasonable just now, harry. end of scene iii scene iv _the sitting-room in the_ andersons' _apartments. at the back are two double doors. the lower part of them is solid, but above they are cut in an intricate trellis. the ceiling is raftered, painted red and decorated with dim, gold dragons; the walls are whitewashed. on them hang chinese pictures on rolls. between the doors is a little image of the domestic god, and under it a tiny oil lamp is burning. the furniture is partly chinese and partly european. there is an english writing-table, but the occasional tables, richly carved, are chinese. there is a chinese pallet-bed, covered with bamboo matting, and there is an english chesterfield. there are a couple of philippine rattan chairs and one or two of cantonese blackwood. on the floor is a chinese carpet. a ming tile here and there gives a vivid note of colour. it is a summer night and the doors are wide open. through them you see one of the courtyards of the temple_. _the_ amah _is seated in one of the blackwood chairs by the side of a table. she has her water-pipe. she puts a pinch of tobacco in and then going to the lamp under the image lights a taper. she seats herself again and lights her pipe. she smokes quietly_. daisy _comes in. she wears an evening dress somewhat too splendid for dinner with only her husband and a friend_. amah. b. a. t. fellow, when he go? daisy. you know his name. why don't you call him by it? i think he's going almost at once. amah. what for he go so soon? daisy. that's his business, isn't it? as a matter of fact his sister is arriving from england, and he has to go to meet her. amah. more better he go soon. daisy. why do you smoke your pipe here? you know harry doesn't like it. amah. harry one big fool, i think. when you go to chung-king? daisy. harry hasn't said a word about it since. amah. you got key that desk? daisy. no. harry keeps all his private papers there. [_the_ amah _goes up to the desk and tries one of the drawers. it is locked and she cannot open it_. amah. what harry do now? daisy. he and mr. knox are drinking their port. [_the_ amah _takes out a skeleton key out of her pocket and inserts it in the lock. she turns the key_. amah. velly bad lock. i think him made in germany. hi, hi. [_she opens the drawer and takes out a revolver. she hands it to_ daisy.] lee tai say, you take out cartridges. daisy. what do you mean? [_she suddenly guesses the truth and gives a cry._] oh! amah. [_hurriedly putting her hand over_ daisy's _mouth_.] sh, you no make noise. [_holding out the revolver._] lee tai say, more better you do it. daisy. take it away. no, no, i won't, i won't. amah. sh, sh. i do it. i sabe. [_she takes the cartridges out of the revolver and hides them about her._ daisy _looks at her with horror_. daisy. it's not for to-night? amah. i no sabe. daisy. i won't have it. do you hear? oh, i shall go mad! amah. then harry shut you up. hi, hi. all same chung-king. [_she puts the revolver back into the drawer and shuts it_ _just as_ harry _and_ harold knox _come in. they wear dinner jackets_. knox. hulloa, there's the little ray of sunshine. i missed your bonny face before dinner. amah. you velly funny man. knox. no wonder i dote upon you, dearie. you're the only attractive woman i've ever been able to persuade that i was a humourist. harry. [_catching sight of the_ amah's _water-pipe_.] i told you i wouldn't have your disgusting pipe in here, amah. amah. belong velly nice pipe. harry. i swore i'd throw the damned thing out myself if i found it lying about. amah. [_snatching it away._] you no touch my pipe. you velly bad man. velly bad temper. you no christian. harry. a fat lot you know about christianity. amah. i know plentything about christianity. my father velly poor man. he say, you go and be christian. i go catholic mission and they baptize me. english church missionary, he come along and say, catholic mission no good, you go to hell, i baptize you. all right i say, you baptize me. by and by baptist missionary come along and say, english church mission no good, you go to hell, i baptize you. all right, i say, you baptize me. by and by presbyterian missionary come along and say, baptist mission no good, you go to hell, i baptize you. all right, i say, you baptize me. [_to_ knox.] you know seventh day adventists? knox. i've heard of them. amah. by and by seventh day adventist he come along and say, presbyterian mission no good. knox. you go to hell. amah. how fashion you sabe what he said? knox. i guessed it. amah. you go to hell, he say. i baptize you. i been baptized one, two, three, four, five times. i velly christian woman. harry. [_smiling._] i apologize. amah. they all say to poor chinese, love one another. i no think missionaries love one another velly much. hi, hi. knox. [_taking out his watch._] d'you mind if i look at the time? i don't want to get to the station late. harry. of course not. i say, won't you have a cigar? [_he goes to his desk._] i have to keep them locked up. i think the boys find them very much to their taste. [_he puts the key into the lock._] hulloa, the drawer's open. i could have sworn i locked it. [_he takes out a box of cigars and hands it to_ knox.] knox. [_helping himself._] thanks very much. daisy. you know, you mustn't let me keep you if you want to be off. knox. i've got two or three minutes. harry. oh, daisy, before harold goes i wish you'd show him that manchu dress i bought you. daisy. i'll go and fetch it. [_to the_ amah.] is it hanging up in the cupboard? amah. no, i have puttee in paper. i velly careful woman. [_they both go out._ knox. i say, old man, i hope you don't think i'm an awful swine to rush off like this the moment i've swallowed my dinner. harry. rather not. as a matter of fact it's not exactly inconvenient, because i'm expecting george. i want him to have a heart to heart talk with daisy. knox. oh. harry. she's grousing rather about going to chung-king and i want him to tell her it's a very decent place. he was vice-consul up there once. he's dining at the carmichael's, but he said he'd come along here as soon as he could get away. knox. then it's all for the best in the best of all possible worlds. [daisy _comes in with the dress_. daisy. here it is. knox. by george, isn't it stunning? i must try to get one for my sister. she'd simply go off her head if she saw that. daisy. harry spoils me, doesn't he? knox. harry's a very lucky young fellow to have you to spoil. daisy. [_smiling._] go away or you'll never arrive in time. knox. i'm off. goodby and thanks very much. dinner was top-hole. daisy. goodby. [_he goes out._ harry _accompanies him into the courtyard and for a moment is lost to view. the gaiety on_ daisy's _face vanishes and a look of anxiety takes its place_. daisy. [_calling hurriedly._] amah, amah. amah. [_coming in._] what thing? daisy. what have you done? have you...? [_she stops, unable to complete the agonised question._] amah. what you talk about? i done nothing. i only have joke with you. hi, hi. daisy. will you swear that's true? amah. never tell a lie. velly good christian. [daisy _looks at her searchingly. she does not know whether to believe or not_. harry _returns_. harry. i say, daisy, i wish you'd put on the dress. i'd love to see how you look in it. daisy. [_with a smile._] shall i? harry. amah will help you. it'll suit you right down to the ground. daisy. wait a minute. bring the dress along, amah. amah. all right. [daisy _goes out, followed by the_ amah _with the manchu dress_. harry _goes to his desk and opens the drawer. he examines the lock and looks at the keyhole_. harry. [_to himself._] i wonder if that old devil's got a key. [_he shuts the drawer, but does not lock it. he strolls back to the middle of the room._ daisy. [_in the adjoining room._] are you getting impatient? harry. not a bit. daisy. i'm just ready. harry. i'm holding my breath. [daisy _comes in. she is in full manchu dress. she is strangely changed. there is nothing european about her any more. she is mysterious and enigmatical_.] daisy! [_she gives him a little smile but does not answer. she stands quite still for him to look at her._] by george, how chinese you look! daisy. don't you like it? harry. i don't know. you've just knocked me off my feet. like it? you're wonderful. in my wildest dreams i never saw you like that. you've brought all the east into the room with you. my head reels as though i were drunk. daisy. it's strange that i feel as if these things were made for me. they make me feel so different. harry. i thought that no one in the world was more normal than i. i'm ashamed of myself. you're almost a stranger to me and by god, i feel as though the marrow of my bones were melting. i hear the east a-calling. i have such a pain in my heart. oh, my pretty, my precious, i love you. [_he falls down on his knees before her and clasps both his arms round her._ daisy. [_in a low voice, hardly her own._] why, harry, what are you talking about? [_she caresses his hair with her long, delicate chinese hand._ harry. i'm such a fool. my heart is full of wonderful thoughts and i can only say that--that i worship the very ground you walk on. daisy. don't kneel, harry; that isn't the way a woman wants to be loved. [_she raises him to his feet and as he rises he takes her in his arms._ harry. [_passionately._] i'd do anything in the world for you. daisy. you could make me so happy if you chose. harry. i do choose. daisy. won't you give up this idea of leaving peking? harry. but, my darling, it's for your happiness i'm doing it. daisy. don't you think that everyone is the best judge of his own happiness? harry. not always. daisy. [_disengaging herself from his arms._] ah, that's the english way. you want to make people happy in your way and not in theirs. you'll never be satisfied till the chinese wear norfolk jackets and eat roast beef and plum pudding. harry. oh, my dear, don't let's argue now. daisy. you say you'll give me everything in the world and you won't give me the one thing i want. what's the good of offering me the moon if i have a nail in my shoe and you won't take it out? harry. well, you can smile, so it's not very serious, is it? daisy. [_putting her arms round his neck._] oh, harry, i'll love you so much if you'll only do what i ask. you don't know me yet. oh, harry! harry. my darling, i love you with all my heart and soul, but when i've once made up my mind nothing on earth is going to make me change it. we can only be happy and natural if we go. you must submit to my judgment. daisy. how _can_ you be so obstinate? harry. my dear, look at yourself in the glass now. [_she looks down on her manchu dress. she understands what he means. she is a chinese woman._ daisy. [_with a change of tone._] amah, bring me a tea-gown. [_she begins to undo the long manchu coat. the_ amah _comes in with a tea-gown_. harry. [_dryly._] it's very convenient that you should always be within earshot when you're wanted, amah. amah. i velly good amah. velly christian woman. [daisy _slips off the manchu clothes and is helped by the_ amah _into the tea-gown. she wraps it round her. she is once more a white woman._ daisy. [_pointing to the manchu dress._] take those things away. [_to_ harry.] would you like to have a game of chess? harry. very much. i'll get the men. [daisy _goes to the gramophone and turns on a chinese tune. it is strange and exotic. its monotony exacerbates the nerves._ harry _gets the chessboard and sets up the pieces. they sit down opposite one another. the_ amah _has disappeared with the discarded dress_. harry. will you take white? daisy. if you like. [_she moves a piece._] harry. i hate your queen opening. it always flummoxes me. i don't know where you learned to play so well. i never have a chance against you. daisy. i was taught by a chinaman. it's a game they take to naturally. [_they make two or three moves without a word. suddenly, breaking across the silence, stridently, there is a shriek outside in the street._ daisy _gives a little gasp_. harry. hulloa, what's that? daisy. oh, it's nothing. it's only some chinese quarrelling. [_two or three shouts are heard and then an agonised cry of "help, help."_ harry _springs to his feet_. harry. by god, that's english. [_he is just going to rush out when daisy seizes his arm._] daisy. what are you going to do? no, no, don't leave me, harry. [_she clings to him. he pushes her away violently._ harry. shut up. don't be a fool. [_he runs to the drawer of his desk. the cry is repeated: "for god's sake, help, help, oh!"_ harry. my god, they're killing someone. it can't be ... [_he remembers that george is coming that evening._] daisy. [_throwing herself on him._] no, harry, don't go, don't go, i won't let you. harry. get out of my way. [_he pushes her violently aside and runs out._ daisy _sinks to the floor and buries her face in her hands_. daisy. oh, my god! [_the_ amah _has been waiting just outside one of the doors, in the courtyard, and now she slips in_. amah. harry velly blave man. he hear white man being murdered. he run and help. hi, hi. daisy. oh, i can't. harry, harry. [_she springs to her feet and runs towards the courtyard, with some instinctive idea of going to her husband's help._ the amah _stops her_. amah. what side you go? daisy. i can't stand here and let harry be murdered. amah. you stop here. daisy. let me go. for god's sake let me go. wu, wu. [_the_ amah _puts her hand over_ daisy's _mouth_. amah. you be quiet. you wanchee go prison? daisy. [_snatching away her hand._] i'll give you anything in the world if you'll only let me go. amah. you silly little fool, daisy. [daisy _struggles to release herself, but she is helpless in the_ amah's _grasp_. daisy. [_in an agony._] it'll be too late. amah. too late now. you no can help him. [_she releases_ daisy. daisy _staggers forward and covers her face with her hands_. daisy. oh, what have i done? amah. [_with a snigger._] you no done nothing, you know nothing. daisy. [_violently._] curse you! it's you, you, you! amah. i velly wicked woman. curse me. do me no harm. daisy. i told you i wouldn't have anything done to harry. amah. you say no with your lips but in your belly you say yes. daisy. no, no, no! amah. you just big damned fool, daisy. you no love harry. him not velly rich. not velly big man. no good. you velly glad you finish with him. daisy. but not that way. he never did me any harm. he was always good to me and kind to me. amah. that velly good way. velly safe way. daisy. you devil! i hate the sight of you. amah. what for you hate me? i do what you want. your father velly clever man. he say: no break eggs, no can eat omelette. daisy. i wish i'd never been born. amah. [_impatiently._] what for you tell me lies? you want harry dead. well, i kill him for you. [_with a sudden gust of anger._] you no curse me or i beat you. you velly bad girl. daisy. [_giving way._] oh, i feel so awfully faint! amah. [_tenderly, as though_ daisy _were still a child_.] you sit down. you take smelly salts. [_she helps_ daisy _into a chair and holds smelling salts to her nostrils_.] you feel better in a minute. amah love her little daisy flower. harry him die and daisy velly sorry. she cry and cry and cry. george velly sorry for daisy. by and by daisy no cry any more. she say, more better harry dead. good old amah, she do everything for little daisy. [daisy _has been looking at her with terrified eyes_. daisy. what a brute i am! i'd give anything in the world to have harry back, and yet in the bottom of my heart there's a feeling--if i were free there'd be nothing to stand between george and me. amah. i think george he marry you maybe. daisy. oh, not now! it'll bring me bad joss. amah. you no wanchee fear, my little flower. you sit still or you feel bad again. daisy. [_jumping up._] how can i sit still? the suspense is awful. oh, my god, what's happened? amah. [_with a cunning smile._] i tell you what's happened. harry run outside and he see two, three men makee fighting. they a little way off. one man cry, "help, help!" harry give shout and run. he fall down and him not get up again. daisy. he's as strong as a horse. with his bare hands he's a match for ten chinamen. amah. lee tai velly clever man. he no take risks. i think all finish now. daisy. then for god's sake let me go. amah. more better you stay here, daisy. perhaps you get into trouble if you go out. they ask you why you go out,--why you think something happen to your husband. daisy. i can't let him lie there. amah. he no lie velly long. by and by night watchman come here, and he say white man in the street--him dead. i think his throat cut. daisy. oh, how horrible! harry, harry! [_she buries her face in her hands._ amah. i light joss-stick. make everything come all right. [_she goes over to the household image and lights a joss-stick in front of it. she bows before it and going on her knees knocks her head on the ground._ daisy. how long is it going on? how long have i got to wait? oh, what have i done? the silence is awful. [_there is a silence. suddenly_ daisy _breaks out into a shriek_.] no, no, no! i won't have it. i can't bear it. oh, god help me! [_in the distance of the next courtyard is heard the chanting of the monks at the evening service. the_ amah, _having finished her devotions, stands at the doorway looking out steadily_. daisy _stares straight in front of her. suddenly there is a loud booming of a gong_. daisy _starts up_.] what's that? amah. be quiet, daisy. be careful. [_the door of the courtyard is flung open._ harry _comes in, through the courtyard, into the room, pushing before him a coolie whom he holds by the wrists and by the scruff of the neck_. daisy. harry! harry. i've got one of the blighters. [_shouting._] here, bring me a rope. daisy. what's happened? harry. wait a minute. thank god, i got there when i did. [wu _brings a rope and_ harry _ties the man's wrists behind his back_.] keep quiet, you devil, or i'll break your ruddy neck. [_he slips the rope through the great iron ring of one of the doors and ties it so that the man cannot get away._] he'll be all right there for the present. i'll just go and telephone to the police station. wu, you stand outside there. you watch him. sabe? wu. i sabe. [_as_ harry _goes out a crowd of people surge through the great open doorway of the courtyard. they are monks of the temple, attracted to the street by the quick rumour of accident, coolies, and the night watchman with his rattle. some of them bear chinese lanterns, some hurricane lamps. the crowd separates out as they approach the room and then it is seen that three men are bearing what seems to be the body of a man_. daisy. what's that? amah. i think belong foreign man. [_the men bring in the body and lay it on the sofa. the head and part of the chest are covered with a piece of blue cotton._ daisy _and the_ amah _look at it with dismay. they dare not approach. the_ abbot _drives the crowd out of the room and shuts the doors, only leaving that side of one open at which the prisoner is attached. the_ amah _turns on the god in the niche_.] you say can do. what for you make mistake? [_she seizes a fan which is on the table under her hand and with angry violence hits the image on the face two or three times._ daisy _has been staring at the body. she goes up to it softly and lifts the cloth slightly, she gives a start, and with a quick gesture snatches it away. she sees george conway_. daisy. george. [_she opens her mouth to shriek._] amah. sh, take care. harry hear. daisy. what have you done? amah. i do nothing. buddha, he makee mistake. daisy. you fiend! amah. how do i know, daisy? i no can tell george coming here to-night. [_the words come gurgling out, for_ daisy _has sprung upon her and seized her by the throat_.] oh, let me go. daisy. you fiend. [harry _comes in. he is astounded at what he sees_. harry. daisy, daisy. what in god's name are you doing? [_restrained by his voice_, daisy _releases her hold of the_ amah, _but violently, pushing her so that she falls to the ground. she lies there, putting her hand to her throat_. daisy _turns to_ harry. daisy. it's george. harry. [_going up to the sofa and putting his hand on george's heart._] confound it, i know it's george. daisy. is he dead? harry. no, he's only had a bang on the head. he's stunned. i've sent for the doctor. luckily he was dining at the carmichaels' and i sent george's rickshaw to bring him along as quick as he could come. daisy. supposing he's gone? harry. he won't have gone. they were going to play poker. by god, what's this? [_he takes away his hand and sees blood upon it._] he's been wounded. he's bleeding. [daisy _goes up to the body and kneeling down, feels the pulse_. daisy. are you sure he's alive? harry. yes, his heart's beating all right. i wish the doctor would make haste. i don't know what one ought to do. daisy. how do you know he's at the carmichaels'? harry. george told me yesterday he was going to be there. george said he did not want to play poker and he'd come along here after dinner. daisy. [_springing to her feet._] did you know george was coming? harry. of course i did. when i heard someone shouting in english the first thing i thought of was george. [daisy _bursts into a scream of hysterical laughter. the_ amah _suddenly looks up and becomes attentive_. harry. daisy, what's the matter? amah. [_sliding to her feet and going up to daisy, trying to stop her._] maskee. she only laughy laughy. you no trouble. harry. get some water or something. amah. [_frightened._] now, my pletty, my pletty. daisy. [_recovering herself, violently._] let me be. harry. by george, i believe he's coming to. bring the water here. [daisy _takes the glass and leaning over the sofa, moistens_ george's _lips. he slowly opens his eyes_. george. funny stuff. what is it? harry. [_with a chuckle that is half a sob._] don't be a fool. oh, george, you have given me a nasty turn. george. there's something the matter with the water. daisy. [_looking at it quickly._] what? george. damn it all, there's no brandy in it. daisy. if you make a joke i shall cry. [_he tries to move, but suddenly gives a groan._ george. oh lord. i've got such a pain in my side. harry. keep quiet. the doctor will be here in a minute. george. what is it? harry. i don't know. there's a lot of blood. george. i hope i haven't made a mess on your nice new sofa. harry. damn the sofa. it's lucky i heard you shout. george. i never shouted. harry. oh, nonsense, i heard you. i thought it was you at once. george. i heard a cry for help too. i was just coming along. i nipped out of my rickshaw and sprinted like hell. i saw some fellows struggling. i think someone hit me on the head. i don't remember much. harry. who did cry for help? george. [_after a pause._] nobody. harry. but i heard it. daisy heard it too. it sounded like someone being murdered. [_as_ george _gives a little chuckle_.] what's the joke? george. someone's got his knife into you, old man, and the silly ass stuck it into me instead. [_the_ amah _pricks up her ears_. daisy. i'm sure you oughtn't to talk so much. george. it's a very old chinese trick. they just got the wrong man, that's all. harry. by george, that explains why i tripped. george. did you trip? a piece of string across the street. harry. i wasn't expecting it. i went down like a ninepin. i was up again in a flash and just threw myself at the blighters. you should have seen 'em scatter. luckily i got one of them. george. good. where is he? harry. he's here. i've tied him up pretty tight. george. well, we shall find out who's at the bottom of this. the methods of the chinese police may be uncivilized, but they are ... oh, lord, i do feel rotten. harry. oh, george. [daisy _gives_ harry _the glass and he helps_ george _to drink_. george. that's better. harry. we'd better get you to bed, old man. george. all right. harry. wu and i will carry you. wu, come along here. [_the boy approaches. the_ amah _realizes that for a moment the prisoner is to be left unguarded. there is a table knife on one of the occasional tables with which_ daisy _has been cutting a book. the_ amah's _hand closes over it_. george. oh, no, that's all right. i can walk. [_he gets up from the sofa._ harry _gives him an arm. he staggers._ harry. wu, you fool. [daisy _springs forward_.] no, let me take him, daisy. you're not strong enough. george. [_gasping._] sorry to make such an ass of myself. [harry _and_ wu, _holding him one on each side, help him out of the room_. daisy. shall i come? harry. oh, i'll call you if you're wanted. [daisy _sinks into a chair, shuddering, and covers her face with her hands. the_ amah _seizes her opportunity. she cuts the rope which binds the prisoner. as soon as he is free he steps out into the darkness. the_ amah _watches for a moment and then cries out_. amah. help, help! [daisy _springs up and_ harry _hurries in_. harry. what's the matter? amah. coolie. him run away. harry. [_looking at the place where he had been tied up._] by god! amah. missy feel velly ill. no can stand blood. feel faint. i run fetch smelly salts and when i come back him gone. him bad man. [harry _goes to the door and looks at the rope_. harry. this rope's been cut. amah. perhaps he have knife. why you no look see before you tie him. harry. [_looking at her sternly._] how do you think he could get at a knife with his hands tied behind his back? amah. i no sabe. maybe he have friend. harry. didn't you hear anything, daisy? daisy. no. i wasn't thinking about him. oh, harry, george isn't going to die, is he? harry. i hope not. i don't know what sort of a wound he's got. [_the_ amah, _thinking attention is withdrawn from her, is slipping away_.] no, you don't. you stop here. amah. what thing you wantchee? harry. you let that man go. amah. you velly silly man. what for i want let him go? harry. [_pointing._] what's that knife doing there? that's one of our knives. amah. missy takey knife cutty book. harry. when i got into the street i wanted to fire my revolver to frighten them. there wasn't a cartridge in it. i always keep it loaded and locked up. amah. revolver. i don't know him. i never have see revolver. never. never. [_she makes a movement as though to go away. he seizes her wrist._ harry. stop. amah. my go chow. my belong velly hungly. you talk by and by. harry. if i hadn't come in just now, daisy would have strangled you. amah. daisy velly excited. she no sabe what she do. she never hurt old amah. harry. why were you angry with her, daisy? daisy. [_frightened._] i was beside myself. i don't know what i was doing. harry. [_with sudden suspicion_.] are you trying to shield her? daisy. of course not. why on earth should i do that? harry. i suppose you look on it as a matter of no importance that she tried to kill me. daisy. oh, harry, how can you say anything so cruel? why should she try and kill you? harry. i don't know. how do you expect me to guess what is at the back of a chinese brain? she's hated me always. amah. you no love me velly much. harry. i've put up with her just because she was attached to you. i knew she was a liar and a thief. it was a trap and i escaped by a miracle. only, george has got to suffer for it. daisy. harry, you're nervous and excited. harry. what are you defending her for? daisy. i'm not defending her. harry. one would almost think she had some hold on you. i've never seen anyone let an amah behave as you let her behave. daisy. she's been with me since i was a child. she--she can't get it into her head that i'm grown up. harry. well, i've had about enough of her. [_to the_ amah.] the police will be here in ten minutes and i shall give you in charge instead of the man you allowed to escape. amah. you give me policeman? i no have do wrong. what for you send me to prison? harry. i daresay you know what a chinese prison is like better than i do. i don't think it'll be long before you find it worth while to tell the truth. daisy. [_with increasing nervousness._] oh, harry, i don't think you ought to do anything before you've had time to think. after all, there's absolutely no proof. harry. [_looking at her with perplexity._] i don't understand. what is the mystery? daisy. there is no mystery. only i can't bear the idea that my old amah should go to prison. she's been almost a mother to me for so many years. [_there is a pause._ harry _looks from_ daisy _to the_ amah. harry. [_to the_ amah.] then get out of here before the police come. amah. you talkee so quick. no can understand. harry. yes, you can. unless you're out of here in ten minutes i shall give you in charge ... go while the going's good. amah. i think i go smoke pipe. harry. no, you don't, you get out quick or i'll throw you out myself. amah. you no throw me out and i no go to prison. harry. we'll soon see about that. [_he seizes her roughly and is about to run her out into the courtyard._ daisy. no, don't, harry. she's my mother. harry. that! [_he is aghast. he releases the_ amah. _he looks at her with horror._ daisy _covers her face with her hands. the_ amah _gives a little snigger_. amah. yes, daisy, my daughter. she no wanchee tell. i think she a little ashamed of her mother. harry. my god! amah. i velly pletty girl long time ago. daisy's father, he call me his little lotus flower, he call me his little peach-blossom. by and by i no velly pletty girl any more and daisy's father he call me you old witch. witch, that's what he call me. witch. he call me, you old hag. you velly bad man, i say to him. you no christian. you go to hell, he say. all right, i say, you baptize me. [harry _turns away, with dismay, and repulsion. the_ amah _takes her pipe and lights it_. end of scene iv scene v _the courtyard in the_ andersons' _part of the temple_. _at the back is the outer wall raised by two or three steps from the ground. from the top of the wall, projects a shallow roof of yellow tiles supported by wooden pillars painted red, shabby and rather weather-worn, and this roof is raised in the middle of the wall, where there is a huge wooden gateway. when this is opened the street is seen and on the other side of it a high, blank, white wall. the courtyard is paved with great flags. on each side of it are living rooms._ _there is a long rattan chair; a round table and a couple of armchairs._ george _is lying on the long chair, looking at an illustrated paper, and the_ amah _is seated on the ground, smoking her water-pipe_. george. [_with a smile, putting down the paper._] you're not as chatty as usual this afternoon, amah. amah. suppose i got nothing to talk about i no talk. george. you are an example to your sex, amah. your price is above rubies. amah. no likee rubies velly much. no can sell velly much money. george. in point of fact i wasn't thinking of giving you rubies, even reconstructed, but if i did i can't think you'd be so indelicate as to sell them. amah. i no think you velly funny man. george. i was afraid you didn't. would you think it funny if i sat on my hat? amah. yes, i laugh then. hi, hi. george. the inscrutable heart of china expands to the self-same joke that convulses a duchess in london and a financier in new york. amah. you more better read the paper. george. where's missy? amah. i think she in her room. you wanchee? george. no. amah. i think she come by and by. george. [_looking at his watch._] mr. anderson ought to be back from the office soon. [_there is a loud knocking at the door._] hulloa, who's that? [_a_ servant _comes out of the house and going to the gateway withdraws the bolt_. amah. i think doctor come see you, maybe. george. oh no, he's not coming to-day. he said he'd look in to-morrow before i started. [_the_ amah _gets up and looks at the doorway of which now the_ servant _has opened one side_. harold knox _and his sister_ sylvia _are seen_. knox. may we come in? george. good man. of course. [_they come towards_ george. sylvia _is a very pretty, simple, healthy, and attractive girl. she is dressed in a light summer frock. there is in her gait and manner something so spring-like and fresh that it is a pleasure to look at her_. knox. i've brought my young sister along with me. [_as_ george _rises to his feet_.] don't get up. you needn't put on any frills for a chit like that. george. nonsense. i'm perfectly well. [_shaking hands with_ sylvia.] how d'you do? my name is conway. knox. i only omitted to inform her of that fact because she already knew it. sylvia. strangely enough that happens to be true. but i wish you'd lie down again. george. i'm sick of lying down. the doctor says i'm perfectly all right. i'm going home to-morrow. knox. [_catching sight of the_ amah.] hulloa, sweetheart, i didn't see you. sylvia, i want you to know the only woman i've ever loved. george. [_smiling._] this is mrs. anderson's amah. sylvia. [_with a little friendly nod._] how do you do? amah. [_all in a breath._] velly well, thank you. how do you do? velly well, thank you ... you mr. knox sister? sylvia. yes. amah. you missionary lady? sylvia. no. amah. what for you come china then? sylvia. i came to see my brother. amah. how old are you? knox. be truthful, sylvia. sylvia. i'm twenty-two. amah. how many children you got? sylvia. i'm not married. amah. what for you no married if you twenty-two? sylvia. it does need an explanation, doesn't it? the truth is that nobody's asked me. knox. what a lie! amah. you come china catchee husband? sylvia. certainly not. amah. you christian? sylvia. not a very good one, i'm afraid. amah. who baptized you? sylvia. well, you know, it's an awfully long time ago. i forget. knox. she's like me, amah, she's a presbyterian. amah. you go to hell then. only seventh day adventists no go to hell. sylvia. it'll be rather crowded then, i'm afraid. amah. you only baptized once? sylvia. so far as i know. amah. i baptized one, two, three, four, five times. i velly christian woman. knox. i say, old man, i don't want to dash your fond hopes, but in point of fact we didn't come here to see you. george. why not? surely miss knox must want to see the principal sights of peking. knox. the man is not a raving lunatic, sylvia. his only delusion is that he's a humourist ... sylvia thought she'd like to call on mrs. harry. george. i'm sure daisy will be very glad. amah, go and tell missy that there's a lady. amah. can do. [_exit._ knox. i say, have they caught any of those blighters who tried to kill you? george. no, not a chance. they weren't after me, you know; they were after harry. knox. is there anyone who has a grudge against him? george. i don't think so. he doesn't seem very keen on discussing the incident. [daisy _comes in_. knox. here she is. i've brought my sister to see you, mrs. harry. daisy. [_shaking hands._] how do you do? sylvia. what a wonderful place you live in! daisy. it's rather attractive, isn't it? you must see the temple before you go. sylvia. i'd love to. daisy. do sit down. [_to_ knox.] what do you think of my patient? knox. i think he's a fraud. i never saw anyone look so robust. daisy. [_delighted._] he's made a wonderful recovery. george. thanks to you, daisy. you can't think how she nursed me. knox. it was rather a narrow escape, wasn't it? daisy. for two days we thought he might die at any minute. it was--it was rather dreadful. george. and do you know, all that time she never left me a minute. [_to_ daisy.] i don't know how i can ever thank you. daisy. oh, well, harry had his work. i didn't think he ought to be robbed of his night's rest for a worthless creature like you, and i hated the idea of a paid nurse looking after you. sylvia. you must have been worn out at the end of it. daisy. no, i'm as strong as a horse. and it was such a relief to me when the doctor said he was out of danger, i forgot i was tired. knox. i don't know why you bothered about him. there are such a lot of fellows who want his job and they all know they could do it much better than he can. george. everyone's been so extraordinarily good to me. i had no idea there was so much kindness in the world. daisy. [_to_ sylvia, _very pleasantly_.] will you come and look at the temple now while they're bringing tea? sylvia. yes, i'd like to very much. daisy. i think you'll enjoy your tea more if you feel you've done the sight. sylvia. it's all so new to me. everything interests me. i've fallen passionately in love with peking. [_they wander off, talking gaily._ george. harold, you're a very nice boy. knox. that's what the girls tell me. but i don't know why you should. george. i think it was rather sporting of you to bring your sister to see daisy. knox. i don't deserve any credit for that. she insisted on coming. george. oh? knox. she met harry at the club and took rather a fancy to him. when i told her daisy was a half-caste and people didn't bother much about her she got right up on her hind legs. i told her she'd only just come out to china and didn't know what she was talking about and then she gave me what she called a bit of her mind. i was obliged to remark that if that was a bit i didn't much care about knowing the rest. george. it sounds as though you'd had a little tiff. knox. she said she had no patience with the airs people gave themselves in the east. a eurasian was just as good as anybody else. and when i happened to say i was coming here to-day to see how you were she said she'd come too. george. it's very kind of her. daisy leads a dreadfully lonely life. it would mean so much to her if she knew one or two white women. if they take to one another, you won't try to crab it, will you? i fancy daisy wants a friend rather badly. knox. i shouldn't like it very much, you know. would you much care for your sister to be very pally with a half-caste? george. daisy is one in a thousand. you can't think what she's done for me during my illness. my mother couldn't have taken more care of me. knox. they're often very good-hearted. but as a matter of fact nothing i can say will have the least effect on sylvia. girls have changed a lot since the war. if she wants to do a thing and she thinks it right, she'll do it. and if i try to interfere she's quite capable of telling me to go to the devil. george. she seems to be a young woman of some character. knox. perhaps because she's had rather a rough time. the fellow she was engaged to was killed in the war and she was awfully cut up. she drove an ambulance for the last two years and then she went up to girton. after that my father thought she'd better come out here for a bit. george. she ought to like it. knox. if she doesn't put up people's backs too much. she can't stand anything like injustice or cruelty. if she thinks people are unkind to daisy or sniffy about her, she'll stick to her like a leech. however, i daresay she'll get married. george. [_smiling._] that'll learn her. knox. why don't you marry her? it's about time you settled down. george. [_with a chuckle._] you fool. knox. why? you're by way of being rather eligible, aren't you? george. i don't know why you want to get rid of her. she seems a very nice sister. knox. of course i love having her with me, but she does cramp my style a bit. and she ought to marry. she'd make you a first-rate wife. george. much too good for the likes of me. knox. of course she's a bit independent, but one has to put up with that in girls nowadays. and she's as good as gold. george. one can see that at a mile, my son. knox. i say, who was rathbone, daisy's first husband, do you know? george. [_his face a blank._] harry told me he was an american. he said he was in business in the f. m. s. knox. that's what harry told me. i met a fellow the other day who lives in singapore who told me he'd never heard of rathbone. george. [_chaffing him._] perhaps he didn't move in the exalted circles that a friend of yours would naturally move in. knox. i suppose there was a mr. rathbone? [_there is a distant sound in the street of chinese instruments being played._ george. hulloa, there's the procession coming along. knox. what procession? george. it's a manchu wedding. the amah was talking about it this morning. knox. i must call sylvia. she'd love to see it. sylvia. [daisy _and_ sylvia _come out of the house just as he calls_. sylvia. don't shout, harold. knox. come along and have your education improved. a manchu wedding is just going to pass by.... sylvia. oh, good, let's go out into the street! daisy. you can see it just as well from here. i'll have the doors opened. boy, open the gate. knox. yes, that's the ticket. we shall see it better from here. [wu _during the last few speeches has appeared with the tea, which he sets down on the table. on receiving_ daisy's _order he goes to the doorway and draws the bolt. he pulls back one heavy door while_ knox _pulls back the other. the empty street is seen. the music grows louder. now the procession comes, gay, brilliant, and barbaric against the white wall of the street; first men on horseback, then buddhist monks in gray, with their shaven heads; then the band, playing wild, discordant music; after them passes a long string of retainers in red, with strange shaped hats; then come retainers bearing in open palanquins great masses of cardboard fruits and all manner of foodstuffs, silver vessels and gold; these are followed by two or three youths on horseback, gorgeously dressed, and these again by the palanquin, carved and richly painted and gilt, of the bride. then pass more priests and another band and finally a last string of retainers in red. when the last one has disappeared a beggar shows himself at the open doorway. he is excessively thin, and he has a bush of long, bristly hair; he is clothed in pale rags, torn and patched; his legs and feet are bare. he puts out a bony hand and breaks into a long, high-pitched whine_. knox. oh, lord, get out! daisy. oh, no, please, harold, give him a copper or two. george. daisy never lets a beggar go away without something. daisy. it's not because i'm charitable. i'm afraid they'll bring me bad luck. knox. [_taking a coin from his pocket._] here you are, clarence. now buzz off. [_the beggar takes his dole and saunters away._ wu _closes the doors_. sylvia. [_enthusiastically._] i _am_ glad i saw that. daisy. you'll get very tired of that sort of thing before you've been here long. now let's have tea. sylvia. oh, i don't think we'll stay, thank you very much. we have another call to make. daisy. how tiresome of you. harry ought to be back in a few minutes. he'll be disappointed not to have seen you. sylvia. i promised to go and see mrs. stopfort. do you know her? daisy. i know who you mean. sylvia. i think people are being absolutely beastly to her. it simply makes my blood boil. daisy. oh, how? sylvia. well, you know that her husband's a drunken brute who's treated her abominably for years. at last she fell in love with a man and now her husband is going to divorce her. it's monstrous that he should be able to. daisy. are the ladies of peking giving her the cold shoulder? knox. the cold _shoulder_ hardly describes it. the frozen silverside. george. i think she's well rid of reggie stopfort at any price, but i'm sorry the other party is andré leroux. sylvia. why? she introduced me to him. i thought he was a very nice fellow. george. well, you see, if he'd been english or american, he would have married her as a matter of course. sylvia. so i should hope. daisy. because she was divorced on his account, you mean? george. yes. but the french haven't our feeling on that matter. i'm not quite sure if andré will be willing to marry her. sylvia. oh, that would be dreadful! under those circumstances the man must marry the woman. he simply must. george. of course. knox. come along, sylvia. we won't discuss women's rights now. sylvia. [_giving_ daisy _her hand very cordially._] and if there's anything i hate it's people who say they're going and then don't go. good-bye, mrs. anderson. daisy. it's been very nice to see you. sylvia. i do hope you'll come and see me soon. i'm so very much alone you'd be doing me a charity if you'd look me up. we might do the curio shops together. daisy. that would be great fun. sylvia. good-bye, mr. conway. i'm glad to see you so well. george. thank you very much, good-bye. [knox _and_ sylvia _go out._ daisy _has walked with them towards the doorway and now returns to_ george. george. what a very nice girl, daisy. daisy. she seems to make a specialty of speckled peaches. first me and then mrs. stopfort. george. i was hoping you'd like her. daisy. it's hardly probable. she's everything that i'm not. she has everything that i haven't. no, i don't like her. but i'd give anything in the world to be her. george. [_smiling._] i don't think you need envy her. daisy. don't you think she's pretty? george. yes, very. but you're so much more than pretty. i expect you have more brains in your little finger than she has in her whole body. daisy. [_gravely._] she has something that i haven't got, george, and i'd give my soul to have. george. [_embarrassed._] i don't know what you mean. [_changing the conversation abruptly._] daisy, now that i'm going away.... daisy. [_interrupting._] are you really going to-morrow? george. [_breezily._] i'm quite well. i'm ashamed to have stayed so long. daisy. i don't look forward very much to the long, empty days when you're no longer here. george. [_seriously._] i must go, daisy. i really must. daisy. [_after a moment's pause._] what were you going to say to me? don't thank me for anything i may have done. it's given me a happiness i never knew before. george. except for you i should have died. and when i think of the past i am ashamed. daisy. what does the past matter? the past is dead and gone. george. and i'm ashamed when i think how patient you were when i was irritable, how kind and thoughtful. i hardly knew i wanted a thing before you gave it to me. sometimes when i felt i couldn't breathe, the tenderness of your hand on my forehead--oh, it was like a dip in a highland stream on a summer day. i think i never knew that there was in you the most precious thing that anyone can have, goodness. oh, daisy, it makes me feel so humble. daisy. goodness? [_with the shadow of a laugh._] oh, george. george. it's because harry is better and simpler than i am that he was able to see it in you. he felt it in you always and he was right. [_the_ amah _comes in_. daisy. [_sharply._] what d'you want? [_the_ amah _crosses from one to the other and a thin smile crosses her eyes_. amah. master telephone, daisy. daisy. why didn't you take the message? [_she is about to go into the house._ amah. he have go now. he say very much hurry. i say no can findee you. i think you go out. daisy. why did you say that? amah. i think more better, maybe. george. [_smiling._] that's right, amah. never tell the truth when a lie will do as well. daisy. well, what was the message? amah. master say he must to go tientsin. very important business. no come back to-night. come back first train to-morrow. daisy. very well. tell the boy that we shall be only two to dinner. amah. i go talkee he. [_exit._ george. [_urbanely._] i say, i don't want to be an awful trouble to you. i think i'd better go back to my own place to-night. daisy. [_looking at him._] why should you do that? george. i was going to-morrow anyway. daisy. do you think my reputation is such a sensitive flower? george. [_lightly._] of course not. but people aren't very charitable. it seems rather funny i should stay here when harry's away. daisy. what do you suppose i care if people gossip? george. i care for you. daisy. [_with a smile, almost archly._] it's not very flattering to me that you should insist on going the moment harry does. do i bore you so much as all that? george. [_with a chuckle._] how can you talk such nonsense? i haven't wanted to get well too quickly. i've so enjoyed sitting quietly here while you read or sewed. i've got so much in the habit of seeing you about me that if i don't go at once i shall never be able to bring myself to go at all. daisy. since that horrible accident i've been rather nervous at the thought of sleeping here by myself. i'm terrified at the thought of being left alone to-night. george. come in with me, then. the knoxes will be delighted to put you up for the night. daisy. [_with a sudden change of manner._] i don't want you to go, george. i want you to stay. george. [_as serious as she is._] daisy, don't be too hard on me. you don't know. you don't know. [_with an effort he regains his self-control and returns to his easy, chaffing tone._] don't forget it's not only a wound in the lung that i've been suffering from. while you and the doctor between you have been patching that up, i've been busy sticking together the pieces of a broken heart. it's nicely set now, no one could tell that there'd ever been anything wrong with it, but i don't think it would be very wise to give it a sudden jolt or jerk. daisy. [_in a low quivering voice._] why do you say things like that? what is the good of making pretences? george. [_determined to keep the note of lightness._] it was very silly of me to bother you with my little troubles. it was very hot. i was overworked and nervous at the time or i shouldn't have made so much of it. i'm sure that you'll be as pleased as i am to know that i'm making a very good recovery, thank you. daisy. [_as though asking a casual question._] you don't care for me any more? george. i have the greatest affection for you. i admire you and of course i'm grateful to you. but if i thought i was in love with you i was mistaken. daisy. do you know why i wouldn't have a professional nurse and when you were unconscious for two days refused to leave you for a minute? do you know why, afterwards, at night when you grew delirious i wouldn't let harry watch you? i said it would interfere with his work. i dared not leave you for a single moment. and it was your secret and mine. i wouldn't let anybody in the world share it with me. do you know what you said in your delirium? george. [_disturbed._] i expect i talked an awful lot of rot. people always do, i believe. daisy. [_passionately._] you used to call me, "daisy, daisy," as though your heart was breaking. and when i leaned over you and said: "i'm here," you would take my face in your hands so that i could hardly believe you weren't conscious. and you said: "i love you." george. oh, god! daisy. and sometimes i didn't know how to calm you. you were frantic because you thought they were taking me away from you. "i can't bear it," you said, "i shall die." i had to put my hands over your mouth so that no one should hear. george. i didn't know what i was saying. i wasn't myself. it was just the madness of the fever. daisy. and sometimes you were so exquisitely tender. your voice was soft and caressing. and you called me by sweet names so that the tears ran down my cheeks. you thought you held me in your arms and you pressed me to your heart. you were happy then; you were so happy that i was afraid you'd die of it. i know what love is and you love me. george. for god's sake, stop. why do you torture me? daisy. and then you were madly jealous. you hated harry. i think you could have killed him. george. that's not true. that's infamous. never. never. daisy. oh, you can say that with your lips! sometimes you thought he put his arms round me and kissed me and you sobbed aloud. oh, it was so painful. i forgot that you were unconscious and i took your hands and said: "he's not here. you and i are alone, alone, alone." and sometimes i think you understood. you fell back. and a look of peace came on your face as if you were in heaven and you said--do you know what you said? you said: "beloved, beloved, beloved." [_her voice breaks and the tears course down her cheeks._ george _is shattered by what she has told him_. george. i suppose there are few of us that wouldn't turn away from ourselves in horror if the innermost thoughts of our heart, the thoughts we're only conscious of to hate, were laid bare. but that shameful thing that showed itself in me isn't me. i disown it.... daisy. i thought you had more courage. i thought you had more sense. do you call that you, a few conventional prejudices? the real you is the love that consumes you more hotly than ever the fever did. the only you is the you that loves me. the rest is only frills. it's a domino that you put on at a masked ball. george. you don't know what you say. frills? it's honour, and duty, and decency. it's everything that makes it possible for me to cling to the shadow of my self-respect. daisy. oh, all that means nothing. you fool. you might as well try with your bare hands to stop the flow of the yangtze. george. if i perish i perish. oh, of course i love you. all night i'm tortured with love and tortured with jealousy, but the day does come at last and then i can get hold of myself again. my love is some horrible thing gnawing at my heart-strings. i hate it and despise it. but i can fight it, fight it all the time. oh, i've been here too long. i ought to have got back to work long ago. work is my only chance. daisy, i beseech you to let me go. daisy. how can i let you go? i love you. george. [_thunderstruck._] you? [_impatiently, with a shrug of the shoulders._] oh, you're talking nonsense. daisy. why do you suppose i've said all these things? do you think a woman cares twopence for a man's love when she doesn't love him? george. oh, it's impossible. you don't know what you're saying. i know how good and kind you are. you've been touched by my love. you mistake pity for love. daisy. i'm not good and i'm not kind. there's no room in my soul for pity. in my soul there's only a raging hunger. if i know what you feel it's because i feel it too. i love you, i love you, i love you. george. and harry? daisy. what do i care about harry? i hate him because he's stood between me and you. george. he is your husband. he is my friend. daisy. he doesn't exist. i've loved you always from the first day i saw you. the others were nothing to me, lee tai and harry and the rest. i've loved you always. i've never loved anyone but you. all these years i've kept the letters you wrote to me. i've read them till i know every word by heart. they're all blurred and smudged with the tears i've wept over them. they were all i had. do you think i'm going to let you go now? all my pain, all my anguish, are nothing any more. i love you and you love me. george. oh, don't, don't! daisy. you can't leave me now. if you leave me i shall kill myself. george. i must go away. i must never see you again. whatever happens we must never meet. daisy. [_exasperated and impatient._] that's impossible. what will you say to harry? george. if need be i'll tell him the truth. daisy. what difference will that make? will you love me any the less? yes, tell him. tell him that i love you and you only and that i belong to you and to you only. george. oh, daisy, for god's sake try and control yourself. we must do our duty, we must, we must. daisy. i know no duty. i only know love. there's no room in my soul for anything else. you say that love is like a wild beast gnawing at your entrails. my love is a liberator. it's freed me from a hateful past. it's freed me from harry. there's nothing in the world now but you and me and the love that joins us. i want you, i want you. george. don't, don't! oh, this is madness! there's only one thing to be done. god, give me strength. daisy, you know i love you. i love you with all my heart and soul. but it's good-bye. i'll never see you again. never. never. so help me god. daisy. how can you be so cruel? you're heartless. i've wanted you all these years. i've hungered for you. you don't know what my humiliation has been. pity me because i loved you. if you leave me now i shall die. you open the doors of heaven to me and then you slam them in my face. haven't you made me unhappy enough? you'd have done better to kill me ten years ago. you trampled me in the mud and then you left me. oh, what shall i do? [_she sinks down to the ground, weeping as though her heart would break._ george _looks at her for a minute, his face distorted with agony; he clenches his hands in the violence of his effort to control himself. he takes his hat and walks slowly towards the gate. he withdraws the bolt that holds it. when_ daisy _hears the sound of this she starts to her feet and staggers towards him_.] george. no, no. not yet. [_she staggers and with a cry falls headlong. she has fainted._ george. [_rushing towards her._] daisy. daisy. [_he kneels down and takes her head in his hands. he is fearfully agitated._] oh, my darling, what is it? oh, my god! daisy! speak to me. [_calling._] amah, amah! [daisy _slowly opens her eyes_.] oh, my beloved! i thought you were dead. daisy. lift me up. george. you can't stand. [_he raises her to her feet so that when she is erect she is in his arms. she puts her arms round his neck._ daisy. don't leave me. george. my precious. my beloved. [_she turns her face to him, offering her lips, and he bends his head and kisses her. she closes her eyes in ecstasy._ daisy. take me in. i feel so ill. george. i'll carry you. [_he lifts her up and carries her into the house. from the opposite side the_ amah _appears. she goes to the gateway and slips the bolt forward into position. then she comes to the tea-table, sits down and takes a scone_. amah. hi, hi. [_she bites the scone and chews placidly. on her face is a smirk of irony._ end of scene v scene vi _a small room in a chinese house in peking._ _the walls are whitewashed, but the whitewash is not a little stained. three or four scrolls hang on them, written over in large characters with inscriptions. on the floor is matting. the only furniture consists of a table, with a couple of chairs, a wooden pallet covered with matting, with cushions at one end of it, and a korean chest heavily ornamented with brass. at the back are two windows, elaborately latticed and covered with rice paper, and a lightly carved door._ daisy _is seated in one of the chairs. she has taken her pocket mirror out of her bag and is looking at herself. she is gay and happy. the_ amah _comes in. she carries a long-necked vase in which are a couple of carnations_. amah. i bring you flowers make room look pletty. daisy. oh, you nice old thing! put them on the table. amah. you look at yourself in looking-glass? daisy. i'm looking young. it suits me to be happy. amah. you very pletty girl. i very pletty girl long time ago. you look alla same me some day. daisy. [_amused._] heaven forbid. amah. you velly good temper to-day, daisy. you glad because george come. daisy. i didn't see him yesterday. amah. he keep you waiting. daisy. the wretch. he always keeps me waiting. but what do i care as long as he comes? we shall have three hours. perhaps he'll dine here. if he says he can, give him what he likes to eat. no one can make such delicious things as you can if you want to. amah. you try flatter me. daisy. i don't. you know very well you're the best cook in china. amah. [_tickled._] oh, daisy! i know you more better than you think. daisy. you're a wicked old woman. [_she gives her a kiss on both cheeks._] what are they making such a row about next door? amah. coolie, he got killed this morning. he have two small children. their mother, she die long time ago. daisy. how dreadful! poor little things. amah. you like see them. they here. [_she goes to the door and beckons. a little, old, shabby chinaman comes in with two tiny children, a boy and a girl, one holding on to each hand. they are very solemn and shy and silent._ daisy. oh, what lambs! amah. they no got money. this old man he say he take them and he bring them up. but he only coolie. he no got much money himself. daisy. is he related to them? amah. no, him just velly good man. he no can do velly much. he just do what he can. the neighbours, they help little. daisy. but i'll help too. have you got any money on you? amah. i got two, three dollars. daisy. what's the good of that? let him have this. [_she has a chain of gold beads round her neck. she takes it off and puts it in the old man's hands._ amah. that chain very ispensive, daisy. daisy. what do i care? let him sell it for what it'll fetch. it'll bring me luck. [_to the old man._] you sabe? [_he nods, smiling._ amah. i think he understand all right. daisy. [_looking at the children._] aren't they sweet? and so solemn. [_to the_ amah.] you go chop-chop to the toy shop opposite and buy them some toys. amah. can do. [_she goes out._ daisy _takes the children and sets them up on the table_. daisy. [_charmingly._] now you come and talk to me. sit very still now or you'll fall off. [_to the little boy._] i wonder how old you are. [_to the old man._] wu? liu? old man. liu. daisy. [_to the little boy._] six years old. good gracious, you're quite a man. if i had a little boy he'd be older than you now. if i had a little boy i'd dress him in such smart things. and i'd bath him myself. i wouldn't let any horrid old amah bath him. and i wouldn't stuff him up with sweets like the chinese do; i'd give him one piece of chocolate when he was a good boy. gracious me, i've got some chocolates here. wait there. sit quite still. [_she goes over to the shelf on which is a bag of chocolates._] there's one for you and one for you and (_to the old man_) one for you. and here's one for me. [_the children and the chinaman eat the chocolates solemnly. the amah returns with a doll and a child's peking cart_. amah. have catchee toys. daisy. look what kind old amah has brought you. [_she lifts the children off the table and gives the doll to the little girl and the cart to the boy._] here's a beautiful doll for you and here's a real cart for you. [_she sits down on the floor._] look, the wheels go round and everything. amah. have got more presents. [_she takes out of her sleeve little bladders with mouthpiece attached so that they can be blown up._ daisy. what on earth is this? oh, i love them! we must all have one. [_she distributes them and they all blow them up. there it the sound of scratching at the door_.] who's that, i wonder? amah. if you say come in, perhaps you see. daisy. open the door, you old silly. [_she begins to blow up the balloon again. the_ amah _goes to the door and opens it_. lee tai _steps in_.] lee tai. send these away. [_the_ amah _makes a sign to the old chinaman, he gives each child a hand and with their presents they go out. the_ amah _slips out after them_.] i thought you were dead. lee tai. i'm very much alive, thank you. daisy. ah, well, we'll hope for the best. lee tai. i trust you're not displeased to see me. daisy. [_gaily._] if you'd come yesterday i should certainly have smacked your face, but to-day i'm in such a good humour that even the sight of you is tolerable. lee tai. you weren't here yesterday. [_the_ amah _comes in carrying on a little wooden tray, two chinese bowls and a tea-pot_. daisy. my dear mamma seems to think you've come to pay me a visit. you mustn't let me keep you too long. lee tai. you are expecting someone? i know. [_the_ amah _goes out_. daisy. [_chaffing him._] i always said you had a brain. lee tai. no better a one than yours, daisy. it was a clever trick when you got me to try to put your husband out of the way so that you should be free for george conway. daisy. it was nothing to do with me. i told you i'd have nothing to do with it. you made a hash of it. one can forgive the good for being stupid, but when rascals are fools there's no excuse. lee tai. the best laid schemes of mice and men, as my favourite poet robert burns so elegantly puts it, gang aft agley. daisy. i don't care a damn about your favourite poet. what have you come here for to-day? lee tai. as it turns out i do not see that there is any cause for regret that george conway got the knife thrust that was intended for your husband. i wish it had gone a little deeper. daisy. [_coolly._] as it turns out you only did me a service. but still you haven't told me to what i owe the honour of your visit. lee tai. civility. i like to be on friendly terms with my tenants. daisy. [_surprised._] your what? lee tai. [_urbanely._] this happens to be my house. when i discovered that your honourable mother had taken the rooms in this courtyard so that you might have a place where george conway and you could safely meet i thought i would buy the whole house. daisy. i hope it was a good investment. lee tai. otherwise perhaps i should have hesitated. it was clever of you to find so convenient a place. with a curio shop in front into which anyone can be seen going without remark and an ill-lit passage leading to this court, it is perfect. daisy. what is the idea? lee tai. [_with a twinkle in his eyes._] are you a little frightened? daisy. not a bit. what can you do? you can tell harry. tell him. lee tai. [_affably._] george conway would be ruined. daisy. [_with a shrug._] he'd lose his job. perhaps you would give him another. you're mixed up in so many concerns you could surely find use for a white man who speaks chinese as well as george does. lee tai. i find even your shamelessness attractive. daisy. i'm profoundly grateful for the compliment. lee tai. but do not fear. i shall do nothing. i bought this house because i like you to know that always, always you are in my hand. where you go, i go. where you are, i am. sometimes you do not see me, but nevertheless i am close. i do nothing. i am content to wait. daisy. your time is your own. i have no objection to your wasting it. lee tai. one day, and i think that day is not very far distant, you will come to me. i was the first and i shall be the last. if you like i will marry you. daisy. [_with a smile._] i thought you had two, if not three, wives already. i fancy that number four would have rather a thin time. lee tai. my wife can be divorced. i am willing to marry you before the british consul. we will go to penang. i have a house there. you shall have motor cars. daisy. it's astonishing how easy it is to resist temptations that don't tempt you. lee tai. sneer. what do i care? i wait.... what have you to do with white men? you are not a white woman. what power has this blood of your father's when it is mingled with the tumultuous stream which you have inherited through your mother from innumerable generations? our race is very pure and very strong. strange nations have overrun us, but in a little while we have absorbed them so that no trace of a foreign people is left in us. china is like the yangtze, which is fed by five hundred streams and yet remains unchanged, the river of golden sand, majestic, turbulent, indifferent, and everlasting. what power have you to swim against that mighty current? you can wear european clothes and eat european food, but in your heart you are a chinawoman. are your passions the weak and vacillating passions of the white man? there is in your heart a simplicity which the white man can never fathom and a deviousness which he can never understand. your soul is like a rice patch cleared in the middle of the jungle. all around the jungle hovers, watchful and jealous, and it is only by ceaseless labour that you can prevent its inroads. one day your labour will be vain and the jungle will take back its own. china is closing in on you. daisy. my poor lee tai, you're talking perfect nonsense. lee tai. you're restless and unhappy and dissatisfied because you're struggling against instincts which were implanted in your breast when the white man was a hungry, naked savage. one day you will surrender. you will cast off the white woman like an outworn garment. you will come back to china as a tired child comes back to his mother. and in the immemorial usages of our great race you will find peace. [_there is a moment's silence._ daisy _passes her hand over her forehead. against her will she is strangely impressed by what_ lee tai _has said. she gives a little shudder and recovers herself_. daisy. george conway loves me, and i-- oh! lee tai. the white man's love lasts no longer than a summer day. it is a red, red rose. now it flaunts its scented beauty proudly in the sun and to-morrow its petals, wrinkled and stinking, lie scattered on the ground. [_there is a sound of a footstep in the courtyard outside._ daisy. here he is. go quickly. [george _opens the door and stops as he catches sight of_ lee tai. george. hulloa, who's this? [lee tai _steps forward, smiling and obsequious_. lee tai. i am the owner of this house. the amah complained that the roof leaked and i came to see for myself. george. [_frowning._] it's of no consequence. please don't bother about it. lee tai. i wish i needn't. the amah has a virulent and active tongue--i am afraid she will give me no peace till i have satisfied her outrageous demands. george. you speak extraordinarily good english. lee tai. i am a graduate of the university of edinburgh. daisy. robert burns is his favourite poet. lee tai. i spent a year at oxford and another at harvard. i can express myself in english not without fluency. george. let me compliment you on your good sense in retaining your national costume. i think it a pity that the returned students should insist on wearing ugly tweed suits and billycock hats. lee tai. i spent eight years abroad. i brought back with me no more admiration for western dress than for western civilization. george. that is very interesting. lee tai. you are pleased to be sarcastic. george. and you, i think, are somewhat supercilious. believe me, the time has passed when the mandarins of your country, in their impenetrable self-conceit, could put up a barrier against the advance of civilization. if you have any love for china you must see that her only chance to take her rightful place in the world is to accept honestly and sincerely the teaching of the west. lee tai. and if in our hearts we despise and detest what you have to teach us? for what reason are you so confident that you are so superior to us that it behooves us to sit humbly at your feet? have you excelled us in arts or letters? have our thinkers been less profound than yours? has our civilization been less elaborate, less complicated, less refined than yours? why, when you lived in caves and clothed yourselves with skins we were a cultured people. do you know that we tried an experiment which is unique in the world? george. [_good-naturedly._] what experiment is that? lee tai. we sought to rule this great people not by force, but by wisdom. and for centuries we succeeded. then why does the white man despise the yellow? shall i tell you? george. do. lee tai. [_with a smiling contempt._] because he has invented the machine-gun. that is your superiority. we are a defenceless horde and you can blow us into eternity. [_with a tinge of sadness._] you have shattered the dream of our philosophers that the world could be governed by the power of law and order.... and now you are teaching our young men your secret. you have thrust your hideous inventions upon us. fools. do you not know that we have a genius for mechanics? do you not know that there are in this country four hundred millions of the most practical and industrious people in the world? do you think it will take us long to learn? and what will become of your superiority when the yellow man can make as good guns as the white and fire them as straight? you have appealed to the machine-gun and by the machine-gun shall you be judged. [_there is a pause. suddenly_ george _gives_ lee tai _a scrutinizing glance_. george. what is your name? lee tai. [_with a thin, amused smile._] lee tai cheng. george. [_with a frigid politeness._] i'm sure you are very busy, mr. lee. i won't detain you any longer. lee tai. [_still smiling._] i wish you a good day. [_he bows slightly and shakes his own hands in the chinese manner. he goes out. he leaves behind him an impression that is at once ironic and sinister._ george. what the devil is he doing here? daisy. [_amused._] he came to make me an offer of marriage. i pointed out to him that i was married already. george. [_not without irritation._] how did he know you were here? daisy. he made it his business to find out. george. does he know that...? daisy. [_coolly._] you know china better than most englishmen. you know that the white man can do nothing without the chinese knowing it. but they won't tell other white men unless--unless it's to their advantage to do so. george. you told me that this house belonged to the amah. daisy. [_smiling._] that was a slight exaggeration. george. you put it very mildly. daisy. you said you wouldn't come to the temple. it meant finding some place where we could meet or never seeing you at all. george. [_sombrely._] we began with deceit and with deceit we've continued. daisy. [_tenderly._] there's no deceit in my love, george. after all, our love is the only thing that matters. george. [_with a certain awkwardness._] i'm afraid i've kept you waiting. andré leroux came to see me just as i was leaving the legation. daisy. [_remembering._] i know. mrs. stopfort's young man. george. he said he knew mrs. stopfort's friends were rather anxious about her future and he wanted them to know that he was going to marry her as soon as she was free. daisy. oh! george. of course it's the only decent thing to do, but i wasn't sure if he'd see it. he's a very good fellow. [_with a smile._] he spent at least half an hour telling me how he adored mrs. stopfort. daisy. [_good-humouredly._] oh, you know i'm not the sort of woman to grouse because you're a little late. i can always occupy myself by thinking how wonderful it will be to see you. and if i get bored with that i read your letters again. george. i shouldn't have thought they were worth that. daisy. i think i have every word you have ever written to me--those old letters of ten years ago and the little notes you write to me now. even though they're only two or three lines, saying you'll come here or can't come, they're precious to me. george. but do you keep them here? daisy. yes, they're safe here. they're locked up in that box. only amah has the key of this room ... george. george. yes. daisy. will you do something for me? george. if i can. daisy. will you dine here to-night? amah will get us a lovely little dinner. george. oh, my dear, i can't! i've got an official dinner that i can't possibly get out of. daisy. oh, how rotten! george. but i thought harry was coming back this morning. he's been gone a week already. daisy. i had a letter saying he had to go on to kalgan. but don't say anything about it. he told me i was to keep it a secret. george. he must hate having to be away so much as he's been lately. the death of that man gregson has upset things rather. daisy. [_smiling._] i wish i could thank gregson for the good turn he did _us_ by dying at the psychological moment. george. [_dryly._] i don't suppose that was his intention. daisy. except for that harry would have insisted on going to chung-king. now there's no possibility of that for at least a year. george. i suppose not. daisy. we've got a year before us, george, a whole year. and in a year anything can happen. george. [_gravely._] do you never have any feeling that we've behaved rottenly to harry? daisy. i? i've been happy for the first time in my life. at last i've known peace and rest. oh, george, i'm so grateful for all you've given me! in these three months you've changed the whole world for me. i thought i couldn't love you more than i did. i think every day my love grows more consuming. george. [_with a sigh._] i've never known a single moment's happiness. daisy. that's not true. when i've held you in my arms i've looked into your eyes and i've seen. george. oh, i know. there've been moments of madness in which i forgot everything but that i loved you. i'm a low rotten cad. no one could despise me more than i despise myself. i've loved you so that there was room for nothing else in my soul. waking and sleeping you've obsessed me. daisy. that's how i want you to love me. george. and i've hated myself for loving you. i've hated you for making me love you. i've struggled with all my might and a hundred times i thought i'd conquered myself and then the touch of your hand, the softness of your lips--i was like a bird in a cage, i beat myself against the bars and all the time the door was open and i hadn't the will to fly out. daisy. [_tenderly._] oh, darling, why do you make yourself unhappy when happiness lies in the hollow of your hand? george. have you never regretted anything? daisy. never. george. you're stronger than i am. i'm as weak as dishwater. it's funny that it should have taken me all these years to find it out. i was weak from the beginning. but i was weakest of all that day. i was distracted, i thought you were dying, i forgot everything except that i loved you. daisy. [_with passion._] oh, my sweetheart! don't you remember how, late in the night, we went outside the temple and looked at the moonlight on the walls of the forbidden city? you had no regrets then. george. [_going on with his own thoughts._] and afterwards your tears, your happiness, the dread of giving you pain and the hot love that burnt me--i was in the toils then. i too knew a happiness that i had never known before. on one side was honesty and duty and everything that makes a man respect himself--and on the other was love. i thought you'd be going away in two or three weeks and that would be the end of it. oh, it was no excuse--there are no excuses for me, i can never look harry in the face again, but though my heart was breaking at the thought, i--i knew that in a few days i should see you for the last time. daisy. [_scornfully._] do you think i'd have gone then? george. and then came that sudden, unexpected, disastrous change in all harry's plans. and this house and all the sordid horror of an intrigue. and then there was nothing to do but face the fact that i was a cur. i wouldn't wish my worst enemy the torture that i've undergone. daisy. [_full of love and pity._] oh, my darling, you know i'd do anything in the world to give you happiness! george. [_sombrely looking away from her._] daisy, i think you can never give me happiness, but you can help me, not to make amends because that's impossible, but to ... [_impulsively, looking at her now._] oh, daisy, do you really love me? daisy. with all my heart. with all my soul. george. then help me. let us finish. daisy. [_quickly._] what do you mean? george. i don't want to seem a prig. i don't want to preach. heaven knows, i've never pretended to be a saint. but what we've done is wrong. you must see that as plainly as i do. daisy. is it wrong to love? how can i help it? george. daisy, i want to--cease doing wrong. daisy. you make me impatient. how can you be so weak? george. i want you to believe that i love you. but i can't go on with this deceit. i'd sooner shoot myself. daisy. you couldn't say that if you loved me as i love you. george. [_brutally._] i _don't_ love you any more. daisy. [_with a scornful shrug._] that's not true. george. [_clenching his teeth._] i came here to-day to tell you that--well, that it's finished and done with. oh, god, i don't want to make you unhappy! but you must see we can't go on. everything that's decent in me revolts at the thought. i beseech you to forget me. daisy. as if i could. george. i'm going away for a bit. daisy. [_startled._] you? why? george. i didn't trust myself, you see; i've lost my nerve, so i applied for short leave. i'm sailing for vancouver on the _empress_. i leave here the day after to-morrow. daisy. [_suddenly distraught._] you don't mean that you're going to leave me? i didn't pay any attention to what you said. i thought it was just a mood. george, george, say that you don't mean that? george. it's the only thing to do, for your sake and harry's and mine. [_taking his courage in both hands._] this is good-bye, daisy. daisy. [_seizing him by the shoulders._] let me look at your eyes. george, you're crazy. you can't go. george. [_drawing away._] for god's sake, don't touch me. i wanted to break it to you gently. i don't know what's happened. everything has gone wrong. i'm going, daisy, and nothing in the world can move me. i implore you to bear it bravely. [_she looks at him with suffering, anxious eyes. she is stunned._] i'm afraid you're going to be awfully unhappy for a little while. but i beseech you to have courage. soon the pain won't be so great, and then you'll see i've done the only possible thing. daisy. [_sullenly._] how long are you going for? george. three or four months. [_a pause._] i knew you'd be brave, daisy. do you know, i was afraid you'd cry most awfully. it tears my heart to see you cry. daisy. do you think i'm a child? do you think i can cry now? george. it's good-bye, then, daisy. [_she does not answer. she hardly hears what he says. he hesitates an instant wretchedly, and then goes quickly out of the room._ daisy _stands as if she were turned to stone. her face is haggard. in a minute_ lee tai _comes softly in. he stands at the door, looking at her, then gives a little cough. she turns round and sees him_. daisy. [_fiercely._] what do you want? lee tai. i was waiting till you were disengaged. daisy. have you been listening? lee tai. i have heard. daisy. i wish i could have seen you with your ear to the keyhole. you must have looked dignified. [_she begins to laugh, angrily, hysterically, beside herself._ lee tai. let me give you a cup of tea. it's quite warm still. daisy. i should have thought you were rather old and fat to stoop so much. lee tai. fortunately the windows are only covered with rice paper, so i was saved that inconvenience. [_he hands her a cup of tea. she takes it and flings it at him. the tea is splashed over his black robe._ daisy. get out of here or i'll kill you. [_he wipes his dress with a large silk pocket handkerchief._ lee tai. you forget sometimes the manners that were taught you at that elegant school for young ladies in england. daisy. i suppose you've come to crow over me. well, crow. lee tai. i told you that i thought i should not have to wait very long. daisy. [_scornfully._] you fool. do you think it's finished? lee tai. did i not tell you that the white man's love was weak and vacillating? daisy. he's going away for four months. do you think that frightens me? he's loved me for ten years. i've loved him for ten years. do you think he can forget me in four months? he'll come back. lee tai. not to you. daisy. yes, yes, yes. and when he comes it'll be for good. he'll hunger for me as he hungered before. he'll forget his scruples, his remorse, his stupid duties, because he'll only remember me. lee tai. [_very quietly._] he's going to be married to miss sylvia knox. [daisy _springs at him and seizes him by the throat_. daisy. that's a lie. that's a lie. take it back. you pig. [_he takes her hands and drags them away from his throat. he holds her fast._ lee tai. ask your mother. she knows. the chinese all know. daisy. [_calling._] amah, amah. it's a lie. how dare you? lee tai. he told you he was going to an official dinner, but he didn't tell you that as soon as he could get away he was going to play bridge at the knoxes'. pity you don't play. they might have asked you too. [_the_ amah _comes in_. amah. you call me, daisy? daisy. [_snatching her hands away._] let me go, you fool. [_to the_ amah.] he says george conway is engaged to harold knox's sister. it's not true. amah. i no sabe. george's boy say so. knox the night before last at the club, he say to his friend, george conway and my sister, they going to make a match of it. [_a horrible change comes over_ daisy's _face as all its features become distorted with rage and jealousy_. daisy. the liar. [_she stares in front of her, hatred, anger, and mortification seething in her heart. then she gives a cruel malicious chuckle. she goes quickly to the korean chest and flings it open. she takes out a parcel of letters and crossing back swiftly to_ lee tai _thrusts them in his hands_. lee tai. what is this? daisy. they're the letters he wrote me. let them come into harry's hands. lee tai. why? daisy. so that harry may know everything. lee tai. [_after a moment's thought._] and what will you do for me if i do this for you? daisy. what you like.... only they must get to him quickly. george goes away the day after to-morrow. lee tai. where is your husband? daisy. kalgan. lee tai. the letters shall reach him to-morrow morning. i'll send them by car. daisy. it'll be a pleasant surprise for his breakfast. lee tai. daisy. daisy. go quickly--or i shall change my mind. there'll be plenty of time for everything else after to-morrow. lee tai. i'll go. [lee tai _goes out_. daisy _gives him a look of contempt_. daisy. fool. amah. what you mean, daisy? daisy. harry will divorce me. and then.... [daisy _gives a little cry of triumph_. end of scene vi scene vii _the sitting-room in the_ andersons' _apartments_. _the scene is the same as_ scene iv. daisy _and the_ amah. daisy _is walking restlessly backwards and forwards_. daisy. at what time does the train from kalgan get in? amah. five o'clock, my think so. daisy. what time is it now? [_the_ amah _takes a large gold watch out and looks at it_. amah. my watch no walkee. daisy. why don't you have it mended? what's the good of a watch that doesn't go? amah. gold watch. eighteen carats. cost velly much money. give me plenty face. daisy. [_impatiently._] go and ask wu what time it is. amah. i know time. i tell by the sun. more better than european watch. i think half-past four perhaps. daisy. why doesn't george come? amah. perhaps he velly busy. daisy. you gave him the note yourself? amah. yes, i give him letter. daisy. what did he say? amah. he no say nothing. he look: damn, damn. daisy. did you tell him it was very important? amah. i say, you come quick. chop-chop. daisy. yes. amah. i tell you before. why you want me tell you again? he say he come chop-chop when he get away from office. daisy. as if the office mattered now. i ought to have gone to him myself. amah. you no make him come more quick because you walk up down. why you no sit still? daisy. the train is never punctual. it'll take harry at least twenty minutes to get out here. amah. lee tai.... daisy. [_interrupting._] don't talk to me of lee tai. why on earth should i bother about lee tai? amah. [_taking up an opium pipe that is on the table._] shall amah make her little daisy a pipe? daisy very restless. daisy. have you got opium? amah. lee tai give me some. [_she shows_ daisy _a small tin box_.] number one quality. you have one little pipe, daisy. daisy. no. [wu _comes in with a card. he gives it to_ daisy. miss knox. say i'm not at home. wu. yes, missy. [_he is about to go out._ daisy. stop. is she alone? wu. she ride up to gate with gentleman and lady. she say can she see you for two, three minutes. daisy. [_after a moment's consideration._] tell her to come in. [wu _goes out_. amah. what you want to see her for, daisy? daisy. mind your own business. amah. george come very soon now. daisy. i shall get rid of her as soon as he does. [_almost to herself._] i want to see for myself. [sylvia _comes in. she wears a riding-habit_. daisy _greets her cordially. her manner, which was restless, becomes on a sudden gay, gracious, and friendly_. daisy. oh, my dear, how sweet of you to come all this way! [_the_ amah _slips out_. sylvia. i can only stop a second. i was riding with the fergusons and we passed your temple. i thought i'd just run in and see how you were. i haven't seen you for an age. daisy. are the fergusons waiting outside? sylvia. they rode on. they said they'd fetch me in five minutes. daisy. [_smiling._] how did your bridge party go off last night? sylvia. how on earth did you hear about that? did mr. conway tell you? i wish you played bridge. we really had rather a lark. daisy. george didn't come in till late, i suppose? sylvia. oh, no, he got away in fairly decent time. where there's a will there's a way, you know, even at official functions. daisy. [_with a little laugh._] oh, i know! i'm expecting him here in a minute. i hope you won't have to go before he comes. sylvia. well, i saw him yesterday. i can live one day without seeing him. daisy. i wonder if he can live one day without seeing you? sylvia. i'm tolerably sure he can do that. daisy. [_as if she were merely teasing._] a little bird has whispered to me that there's a very pretty blonde in peking.... sylvia. [_interrupting._] probably peroxide. daisy. not in this case. who is not entirely indifferent to the assistant chinese secretary at the british legation. sylvia. fancy! daisy. i suppose you haven't an idea who i'm talking about? sylvia. not a ghost. daisy. then why do you blush to the roots of your hair? sylvia. i was outraged at your suggestion that my hair was dyed. daisy. it's too bad of me to tease you, isn't it? sylvia. i'm a perfect owl. you know what a tactless idiot my brother is. he will chaff me about george conway, so it makes me self-conscious when anybody talks about him. daisy. darling, it's nothing to be ashamed of. why shouldn't you be in love with him? sylvia. [_with a laugh._] but i'm not in love with him. daisy. why does your brother chaff you then? sylvia. because he's under the delusion that it's funny. daisy. but you do like him, don't you? sylvia. of course i like him.... i think he's a very good sort. daisy. would you marry him if he asked you? sylvia. my dear, what are you talking about? the thought never entered my head. daisy. oh, what nonsense! when a man's as attentive to a girl as george has been to you she can't help asking herself if she'd like to marry him or not. sylvia. [_coldly, but still smiling._] can't she? i'm afraid i haven't a close acquaintance with that sort of girl. daisy. am i being very vulgar? you know, we half-castes are sometimes. sylvia. [_with a trace of impatience._] of course you're not vulgar. but i don't know why you want to talk about something that's absolute greek to me. daisy. the natural curiosity of the eurasian. everybody tells me that you're engaged to george. sylvia. look at my hand. [_she stretches out her left hand so that_ daisy _should see there is no ring on the fourth finger_. daisy _stares at it for a moment_. daisy. you always used to wear an engagement ring. sylvia. [_gravely._] it was put on my finger by a poor boy who was killed. i meant to wear it always. daisy. why have you taken it off? [_she looks at_ sylvia. _she can no longer preserve her artificial gaiety and her voice is cold and hard. before_ sylvia _can answer_ george conway _comes in_. daisy. [_regaining with an effort her earlier sprightliness._] there you are at last. george. i couldn't come sooner. i was with the minister. daisy. we were wondering why you were so late. sylvia. daisy was wondering. george. [_shaking hands with sylvia._] i thought that was your pony outside. sylvia. clever. george. the fergusons were just riding up as i came. sylvia. oh, they've come to fetch me! i must bolt. george. i'm afraid we kept you up till all sorts of hours last night. sylvia. not a bit. do i look jaded? george. of course not. you young things can stay up till three in the morning and be as fresh as paint. wait till you're my age. sylvia. you haven't passed your hundredth birthday yet, have you? george. not quite. but i'm old enough to be your father. sylvia. i will not stay and listen to you talk rubbish. good-bye, daisy. do come and see me one day this week. daisy. good-bye. george. i'll come and help you mount, shall i? sylvia. oh, no, don't bother! mr. ferguson is there. george. oh, all right! [_she goes out._ daisy. [_her smiles vanishing, hostile and cold._] you might shut the door. george. [_doing so._] i will. daisy. aren't you going to kiss me? george. daisy. daisy. [_hastily._] oh, no, it doesn't matter! don't bother. george. you said you wanted to see me very importantly. daisy. it's kind of you to have come. george. [_with an effort at ease of manner._] my dear child, what are you talking about? you must know that if there's anything in the world i can do for you i'm only too anxious to do it. daisy. is that girl in love with you? george. good heavens, no! what put that idea in your head? daisy. the eyes in my head. george. what perfect nonsense! daisy. has it never occurred to you that she was in love with you? george. never. daisy. why do you lie to me? i've been told that you were engaged to her. george. that's ludicrous. it's absolutely untrue. daisy. yes, i think it is. at the first moment i believed it. and then i thought it over and i knew it couldn't be true. i don't think you'd do anything underhand. george. at all events i shouldn't do that. daisy. in fairness to me or in fairness to her? george. my dear daisy, what are you talking about? daisy. did you break with me yesterday so that you might be free to propose to her? george. no, i swear i didn't. daisy. why are you so emphatic? george. oh, daisy, what's the good of tormenting yourself and tormenting me? you know i loved you just as much as you loved me. but i'm not like you. it was a torture. i knew it was wrong and hateful. i couldn't go on. daisy. do you think it would have seemed wrong and hateful if it hadn't been for sylvia? george. yes. daisy. you don't say that very convincingly. george. i do think it is because she is so loyal, and good and straight that i saw so clearly what a cad i was. i think i found courage to do the only possible thing in her frankness and honesty. daisy. i think you deceive yourself. are you sure this admiration of yours for all her admirable qualities isn't--love? george. my dear, i'm unfit to love her. daisy. she doesn't think so. if you asked her to marry you she'd accept. george. [_impatiently._] what nonsense. what in heaven's name made you think that? daisy. i made it my business to find out. george. well, you can set your mind at rest. i'm not going to ask her to marry me. [_the_ amah _comes in_. amah. five o'clock, daisy. daisy. leave me alone. [_the_ amah _goes out_. george. when does harry come back? daisy. [_after a pause, in a strange, hoarse voice._] to-day. george. [_surprised at her tone and manner._] is anything the matter, daisy? daisy. i'm afraid i have some very bad news for you. george. [_startled._] oh! daisy. you know those letters. i kept them locked in the box. lee tai was furious because i wouldn't have anything to do with him. last night he broke open the box. he's sent the letters to harry. george. [_overwhelmed._] my god! daisy. i'm awfully sorry. it wasn't my fault. i couldn't dream that there was any risk. george. was that why you sent for me? daisy. say you don't hate me. george. oh, poor harry! daisy. don't think of him now. think of me. george. what do we matter now, you and i? we're a pair of rotters. harry is a white man through and through. he loved you, and he trusted me. daisy. what are we going to do? george. give me a minute. i'm all at sixes and sevens. it's such a knock-out blow. daisy. harry will be here soon. his train's due at five. george. we'll wait for him. daisy. what? george. did you think i was going to run away? i'll stay and face him. daisy. he'll kill you. george. [_with anguish._] i wish to god he would. daisy. oh, george, how can you be so cruel? don't you love me any more? i love you. george, what is to become of me if you desert me? george. harry loves you so much and he loves me too. heaven knows what sacrifices he's not capable of. oh, i'm so ashamed! daisy. why do you bother about him? he doesn't count. he'll get over it. after all, what can he do? he can only divorce me and perhaps we can get him to let me divorce him. george. could you _allow_ him to do that? daisy. it means so little to a man. i don't care, i was thinking of you. it would make it so much easier for you. [_he gives her a quick look. he perceives the allusion to marriage._] george, george, you wouldn't leave--leave me in the cart. george. of course i'll marry you. daisy. [_smiling now, loving and tender._] oh, george, we shall be so happy. and you know, some day i'm sure you'll think it's better as it's turned out. i hate all this deceit just as much as you do. oh, it'll make such a difference when our love can be open and above board. when i'm your wife you'll forget all that has tormented you. oh, george, i know we shall be happy! [_all this time_ george _has been thinking deeply_. george. how do you know that lee tai sent those wretched letters to harry? daisy. he sent me a message. he wasn't satisfied with doing a dirty trick. he wanted me to know that he'd done it. george. how did he know you kept my letters there? daisy. i told you i was reading them while i waited for you. he came in and i put them away. i suppose he suspected. it was very easy for him to get into the room after amah and i went away. george. [_sarcastically._] had you left the key of the box on the table? daisy. what do you mean, george? i'd locked it up. of course i took the key with me. i suppose he broke it open. what does it matter? the harm's done. george. how do you know harry received the letters this morning? daisy. lee tai said he would. george. in kalgan? daisy. yes. george. how did he know harry was in kalgan? daisy. the chinese know all one's movements. george. they can't do miracles. harry was going up there unexpectedly on a private mission. the fellows in that company know very well how to keep their own counsel when it's needful.... i imagine you were the only person in peking who knew harry was going to kalgan. daisy. [_casually._] well, it appears i wasn't. george. how do you suppose lee tai found out something that harry had particularly told you to keep quiet about? daisy. how can i tell? he may have found out from the amah for all i know. george. surely you hadn't told her? daisy. of course not. she may have read the letter. she always does read my letters. george. can she read english? daisy. enough to find out about other people's business. george. why should she have told lee tai? daisy. i suppose he bribed her. she'd do anything for a hundred dollars. george. not if it would do you harm. daisy. she's not so devoted to me as all that. george. she's your mother, daisy. daisy. [_quickly._] how d'you know? george. harry told me. daisy. i thought he was too ashamed of it to do that. george. [_persistently._] how did lee tai know that harry was in kalgan? daisy. i tell you i don't know. why do you cross-examine me? good god, i'm harassed enough without that! what do you mean? george. [_he seizes her wrists and draws her violently to him._] daisy, did you send those letters to harry yourself? daisy. never! do you think i'm crazy? george. did you give them to lee tai to send? daisy. no. george. god damn you, speak the truth! i will have the truth for once in your life. [_they stare at one another. he is stern and angry. she pulls herself together. she is fierce and defiant. she shakes herself free of him._ daisy. i gave them to lee tai. george. [_hiding his face with his hands._] my god! daisy. he told me you were engaged to sylvia. for a moment i believed it and i gave him the letters. i hardly knew what i was doing. and now, even though i know it wasn't true, i'm glad. i wish i'd done it long before. george. you fiend! daisy. [_violently._] do you think i'm going to let you go so easily? do you think i've done all i have to let you marry that silly little english girl? george. [_with anguish._] oh, daisy, how could you? daisy. has it never struck you how you came to be wounded that night? it wasn't you they wanted. it was harry. george. i know. [_suddenly understanding._] daisy! daisy. yes, i could do that. i only wish it had succeeded. george. i can't believe it. daisy. you're mine, mine, mine, and i'll never let you go. george. [_with increasing violence._] do you think i can ever look at you again without horror? in my heart i've known always that you were evil. ten years ago when i first loved you there was a deep instinct within that warned me. even though my heart was breaking for love of you i knew that you were ruthless and cruel. i've loved you, yes, but all the time i've hated you. i've loved you, but with the baser part of me. all that was in me that was honest and decent and upright revolted against you. always, always. this love has been a loathsome cancer in my heart. i couldn't rid me of it without killing myself, but i abhorred it. i felt that i was degraded by the love that burned me. daisy. what do i care so long as you love? you can think anything you like of me. the fact remains that you love me. george. if you had no pity for harry, who raised you from the gutter and gave you everything he had to give, oh, if you'd loved me you'd have had mercy on me. what do you think our life can be together? don't you know what i shall be? ruined and abject and hopeless. oh, not only in the eyes of everyone who knows me shall i be degraded, but in my own. do you think there's much happiness for you there? daisy. i shall have you. that's all the happiness i want. i'd rather be wretched with you--oh, a thousand times--than happy with anyone else. george. [_wrathfully, trying to wound her._] you were tormenting me just now because you were jealous of sylvia. do you know what i felt for her? it wasn't love--at least not what you mean by love. i can never love anyone as i've loved you and god knows i'm thankful. but i had such a respect for her. i've been so wretched and she offered me peace. and i did think that some day when all this horror was over, if i could do something to make myself feel clean again, i should go to her and, all unworthy, ask her if she would take me. and now the bitterest pang of all is to think that she must know what an unspeakable cad i've always been. [_he has flung himself into a chair. he is in despair._ daisy _goes up to him and going down on her knees beside him puts her arm round him. she is very tender_. daisy. oh, george, i can make you forget her so easily. you don't know what my love can do. i know i've been horrible, but it's only been because i loved you. ten years ago i was all that she is. i'm like clay in your hands and you can make me what you will. oh, george, say you forgive me! [_in the caressing gestures of her hands as she tries to move him one of them rests by chance on his coat pocket. she feels something hard. he moves slightly away._ george. take care. daisy. what's that in your pocket? george. it's my revolver. since my accident i've always carried it about with me. it's rather silly, but the minister asked me to. he said he'd feel safer. daisy. oh, george, if you only knew the agony i suffered when you were brought in! the remorse, the fear! i thought i should go mad. george. [_with a bitter chuckle._] it must have been rather a sell for you. daisy. oh, you can laugh! i knew you'd forgive me. my darling. george. i'm sorry for all the rough things i said to you, daisy. i don't blame you for anything. you only acted according to your lights. the only person i can blame is myself. it's only reasonable that i should suffer the punishment. daisy. my sweetheart! george. i suppose you know that i shall be quite ruined. daisy. you'll have to leave the service. does that really matter to you very much? george. it was my whole life. daisy. you'll get a job in the post office. with your knowledge of the language they'll simply jump at you. it's a chinese service. it has nothing to do with europeans. george. do you think the postmaster in a small chinese city is a very lucrative position? daisy. what does money matter? if i'd wanted money i could have got all i wanted from lee tai. we can do with very little. you don't know what a clever housekeeper i am. george. [_in a level, dead voice._] i'm sure you're wonderful. daisy. we'll go to some city where there are no foreigners. and we shall be together always. we'll have a house high up on the bank and below us the river will flow, flow endlessly. george. you seem to have got it all mapped out. daisy. if you only knew how often i've dreamed of it. oh, george, i want rest and peace too! i'm so tired. i want endless days to rest in. [_with a puzzled look at him._] what is the matter? you look so strange. george. [_with a weary sigh._] i was thinking of all the things you've been saying to me. daisy. if you think it'll be easier for you if you don't marry me, you need not. i don't care anything about that. i'll be your mistress and i'll lie hidden in your house so that no one shall know i'm there. i'll live like a chinese woman. i'll be your slave and your plaything. i want to get away from all these europeans. after all, china is the land of my birth and the land of my mother. china is crowding in upon me; i'm sick of these foreign clothes. i have a strange hankering for the ease of the chinese dress. you've never seen me in it? george. never. daisy. [_with a smile._] you'd hardly know me. i'll be a little chinese girl living in the foreigner's house. have you ever smoked opium? george. no. [daisy _takes the_ amah's _long pipe in her hands._] who does that belong to? daisy. it's amah's. one day you shall try and i'll make your pipes for you. lee tai used to say that no one could make them better than i. george. however low down the ladder you go there's apparently always a rung lower. daisy. after you've smoked a pipe or two your mind grows extraordinarily clear. you have a strange facility of speech and yet no desire to speak. all the puzzles of this puzzling world grow plain to you. you are tranquil and free. your soul is gently released from the bondage of your body, and it plays, happy and careless, like a child with flowers. death cannot frighten you, and want and misery are like blue mountains far away. you feel a heavenly power possess you and you can venture all things because suffering cannot touch you. your spirit has wings and you fly like a bird through the starry wastes of the night. you hold space and time in the hollow of your hand. then you come upon the dawn, all pearly and gray and silent, and there in the distance, like a dreamless sleep, is the sea. george. you are showing me a side of you i never knew. daisy. do you think you know me yet? i don't know myself. in my heart there are secrets that are strange even to me, and spells to bind you to me, and enchantments so that you will never weary. [_a pause._ george. [_standing up._] i'll go and get myself a drink. after all these alarums and excursions i really think i deserve it. daisy. amah will bring it to you. george. oh, it doesn't matter! i can easily fetch it myself. the whisky's in the dining-room, isn't it? daisy. i expect so. [_he goes out._ daisy _goes over to a chest which stands in the room and throws it open. she takes out the manchu dress which harry once gave her and handles it smilingly. she holds up in both her hands the sumptuous headdress. there is the sound of a door being locked_. daisy _puts down the headdress and looks at the door enquiringly_. daisy. [_with a little smile._] what are you locking the door for, george? [_the words are hardly out of her mouth before there is the report of a pistol shot._ daisy _gives a shriek and rushes towards the door._] george! george! what have you done? [_she beats frantically on the door._] let me in! let me in! george! [_the_ amah _comes in running from the courtyard_. amah. what's the matter? i hear shot. daisy. send the boys, quick. we must break down this door. amah. i send the boys away. i no want them here when harry come. daisy. george! george! speak to me. [_she beats violently on the door._] oh, what shall i do? amah. daisy, what's the matter? daisy. he's killed himself sooner--sooner than.... amah. [_aghast._] oh! [daisy _staggers back into the room_. daisy. oh, my god! [_she sinks down on the floor. she beats it with her fist. the_ amah _looks at her for an instant, then with quick determination seizes her shoulder_. amah. daisy, harry come soon. daisy. [_with a violent gesture._] leave me alone. what do i care if harry comes? amah. you no can stay here. come with me quick. daisy. go away. damn you! amah. [_stern and decided._] don't you talk foolish now. you come. lee tai waiting for you. daisy. [_with a sudden suspicion._] did you know this was going to happen? george! george! amah. harry will kill you if he find you here. come with me. [_there is a knocking at the outer gate._] there he is. daisy! daisy! daisy. don't torture me. amah. i bolt that door. he no get in that way. he must come round through temple. you come quick and i hide you. we slip out when he safe. daisy. [_with scornful rage._] do you think i'm frightened of harry? amah. he come velly soon now. [daisy _raises herself to her feet. a strange look comes over her face._ daisy. lee tai has made a mistake again. bolt that door. [_the_ amah _runs to it and slips the bolt. while she does this_ daisy _takes the tin of opium and quickly swallows some of the contents. the_ amah _turns round and sees her. she gives a gasp. she runs forward and snatches the tin from_ daisy's _hand_. amah. what you do, daisy? daisy, you die! daisy. yes, i die. the day has come. the jungle takes back its own. amah. [_distraught._] oh, daisy! daisy! my little flower. daisy. how long will it take? [_the_ amah _sobs desperately_. daisy _goes to the manchu clothes and takes them up_.] help me to put these on. amah. [_dumbfounded._] what you mean, daisy? daisy. curse you, do as i tell you! amah. i think you crazy. [daisy _slips into the long skirt and the_ amah _with trembling hands helps her into the coat. in the middle of her dressing_ daisy _staggers_.] daisy. daisy. [_recovering herself._] don't be a fool. i'm all right. amah. [_in a terrified whisper._] there's harry. daisy. give me the headdress. harry. [_outside._] open the door. daisy. be quick. amah. i no understand. you die, daisy. you die. [_the knocking is repeated more violently._ harry. [_shouting._] daisy! amah! open the door. if you don't open i'll break it down. [daisy _is ready. she steps on to the pallet and sits in the chinese fashion_. daisy. go to the door. open when i tell you. [_there is by_ daisy's _side a box in which are the paints and pencils the chinese lady uses to make up her face_. daisy _opens it. she takes out a hand mirror_. harry. who's there? open, i tell you! open! [daisy _puts rouge on her cheeks. she takes a black pencil and touches her eyebrows. she gives them a slight slant so that she looks on a sudden absolutely chinese_. daisy. open! [_the_ _amah_ _draws the bolt and_ harry _bursts in_. harry. daisy! [_he comes forward impetuously and then on a sudden stops. he is taken aback. something, he knows not what, comes over him and he feels helpless and strangely weak._] daisy, what does it mean? these letters. [_he takes them out of his pocket and thrusts them towards her. she takes no notice of him._] daisy, speak to me. i don't understand. [_he staggers towards her with outstretched hands._] for god's sake, say it isn't true. [_motionless she contemplates in the mirror the chinese woman of the reflection._ the end the garies and their friends frank j. webb preface by harriet beecher stowe to the lady noel byron this book is, by her kind permission, most affectionately inscribed, with profound respect, by her grateful friend, the author. preface. the book which now appears before the public may be of interest in relation to a question which the late agitation of the subject of slavery has raised in many thoughtful minds; viz.--are the race at present held as slaves capable of freedom, self-government, and progress? the author is a coloured young man, born and reared in the city of philadelphia. this city, standing as it does on the frontier between free and slave territory, has accumulated naturally a large population of the mixed and african race. being one of the nearest free cities of any considerable size to the slave territory, it has naturally been a resort of escaping fugitives, or of emancipated slaves. in this city they form a large class--have increased in numbers, wealth, and standing--they constitute a peculiar society of their own, presenting many social peculiarities worthy of interest and attention. the representations of their positions as to wealth and education are reliable, the incidents related are mostly true ones, woven together by a slight web of fiction. the scenes of the mob describe incidents of a peculiar stage of excitement, which existed in the city of philadelphia years ago, when the first agitation of the slavery question developed an intense form of opposition to the free coloured people. southern influence at that time stimulated scenes of mob violence in several northern cities where the discussion was attempted. by prompt, undaunted resistance, however, this spirit was subdued, and the right of free inquiry established; so that discussion of the question, so far from being dangerous in free states, is now begun to be allowed in the slave states; and there are some subjects the mere discussion of which is a half-victory. the author takes pleasure in recommending this simple and truthfully-told story to the attention and interest of the friends of progress and humanity in england. (signed) h.b. stowe. andover, u.s., _august_ , . from lord brougham. i have been requested by one who has long known the deep interest i have ever taken in the cause of freedom, and in the elevation of the coloured race, to supply a few lines of introduction to mr. webb's book. it was the intention of mrs. harriet beecher stowe to introduce this work to the british public, but i am truly sorry to learn that a severe domestic affliction, since her return to america, has postponed the fulfilment of her promise. i am, however, able to state her opinion of the book, expressed in a letter to one of her friends. she says:--"there are points in the book of which i think very highly. the style is simple and unambitious--the characters, most of them faithfully drawn from real life, are quite fresh, and the incident, which is also much of it fact, is often deeply interesting. "i shall do what i can with the preface. i would not do as much unless i thought the book of worth _in itself_. it shows what i long have wanted to show; what the _free people of colour do attain_, and what they can do in spite of all social obstacles." i hope and trust that mr. webb's book will meet with all the success to which its own merit, and the great interest of the subject, so well entitle it. on this, mrs. stowe's authority is naturally of the greatest weight; and i can only lament that this prefatory notice does not come accompanied with her further remarks and illustrations. , grafton-street, _july_ , . * * * * * note.--since the above was written, the preface by mrs. stowe has been received. it was deemed best, however, to still retain the introduction so kindly given by lord brougham, whose deep interest in the freedom and welfare of the african race none feel more grateful for than does the author of the following pages. contents .--in which the reader is introduced to a family of peculiar construction .--a glance at the ellis family .--charlie's trials .--in which mr. winston finds an old friend .--the garies decide on a change .--pleasant news .--mrs. thomas has her troubles .--trouble in the ellis family .--breaking up .--another parting .--the new home .--mr. garie's neighbour .--hopes consummated .--charlie at warmouth .--mrs. stevens gains a triumph .--mr. stevens makes a discovery .--plotting .--mr. stevens falls into bad hands .--the alarm .--the attack .--more horrors .--an anxious day .--the lost one found .--charlie distinguishes himself .--the heir .--home again .--sudbury .--charlie seeks employment .--clouds and sunshine .--many years after .--the thorn rankles .--dear old ess again .--the fatal discovery .--"murder will out" .--the wedding .--and the last chapter i. in which the reader is introduced to a family of peculiar construction. it was at the close of an afternoon in may, that a party might have been seen gathered around a table covered with all those delicacies that, in the household of a rich southern planter, are regarded as almost necessaries of life. in the centre stood a dish of ripe strawberries, their plump red sides peeping through the covering of white sugar that had been plentifully sprinkled over them. geeche limes, almost drowned in their own rich syrup, temptingly displayed their bronze-coloured forms just above the rim of the glass that contained them. opposite, and as if to divert the gaze from lingering too long over their luscious beauty, was a dish of peaches preserved in brandy, a never-failing article in a southern matron's catalogues of sweets. a silver basket filled with a variety of cakes was in close proximity to a plate of corn-flappers, which were piled upon it like a mountain, and from the brown tops of which trickled tiny rivulets of butter. all these dainties, mingling their various odours with the aroma of the tea and fine old java that came steaming forth from the richly chased silver pots, could not fail to produce a very appetising effect. there was nothing about mr. garie, the gentleman who sat at the head of the table, to attract more than ordinary attention. he had the ease of manner usual with persons whose education and associations have been of a highly refined character, and his countenance, on the whole, was pleasing, and indicative of habitual good temper. opposite to him, and presiding at the tea-tray, sat a lady of marked beauty. the first thing that would have attracted attention on seeing her were her gloriously dark eyes. they were not entirely black, but of that seemingly changeful hue so often met with in persons of african extraction, which deepens and lightens with every varying emotion. hers wore a subdued expression that sank into the heart and at once riveted those who saw her. her hair, of jetty black, was arranged in braids; and through her light-brown complexion the faintest tinge of carmine was visible. as she turned to take her little girl from the arms of the servant, she displayed a fine profile and perfectly moulded form. no wonder that ten years before, when she was placed upon the auction-block at savanah, she had brought so high a price. mr. garie had paid two thousand dollars for her, and was the envy of all the young bucks in the neighbourhood who had competed with him at the sale. captivated by her beauty, he had esteemed himself fortunate in becoming her purchaser; and as time developed the goodness of her heart, and her mind enlarged through the instructions he assiduously gave her, he found the connection that might have been productive of many evils, had proved a boon to both; for whilst the astonishing progress she made in her education proved her worthy of the pains he took to instruct her, she returned threefold the tenderness and affection he lavished upon her. the little girl in her arms, and the boy at her side, showed no trace whatever of african origin. the girl had the chestnut hair and blue eyes of her father; but the boy had inherited the black hair and dark eyes of his mother. the critically learned in such matters, knowing his parentage, might have imagined they could detect the evidence of his mother's race, by the slightly mezzo-tinto expression of his eyes, and the rather african fulness of his lips; but the casual observer would have passed him by without dreaming that a drop of negro blood coursed through his veins. his face was expressive of much intelligence, and he now seemed to listen with an earnest interest to the conversation that was going on between his father and a dark-complexioned gentleman who sat beside him. "and so you say, winston, that they never suspected you were coloured?" "i don't think they had the remotest idea of such a thing. at least, if they did, they must have conquered their prejudices most effectually, for they treated me with the most distinguished consideration. old mr. priestly was like a father to me; and as for his daughter clara and her aunt, they were politeness embodied. the old gentleman was so much immersed in business, that he was unable to bestow much attention upon me; so he turned me over to miss clara to be shown the lions. we went to the opera, the theatre, to museums, concerts, and i can't tell where all. the sunday before i left i accompanied her to church, and after service, as we were coming out, she introduced me to miss van cote and her mamma. mrs. van cote was kind enough to invite me to her grand ball." "and did you go?" interrupted mr. garie. "of course, i did--and what is more, as old mr. priestly has given up balls, he begged me to escort clara and her aunt." "well, winston, that is too rich," exclaimed mr. garie, slapping his hand on the table, and laughing till he was red in the face; "too good, by jove! oh! i can't keep that. i must write to them, and say i forgot to mention in my note of introduction that you were a coloured gentleman. the old man will swear till everything turns blue; and as for clara, what will become of her? a fifth-avenue belle escorted to church and to balls by a coloured gentleman!" here mr. garie indulged in another burst of laughter so side-shaking and merry, that the contagion spread even to the little girl in mrs. garie's arms, who almost choked herself with the tea her mother was giving her, and who had to be hustled and shaken for some time before she could be brought round again. "it will be a great triumph for me," said mr. garie. "the old man prides himself on being able to detect evidences of the least drop of african blood in any one; and makes long speeches about the natural antipathy of the anglo-saxon to anything with a drop of negro blood in its veins. oh, i shall write him a glorious letter expressing my pleasure at his great change of sentiment, and my admiration of the fearless manner in which he displays his contempt for public opinion. how he will stare! i fancy i see him now, with his hair almost on end with disgust. it will do him good: it will convince him, i hope, that a man can be a gentleman even though he has african blood in his veins. i have had a series of quarrels with him," continued mr. garie; "i think he had his eye on me for miss clara, and that makes him particularly fierce about my present connection. he rather presumes on his former great intimacy with my father, and undertakes to lecture me occasionally when opportunity is afforded. he was greatly scandalized at my speaking of emily as my wife; and seemed to think me cracked because i talked of endeavouring to procure a governess for my children, or of sending them abroad to be educated. he has a holy horror of everything approaching to amalgamation; and of all the men i ever met, cherishes the most unchristian prejudice against coloured people. he says, the existence of "a gentleman" with african blood in his veins, is a moral and physical impossibility, and that by no exertion can anything be made of that description of people. he is connected with a society for the deportation of free coloured people, and thinks they ought to be all sent to africa, unless they are willing to become the property of some good master." "oh, yes; it is quite a hobby of his," here interposed mr. winston. "he makes lengthy speeches on the subject, and has published two of them in pamphlet form. have you seen them?" "yes, he sent them to me. i tried to get through one of them, but it was too heavy, i had to give it up. besides, i had no patience with them; they abounded in mis-statements respecting the free coloured people. why even here in the slave states--in the cities of savanah and charleston--they are much better situated than he describes them to be in new york; and since they can and do prosper here, where they have such tremendous difficulties to encounter, i know they cannot be in the condition he paints, in a state where they are relieved from many of the oppressions they labour under here. and, on questioning him on the subject, i found he was entirely unacquainted with coloured people; profoundly ignorant as to the real facts of their case. he had never been within a coloured church or school; did not even know that they had a literary society amongst them. positively, i, living down here in georgia, knew more about the character and condition of the coloured people of the northern states, than he who lived right in the midst of them. would you believe that beyond their laundress and a drunken negro that they occasionally employed to do odd jobs for them, they were actually unacquainted with any coloured people: and how unjust was it for him to form his opinion respecting a class numbering over twenty thousand in his own state, from the two individuals i have mentioned and the negro loafers he occasionally saw in the streets." "it is truly unfortunate," rejoined mr. winston, "for he covers his prejudices with such a pretended regard for the coloured people, that a person would be the more readily led to believe his statements respecting them to be correct; and he is really so positive about it, and apparently go deaf to all argument that i did not discuss the subject with him to any extent; he was so very kind to me that i did not want to run a tilt against his favourite opinions." "you wrote me he gave you letters to philadelphia; was there one amongst them to the mortons?" "yes. they were very civil and invited me to a grand dinner they gave to the belgian charge d'affaires. i also met there one or two scions of the first families of virginia. the belgian minister did not seem to be aware that slavery is a tabooed subject in polite circles, and he was continually bringing it forward until slaves, slavery, and black people in general became the principal topic of conversation, relieved by occasional discussion upon some new book or pictures, and remarks in praise of the viands before us. a very amusing thing occurred during dinner. a bright-faced little coloured boy who was assisting at the table, seemed to take uncommon interest in the conversation. an animated discussion had arisen as to the antiquity of the use of salad, one party maintaining that one of the oldest of the english poets had mentioned it in a poem, and the other as stoutly denying it. at last a reverend gentleman, whose remarks respecting the intelligence of the children of ham had been particularly disparaging, asserted that nowhere in chaucer, spencer, nor any of the old english poets could anything relating to it be found. at this, the little waiter became so excited that he could no longer contain himself, and, despite the frowns and nods of our hostess, exclaimed, 'yes it can, it's in chaucer; here,' he continued, taking out a book from the book-case, 'here is the very volume,'[*] and turning over the leaves he pointed out the passage, to the great chagrin of the reverend gentleman, and to the amusement of the guests. the belgian minister enjoyed it immensely. 'ah,' said he, 'the child of ham know more than the child of shem, dis time.' whereupon mrs. morton rejoined that in this case it was not so wonderful, owing to the frequent and intimate relations into which ham and salad were brought, and with this joke the subject was dismissed. i can't say i was particularly sorry when the company broke up." [footnote * see chaucer, "flower and the leaf."] "oh, george, never mind the white people," here interposed mrs. garie. "never mind them; tell us about the coloured folks; they are the ones i take the most interest in. we were so delighted with your letters, and so glad that you found mrs. ellis. tell us all about that." "oh, 'tis a long story, em, and can't be told in a minute; it would take the whole evening to relate it all." "look at the children, my dear, they are half asleep," said mr. garie. "call nurse and see them safe into bed, and when you come back we will have the whole story." "very well;" replied she, rising and calling the nurse. "now remember, george, you are not to begin until i return, for i should be quite vexed to lose a word." "oh, go on with the children, my dear, i'll guarantee he shall not say a word on the subject till you come back." with this assurance mrs. garie left the room, playfully shaking her finger at them as she went out, exclaiming, "not a word, remember now, not a word." after she left them mr. garie remarked, "i have not seen em as happy as she is this afternoon for some time. i don't know what has come over her lately; she scarcely ever smiles now, and yet she used to be the most cheerful creature in the world. i wish i knew what is the matter with her; sometimes i am quite distressed about her. she goes about the house looking so lost and gloomy, and does not seem to take the least interest in anything. you saw," continued he, "how silent she has been all tea time, and yet she has been more interested in what you have been saying than in anything that has transpired for months. well, i suppose women will be so sometimes," he concluded, applying himself to the warm cakes that had just been set upon the table. "perhaps she is not well," suggested mr. winston, "i think she looks a little pale." "well, possibly you may be right, but i trust it is only a temporary lowness of spirits or something of that kind. maybe she will get over it in a day or two;" and with this remark the conversation dropped, and the gentlemen proceeded to the demolition of the sweetmeats before them. and now, my reader, whilst they are finishing their meal, i will relate to you who mr. winston is, and how he came to be so familiarly seated at mr. garie's table. mr. winston had been a slave. yes! that fine-looking gentleman seated near mr. garie and losing nothing by the comparison that their proximity would suggest, had been fifteen years before sold on the auction-block in the neighbouring town of savanah--had been made to jump, show his teeth, shout to test his lungs, and had been handled and examined by professed negro traders and amateur buyers, with less gentleness and commiseration than every humane man would feel for a horse or an ox. now do not doubt me--i mean that very gentleman, whose polished manners and irreproachable appearance might have led you to suppose him descended from a long line of illustrious ancestors. yes--he was the offspring of a mulatto field-hand by her master. he who was now clothed in fine linen, had once rejoiced in a tow shirt that scarcely covered his nakedness, and had sustained life on a peck of corn a week, receiving the while kicks and curses from a tyrannical overseer. the death of his master had brought him to the auction-block, from which, both he and his mother were sold to separate owners. there they took their last embrace of each other--the mother tearless, but heart-broken--the boy with all the wildest manifestations of grief. his purchaser was a cotton broker from new orleans, a warm-hearted, kind old man, who took a fancy to the boy's looks, and pitied him for his unfortunate separation from his mother. after paying for his new purchase, he drew him aside, and said, in a kind tone, "come, my little man, stop crying; my boys never cry. if you behave yourself you shall have fine times with me. stop crying now, and come with me; i am going to buy you a new suit of clothes." "i don't want new clothes--i want my mammy," exclaimed the child, with a fresh burst of grief. "oh dear me!" said the fussy old gentleman, "why can't you stop--i don't want to hear you cry. here," continued he, fumbling in his pocket--"here's a picayune." "will that buy mother back?" said the child brightening up. "no, no, my little man, not quite--i wish it would. i'd purchase the old woman; but i can't--i'm not able to spare the money." "then i don't want it," cried the boy, throwing the money on the ground. "if it won't buy mammy, i don't want it. i want my mammy, and nothing else." at length, by much kind language, and by the prospect of many fabulous events to occur hereafter, invented at the moment by the old gentleman, the boy was coaxed into a more quiescent state, and trudged along in the rear of mr. moyese--that was the name of his purchaser--to be fitted with the new suit of clothes. the next morning they started by the stage for augusta. george, seated on the box with the driver, found much to amuse him; and the driver's merry chat and great admiration of george's new and gaily-bedizened suit, went a great way towards reconciling that young gentleman to his new situation. in a few days they arrived in new orleans. there, under the kind care of mr. moyese, he began to exhibit great signs of intelligence. the atmosphere into which he was now thrown, the kindness of which he was hourly the recipient, called into vigour abilities that would have been stifled for ever beneath the blighting influences that surrounded him under his former master. the old gentleman had him taught to read and write, and his aptness was such as to highly gratify the kind old soul. in course of time, the temporary absence of an out-door clerk caused george's services to be required at the office for a few days, as errand-boy. here he made himself so useful as to induce mr. moyese to keep him there permanently. after this he went through all the grades from errand-boy up to chief-clerk, which post he filled to the full satisfaction of his employer. his manners and person improved with his circumstances; and at the time he occupied the chief-clerk's desk, no one would have suspected him to be a slave, and few who did not know his history would have dreamed that he had a drop of african blood in his veins. he was unremitting in his attention to the duties of his station, and gained, by his assiduity and amiable deportment, the highest regard of his employer. a week before a certain new-year's-day, mr. moyese sat musing over some presents that had just been sent home, and which he was on the morrow to distribute amongst his nephews and nieces. "why, bless me!" he suddenly exclaimed, turning them over, "why, i've entirely forgotten george! that will never do; i must get something for him. what shall it be? he has a fine watch, and i gave him a pin and ring last year. i really don't know what will be suitable," and he sat for some time rubbing his chin, apparently in deep deliberation. "yes, i'll do it!" he exclaimed, starting up; "i'll do it! he has been a faithful fellow, and deserves it. i'll make him a present of himself! now, how strange it is i never thought of that before--it's just the thing;--how surprised and delighted he will be!" and the old gentleman laughed a low, gentle, happy laugh, that had in it so little of selfish pleasure, that had you only heard him you must have loved him for it. having made up his mind to surprise george in this agreeable manner, mr. moyese immediately wrote a note, which he despatched to his lawyers, messrs. ketchum and lee, desiring them to make out a set of free papers for his boy george, and to have them ready for delivery on the morrow, as it was his custom to give his presents two or three days in advance of the coming year. the note found mr. ketchum deep in a disputed will case, upon the decision of which depended the freedom of some half-dozen slaves, who had been emancipated by the will of their late master; by which piece of posthumous benevolence his heirs had been greatly irritated, and were in consequence endeavouring to prove him insane. "look at that, lee," said he, tossing the note to his partner; "if that old moyese isn't the most curious specimen of humanity in all new orleans! he is going to give away clear fifteen hundred dollars as a new-year's gift!" "to whom?" asked mr. lee. "he has sent me orders," replied mr. ketchum, "to make out a set of free papers for his boy george." "well, i can't say that i see so much in that," said lee; "how can he expect to keep him? george is almost as white as you or i, and has the manners and appearance of a gentleman. he might walk off any day without the least fear of detection." "very true," rejoined ketchum, "but i don't think he would do it. he is very much attached to the old gentleman, and no doubt would remain with him as long as the old man lives. but i rather think the heirs would have to whistle for him after moyese was put under ground. however," concluded mr. ketchum, "they won't have much opportunity to dispute the matter, as he will be a free man, no doubt, before he is forty-eight hours older." a day or two after this, mr. moyese entertained all his nephews and nieces at dinner, and each was gratified with some appropriate gift. the old man sat happily regarding the group that crowded round him, their faces beaming with delight. the claim for the seat of honour on uncle moyese's knee was clamorously disputed, and the old gentleman was endeavouring to settle it to the satisfaction of all parties, when a servant entered, and delivered a portentous-looking document, tied with red tape. "oh, the papers--now, my dears, let uncle go. gustave, let go your hold of my leg, or i can't get up. amy, ring the bell, dear." this operation mr. moyese was obliged to lift her into the chair to effect, where she remained tugging at the bell-rope until she was lifted out again by the servant, who came running in great haste to answer a summons of such unusual vigour. "tell george i want him," said mr. moyese. "he's gone down to the office; i hearn him say suffin bout de nordern mail as he went out--but i duno what it was"--and as he finished he vanished from the apartment, and might soon after have been seen with his mouth in close contact with the drumstick of a turkey. mr. moyese being now released from the children, took his way to the office, with the portentous red-tape document that was to so greatly change the condition of george winston in his coat pocket. the old man sat down at his desk, smiling, as he balanced the papers in his hand, at the thought of the happiness he was about to confer on his favourite. he was thus engaged when the door opened, and george entered, bearing some newly-arrived orders from european correspondents, in reference to which he sought mr. moyese's instructions. "i think, sir," said he, modestly, "that we had better reply at once to ditson, and send him the advance he requires, as he will not otherwise be able to fill these;" and as he concluded he laid the papers on the table, and stood waiting orders respecting them. mr. moyese laid down the packet, and after looking over the papers george had brought in, replied: "i think we had. write to him to draw upon us for the amount he requires.--and, george," he continued, looking at him benevolently, "what would you like for a new-year's present?" "anything you please, sir," was the respectful reply. "well, george," resumed mr. moyese, "i have made up my mind to make you a present of----" here he paused and looked steadily at him for a few seconds; and then gravely handing him the papers, concluded, "of yourself, george! now mind and don't throw my present away, my boy." george stood for some moments looking in a bewildered manner, first at his master, then at the papers. at last the reality of his good fortune broke fully upon him, and he sank into a chair, and unable to say more than: "god bless you, mr. moyese!" burst into tears. "now you are a pretty fellow," said the old man, sobbing himself, "it's nothing to cry about--get home as fast as you can, you stupid cry-baby, and mind you are here early in the morning, sir, for i intend to pay you five hundred dollars a-year, and i mean you to earn it," and thus speaking he bustled out of the room, followed by george's repeated "god bless you!" that "god bless you" played about his ears at night, and soothed him to sleep; in dreams he saw it written in diamond letters on a golden crown, held towards him by a hand outstretched from the azure above. he fancied the birds sang it to him in his morning walk, and that he heard it in the ripple of the little stream that flowed at the foot of his garden. so he could afford to smile when his relatives talked about his mistaken generosity, and could take refuge in that fervent "god bless you!" six years after this event mr. moyese died, leaving george a sufficient legacy to enable him to commence business on his own account. as soon as he had arranged his affairs, he started for his old home, to endeavour to gain by personal exertions what he had been unable to learn through the agency of others--a knowledge of the fate of his mother. he ascertained that she had been sold and re-sold, and had finally died in new orleans, not more than three miles from where he had been living. he had not even the melancholy satisfaction of finding her grave. during his search for his mother he had become acquainted with emily, the wife of mr. garie, and discovered that she was his cousin; and to this was owing the familiar footing on which we find him in the household where we first introduced him to our readers. mr. winston had just returned from a tour through the northern states, where he had been in search of a place in which to establish himself in business. the introductions with which mr. garie had kindly favoured him, had enabled him to see enough of northern society to convince him, that, amongst the whites, he could not form either social or business connections, should his identity with, the african race be discovered; and whilst, on the other hand, he would have found sufficiently refined associations amongst the people of colour to satisfy his social wants, he felt that he could not bear the isolation and contumely to which they were subjected. he, therefore, decided on leaving the united states, and on going to some country where, if he must struggle for success in life, he might do it without the additional embarrassments that would be thrown in his way in his native land, solely because he belonged to an oppressed race. chapter ii. a glance at the ellis family. "i wish charlie would come with that tea," exclaimed mrs. ellis, who sat finishing off some work, which had to go home that evening. "i wonder what can keep him so long away. he has been gone over an hour; it surely cannot take him that time to go to watson's." "it is a great distance, mother," said esther ellis, who was busily plying her needle; "and i don't think he has been quite so long as you suppose." "yes; he has been gone a good hour," repeated mrs. ellis. "it is now six o'clock, and it wanted three minutes to five when he left. i do hope he won't forget that i told him half black and half green--he is so forgetful!" and mrs. ellis rubbed her spectacles and looked peevishly out of the window as she concluded.--"where can he be?" she resumed, looking in the direction in which he might be expected. "oh, here he comes, and caddy with him. they have just turned the corner--open the door and let them in." esther arose, and on opening the door was almost knocked down by charlie's abrupt entrance into the apartment, he being rather forcibly shoved in by his sister caroline, who appeared to be in a high state of indignation. "where do you think he was, mother? where _do_ you think i found him?" "well, i can't say--i really don't know; in some mischief, i'll be bound." "he was on the lot playing marbles--and i've had such a time to get him home. just look at his knees; they are worn through. and only think, mother, the tea was lying on the ground, and might have been carried off, if i had not happened to come that way. and then he has been fighting and struggling with me all the way home. see," continued she, baring her arm, "just look how he has scratched me," and as she spoke she held out the injured member for her mother's inspection. "mother," said charlie, in his justification, "she began to beat me before all the boys, before i had said a word to her, and i wasn't going to stand that. she is always storming at me. she don't give me any peace of my life." "oh yes, mother," here interposed esther; "cad is too cross to him. i must say, that he would not be as bad as he is, if she would only let him alone." "esther, please hush now; you have nothing to do with their quarrels. i'll settle all their differences. you always take his part whether he be right or wrong. i shall send him to bed without his tea, and to-morrow i will take his marbles from him; and if i see his knees showing through his pants again, i'll put a red patch on them--that's what i'll do. now, sir, go to bed, and don't let me hear of you until morning." mr. and mrs. ellis were at the head of a highly respectable and industrious coloured family. they had three children. esther, the eldest, was a girl of considerable beauty, and amiable temper. caroline, the second child, was plain in person, and of rather shrewish disposition; she was a most indefatigable housewife, and was never so happy as when in possession of a dust or scrubbing brush; she would have regarded a place where she could have lived in a perpetual state of house cleaning, as an earthly paradise. between her and master charlie continued warfare existed, interrupted only by brief truces brought about by her necessity for his services as water-carrier. when a service of this character had been duly rewarded by a slice of bread and preserves, or some other dainty, hostilities would most probably be recommenced by charlie's making an inroad upon the newly cleaned floor, and leaving the prints of his muddy boots thereon. the fact must here be candidly stated, that charlie was not a tidy boy. he despised mats, and seldom or never wiped his feet on entering the house; he was happiest when he could don his most dilapidated unmentionables, as he could then sit down where he pleased without the fear of his mother before his eyes, and enter upon a game of marbles with his mind perfectly free from all harassing cares growing out of any possible accident to the aforesaid garments, so that he might give that attention to the game that its importance demanded. he was a bright-faced pretty boy, clever at his lessons, and a favourite both with tutors and scholars. he had withal a thorough boy's fondness for play, and was also characterised by all the thoughtlessness consequent thereon. he possessed a lively, affectionate disposition, and was generally at peace with all the world, his sister caddy excepted. caroline had recovered her breath, and her mind being soothed by the judgment that had been pronounced on master charlie, she began to bustle about to prepare tea. the shining copper tea-kettle was brought from the stove where it had been seething and singing for the last half-hour; then the tea-pot of china received its customary quantity of tea, which was set upon the stove to brew, and carefully placed behind the stove pipe that no accidental touch of the elbow might bring it to destruction. plates, knives, and teacups came rattling forth from the closet; the butter was brought from the place where it had been placed to keep it cool, and a corn-cake was soon smoking on the table, and sending up its seducing odour into the room over-head to which charlie had been recently banished, causing to that unfortunate young gentleman great physical discomfort. "now, mother," said the bustling caddy, "it's all ready. come now and sit down whilst the cake is hot--do put up the sewing, esther, and come!" neither esther nor her mother needed much pressing, and they were accordingly soon seated round the table on which their repast was spread. "put away a slice of this cake for father," said mrs. ellis, "for he won't be home until late; he is obliged to attend a vestry meeting to-night." mrs. ellis sat for some time sipping the fragrant and refreshing tea. when the contents of two or three cups one after another had disappeared, and sundry slices of corn-bread had been deposited where much corn-bread had been deposited before, she began to think about charlie, and to imagine that perhaps she had been rather hasty in sending him to bed without his supper. "what had charlie to-day in his dinner-basket to take to school with him?" she inquired of caddy. "why, mother, i put in enough for a wolf; three or four slices of bread, with as many more of corn-beef, some cheese, one of those little pies, and all that bread-pudding which was left at dinner yesterday--he must have had enough." "but, mother, you know he always gives away the best part of his dinner," interposed esther. "he supplies two or three boys with food. there is that dirty kinch that he is so fond of, who never takes any dinner with him, and depends entirely upon charlie. he must be hungry; do let him come down and get his tea, mother?" notwithstanding the observations of caroline that esther was just persuading her mother to spoil the boy, that he would be worse than ever, and many other similar predictions. esther and the tea combined won a signal triumph, and charlie was called down from the room above, where he had been exchanging telegraphic communications with the before-mentioned kinch, in hopes of receiving a commutation of sentence. charlie was soon seated at the table with an ample allowance of corn-bread and tea, and he looked so demure, and conducted himself in such an exemplary manner, that one would have scarcely thought him given to marbles and dirty company. having eaten to his satisfaction he quite ingratiated himself with caddy by picking up all the crumbs he had spilled during tea, and throwing them upon the dust-heap. this last act was quite a stroke of policy, as even caddy began to regard him as capable of reformation. the tea-things washed up and cleared away, the females busied themselves with their sewing, and charlie immersed himself in his lessons for the morrow with a hearty goodwill and perseverance as if he had abjured marbles for ever. the hearty supper and persevering attention to study soon began to produce their customary effect upon charlie. he could not get on with his lessons. many of the state capitals positively refused to be found, and he was beginning to entertain the sage notion that probably some of the legislatures had come to the conclusion to dispense with them altogether, or had had them placed in such obscure places that they could not be found. the variously coloured states began to form a vast kaleidoscope, in which the lakes and rivers had been entirely swallowed up. ranges of mountains disappeared, and gulfs and bays and islands were entirely lost. in fact, he was sleepy, and had already had two or three narrow escapes from butting over the candles; finally he fell from his chair, crushing caddy's newly-trimmed bonnet, to the intense grief and indignation of that young lady, who inflicted summary vengeance upon him before he was sufficiently awake to be aware of what had happened. the work being finished, mrs. ellis and caddy prepared to take it home to mrs. thomas, leaving esther at home to receive her father on his return and give him his tea. mrs. ellis and caddy wended their way towards the fashionable part of the city, looking in at the various shop-windows as they went. numberless were the great bargains they saw there displayed, and divers were the discussions they held respecting them. "oh, isn't that a pretty calico, mother, that with the green ground?" "'tis pretty, but it won't wash, child; those colours always run." "just look at that silk though--now that's cheap, you must acknowledge--only eighty-seven and a half cents; if i only had a dress of that i should be fixed." "laws, caddy!" replied mrs. ellis, "that stuff is as slazy as a washed cotton handkerchief, and coarse enough almost to sift sand through. it wouldn't last you any time. the silks they make now-a-days ain't worth anything; they don't wear well at all. why," continued she, "when i was a girl they made silks that would stand on end--and one of them would last a life-time." they had now reached chestnut-street, which was filled with gaily-dressed people, enjoying the balmy breath of a soft may evening. mrs. ellis and caddy walked briskly onward, and were soon beyond the line of shops, and entered upon the aristocratic quarter into which many of its residents had retired, that they might be out of sight of the houses in which their fathers or grandfathers had made their fortunes. "mother," said caddy, "this is mr. grant's new house--isn't it a splendid place? they say it's like a palace inside. they are great people, them grants. i saw in the newspaper yesterday that young mr. augustus grant had been appointed an attache to the american legation at paris; the newspapers say he is a rising man." "well, he ought to be," rejoined mrs. ellis, "for his old grand-daddy made yeast enough to raise the whole family. many a pennyworth has he sold me. laws! how the poor old folk do get up! i think i can see the old man now, with his sleeves rolled up, dealing out his yeast. he wore one coat for about twenty years, and used to be always bragging about it." as they were thus talking, a door of one of the splendid mansions they were passing opened, and a fashionably-dressed young man came slowly down the steps, and walked on before them with a very measured step and peculiar gait. "that's young dr. whiston, mother," whispered caddy; "he's courting young miss morton." "you don't say so!" replied the astonished mrs. ellis. "why, i declare his grandfather laid her grandfather out! old whiston was an undertaker, and used to make the handsomest coffins of his time. and he is going to marry miss morton! what next, i'd like to know! he walks exactly like the old man. i used to mock him when i was a little girl. he had just that hop-and-go kind of gait, and he was the funniest man that ever lived. i've seen him at a funeral go into the parlour, and condole with the family, and talk about the dear departed until the tears rolled down his cheeks; and then he'd be down in the kitchen, eating and drinking, and laughing, and telling jokes about the corpses, before the tears were dry on his face. how he used to make money! he buried almost all the respectable people about town, and made a large fortune. he owned a burying-ground in coates-street, and when the property in that vicinity became valuable, he turned the dead folks out, and built houses on the ground!" "i shouldn't say it was a very pleasant place to live in, if there are such things as ghosts," said caddy, laughing; "i for one wouldn't like to live there--but here we are at mr. thomas's--how short the way has seemed!" caroline gave a fierce rap at the door, which was opened by old aunt rachel, the fat cook, who had lived with the thomases for a fabulous length of time. she was an old woman when mrs. ellis came as a girl into the family, and had given her many a cuff in days long past; in fact, notwithstanding mrs. ellis had been married many years, and had children almost as old as she herself was when she left mr. thomas, aunt rachel could never be induced to regard her otherwise than as a girl. "oh, it's you, is it?" said she gruffly, as she opened the door; "don't you think better break de door down at once-rapping as if you was guine to tear off de knocker--is dat de way, gal, you comes to quality's houses? you lived here long nuff to larn better dan dat--and dis is twice i've been to de door in de last half-hour--if any one else comes dere they may stay outside. shut de door after you, and come into de kitchen, and don't keep me standin' here all night," added she, puffing and blowing as she waddled back into her sanctum. waiting until the irate old cook had recovered her breath, mrs. ellis modestly inquired if mrs. thomas was at home. "go up and see," was the surly response. "you've been up stars often enuff to know de way--go long wid you, gal, and don't be botherin' me, 'case i don't feel like bein' bothered--now, mind i tell yer.--here, you cad, set down on dis stool, and let that cat alone; i don't let any one play with my cat," continued she, "and you'll jest let him alone, if you please, or i'll make you go sit in de entry till your mother's ready to go. i don't see what she has you brats tugging after her for whenever she comes here--she might jest as well leave yer at home to darn your stockings--i 'spect dey want it." poor caddy was boiling over with wrath; but deeming prudence the better part of valour, she did not venture upon any wordy contest with aunt rachel, but sat down upon the stool by the fire-place, in which a bright fire was blazing. up the chimney an old smoke-jack was clicking, whirling, and making the most dismal noise imaginable. this old smoke-jack was aunt rachel's especial _protege_, and she obstinately and successfully defended it against all comers. she turned up her nose at all modern inventions designed for the same use as entirely beneath her notice. she had been accustomed to hearing its rattle for the last forty years, and would as soon have thought of committing suicide as consenting to its removal. she and her cat were admirably matched; he was as snappish and cross as she, and resented with distended claws and elevated back all attempts on the part of strangers to cultivate amicable relations with him. in fact, tom's pugnacious disposition was clearly evidenced by his appearance; one side of his face having a very battered aspect, and the fur being torn off his back in several places. caddy sat for some time surveying the old woman and her cat, in evident awe of both. she regarded also with great admiration the scrupulously clean and shining kitchen tins that garnished the walls and reflected the red light of the blazing fire. the wooden dresser was a miracle of whiteness, and ranged thereon was a set of old-fashioned blue china, on which was displayed the usual number of those unearthly figures which none but the chinese can create. tick, tick, went the old dutch clock in the corner, and the smoke-jack kept up its whirring noise. old tom and aunt rachel were both napping; and so caddy, having no other resource, went to sleep also. mrs. ellis found her way without any difficulty to mrs. thomas's room. her gentle tap upon the door quite flurried that good lady, who (we speak it softly) was dressing her wig, a task she entrusted to no other mortal hands. she peeped out, and seeing who it was, immediately opened the door without hesitation. "oh, it's you, is it? come in, ellen," said she; "i don't mind you." "i've brought the night-dresses home," said mrs. ellis, laying her bundle upon the table,--"i hope they'll suit." "oh, no doubt they will. did you bring the bill?" asked mrs. thomas. the bill was produced, and mrs. ellis sat down, whilst mrs. thomas counted out the money. this having been duly effected, and the bill carefully placed on the file, mrs. thomas also sat down, and commenced her usual lamentation over the state of her nerves, and the extravagance of the younger members of the family. on the latter subject she spoke very feelingly. "such goings on, ellen, are enough to set me crazy--so many nurses--and then we have to keep four horses--and it's company, company from monday morning until saturday night; the house is kept upside-down continually--money, money for everything--all going out, and nothing coming in!"--and the unfortunate mrs. thomas whined and groaned as if she had not at that moment an income of clear fifteen thousand dollars a year, and a sister who might die any day and leave her half as much more. mrs. thomas was the daughter of the respectable old gentleman whom dr. whiston's grandfather had prepared for his final resting-place. her daughter had married into a once wealthy, but now decayed, carolina family. in consideration of the wealth bequeathed by her grandfather (who was a maker of leather breeches, and speculator in general), miss thomas had received the offer of the poverty-stricken hand of mr. morton, and had accepted it with evident pleasure, as he was undoubtedly a member of one of the first families of the south, and could prove a distant connection with one of the noble families of england. they had several children, and their incessant wants had rendered it necessary that another servant should be kept. now mrs. thomas had long had her eye on charlie, with a view of incorporating him with the thomas establishment, and thought this would be a favourable time to broach the subject to his mother: she therefore commenced by inquiring-- "how have you got through the winter, ellen? everything has been so dear that even we have felt the effect of the high prices." "oh, tolerably well, i thank you. husband's business, it is true, has not been as brisk as usual, but we ought not to complain; now that we have got the house paid for, and the girls do so much sewing, we get on very nicely." "i should think three children must be something of a burthen--must be hard to provide for." "oh no, not at all," rejoined mrs. ellis, who seemed rather surprised at mrs. thomas's uncommon solicitude respecting them. "we have never found the children a burthen, thank god--they're rather a comfort and a pleasure than otherwise." "i'm glad to hear you say so, ellen--very glad, indeed, for i have been quite disturbed in mind respecting you during the winter. i really several times thought of sending to take charlie off your hands: by-the-way, what is he doing now?" "he goes to school regularly--he hasn't missed a day all winter. you should just see his writing," continued mrs. ellis, warming up with a mother's pride in her only son--"he won't let the girls make out any of the bills, but does it all himself--he made out yours." mrs. thomas took down the file and looked at the bill again. "it's very neatly written, very neatly written, indeed; isn't it about time that he left school--don't you think he has education enough?" she inquired. "his father don't. he intends sending him to another school, after vacation, where they teach latin and greek, and a number of other branches." "nonsense, nonsense, ellen! if i were you, i wouldn't hear of it. there won't be a particle of good result to the child from any such acquirements. it isn't as though he was a white child. what use can latin or greek be to a coloured boy? none in the world--he'll have to be a common mechanic, or, perhaps, a servant, or barber, or something of that kind, and then what use would all his fine education be to him? take my advice, ellen, and don't have him taught things that will make him feel above the situation he, in all probability, will have to fill. now," continued she, "i have a proposal to make to you: let him come and live with me awhile--i'll pay you well, and take good care of him; besides, he will be learning something here, good manners, &c. not that he is not a well-mannered child; but, you know, ellen, there is something every one learns by coming in daily contact with refined and educated people that cannot but be beneficial--come now, make up your mind to leave him with me, at least until the winter, when the schools again commence, and then, if his father is still resolved to send him back to school, why he can do so. let me have him for the summer at least." mrs. ellis, who had always been accustomed to regard mrs. thomas as a miracle of wisdom, was, of course, greatly impressed with what she had said. she had lived many years in her family, and had left it to marry mr. ellis, a thrifty mechanic, who came from savanah, her native city. she had great reverence for any opinion mrs. thomas expressed; and, after some further conversation on the subject, made up her mind to consent to the proposal, and left her with the intention of converting her husband to her way of thinking. on descending to the kitchen she awoke caddy from a delicious dream, in which she had been presented with the black silk that they had seen in the shop window marked eighty-seven and a half cents a yard. in the dream she had determined to make it up with tight sleeves and infant waist, that being the most approved style at that period. "five breadths are not enough for the skirt, and if i take six i must skimp the waist and cape," murmured she in her sleep. "wake up, girl! what are you thinking about?" said her mother, giving her another shake. "oh!" said caddy, with a wild and disappointed look--"i was dreaming, wasn't i? i declare i thought i had that silk frock in the window." "the girls' heads are always running on finery--wake up, and come along, i'm going home." caddy followed her mother out, leaving aunt rachel and tom nodding at each other as they dozed before the fire. that night mr. ellis and his wife had a long conversation upon the proposal of mrs. thomas; and after divers objections raised by him, and set aside by her, it was decided that charlie should be permitted to go there for the holidays at least; after which, his father resolved he should be sent to school again. charlie, the next morning, looked very blank on being informed of his approaching fate. caddy undertook with great alacrity to break the dismal tidings to him, and enlarged in a glowing manner upon what times he might expect from aunt rachel. "i guess she'll keep you straight;--you'll see sights up there! she is cross as sin--she'll make you wipe your feet when you go in and out, if no one else can." "let him alone, caddy," gently interposed esther; "it is bad enough to be compelled to live in a house with that frightful old woman, without being annoyed about it beforehand. if i could help it, charlie, you should not go." "i know you'd keep me home if you could--but old cad, here, she always rejoices if anything happens to me. i'll be hanged if i stay there," said he. "i won't live at service--i'd rather be a sweep, or sell apples on the dock. i'm not going to be stuck up behind their carriage, dressed up like a monkey in a tail coat--i'll cut off my own head first." and with this sanguinary threat he left the house, with his school-books under his arm, intending to lay the case before his friend and adviser, the redoubtable and sympathising kinch. chapter iii. charlie's trials. charlie started for school with a heavy heart. had it not been for his impending doom of service in mr. thomas's family, he would have been the happiest boy that ever carried a school-bag. it did not require a great deal to render this young gentleman happy. all that was necessary to make up a day of perfect joyfulness with him, was a dozen marbles, permission to wear his worst inexpressibles, and to be thoroughly up in his lessons. to-day he was possessed of all these requisites, but there was also in the perspective along array of skirmishes with aunt rachel, who, he knew, looked on him with an evil eye, and who had frequently expressed herself regarding him, in his presence, in terms by no means complimentary or affectionate; and the manner in which she had intimated her desire, on one or two occasions, to have an opportunity of reforming his personal habits, were by no means calculated to produce a happy frame of mind, now that the opportunity was about to be afforded her. charlie sauntered on until he came to a lumber-yard, where he stopped and examined a corner of the fence very attentively. "not gone by yet. i must wait for him," said he; and forthwith he commenced climbing the highest pile of boards, the top of which he reached at the imminent risk of his neck. here he sat awaiting the advent of his friend kinch, the absence of death's head and cross bones from the corner of the fence being a clear indication that he had not yet passed on his way to school. soon, however, he was espied in the distance, and as he was quite a character in his way, we must describe him. his most prominent feature was a capacious hungry-looking mouth, within which glistened a row of perfect teeth. he had the merriest twinkling black eyes, and a nose so small and flat that it would have been a prize to any editor living, as it would have been a physical impossibility to have pulled it, no matter what outrage he had committed. his complexion was of a ruddy brown, and his hair, entirely innocent of a comb, was decorated with divers feathery tokens of his last night's rest. a cap with the front torn off, jauntily set on one side of his head, gave him a rakish and wide-awake air, his clothes were patched and torn in several places, and his shoes were already in an advanced stage of decay. as he approached the fence he took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and commenced to sketch the accustomed startling illustration which was to convey to charlie the intelligence that he had already passed there on his way to school, when a quantity of sawdust came down in a shower on his head. as soon as the blinding storm had ceased, kinch looked up and intimated to charlie that it was quite late, and that there was a probability of their being after time at school. this information caused charlie to make rather a hasty descent, in doing which his dinner-basket was upset, and its contents displayed at the feet of the voracious kinch. "now i'll be even with you for that sawdust," cried he, as he pocketed two boiled eggs, and bit an immense piece out of an apple-tart, which he would have demolished completely but for the prompt interposition of its owner. "oh! my golly! charlie, your mother makes good pies!" he exclaimed with rapture, as soon as he could get his mouth sufficiently clear to speak. "give us another bite,--only a nibble." but charlie knew by experience what kinch's "nibbles" were, and he very wisely declined, saying sadly as he did so, "you won't get many more dinners from me, kinch. i'm going to leave school." "no! you ain't though, are you?" asked the astonished kinch. "you are not going, are you, really?" "yes, really," replied charlie, with a doleful look; "mother is going to put me out at service." "and do you intend to go?" asked kinch, looking at him incredulously. "why of course," was the reply. "how can i help going if father and mother say i must?" "i tell you what i should do," said kinch, "if it was me. i should act so bad that the people would be glad to get rid of me. they hired me out to live once, and i led the people they put me with such a dance, that they was glad enough to send me home again." this observation brought them to the school-house, which was but a trifling distance from the residence of mrs. ellis. they entered the school at the last moment of grace, and mr. dicker looked at them severely as they took their seats. "just saved ourselves," whispered kinch; "a minute later and we would have been done for;" and with this closing remark he applied himself to his grammar, a very judicious move on his part, for he had not looked at his lesson, and there were but ten minutes to elapse before the class would be called. the lessons were droned through as lessons usually are at school. there was the average amount of flogging performed; cakes, nuts, and candy, confiscated; little boys on the back seats punched one another as little boys on the back seats always will do, and were flogged in consequence. then the boy who never knew his lessons was graced with the fool's cap, and was pointed and stared at until the arrival of the play-hour relieved him from his disagreeable situation. "what kind of folks are these thomases?" asked kinch, as he sat beside charlie in the playground munching the last of the apple-tart; "what kind of folks are they? tell me that, and i can give you some good advice, may-be." "old mrs. thomas is a little dried-up old woman, who wears spectacles and a wig. she isn't of much account--i don't mind her. she's not the trouble; it's of old aunt rachel, i'm thinking. why, she has threatened to whip me when i've been there with mother, and she even talks to her sometimes as if she was a little girl. lord only knows what she'll do to me when she has me there by myself. you should just see her and her cat. i really don't know," continued charlie, "which is the worst looking. i hate them both like poison," and as he concluded, he bit into a piece of bread as fiercely as if he were already engaged in a desperate battle with aunt rachel, and was biting her in self-defence. "well," said kinch, with the air of a person of vast experience in difficult cases, "i should drown the cat--i'd do that at once--as soon as i got there; then, let me ask you, has aunt rachel got corns?" "corns! i wish you could see her shoes," replied charlie. "why you could sail down the river in 'em, they are so large. yes, she has got corns, bunions, and rheumatism, and everything else." "ah! then," said kinch, "your way is clear enough if she has got corns. i should confine myself to operating on them. i should give my whole attention to her feet. when she attempts to take hold of you, do you jist come down on her corns, fling your shins about kinder wild, you know, and let her have it on both feet. you see i've tried that plan, and know by experience that it works well. don't you see, you can pass that off as an accident, and it don't look well to be scratching and biting. as for the lady of the house, old mrs. what's-her-name, do you just manage to knock her wig off before some company, and they'll send you home at once--they'll hardly give you time to get your hat." charlie laid these directions aside in his mind for future application, and asked, "what did you do, kinch, to get away from the people you were with?" "don't ask me," said kinch, laughing; "don't, boy, don't ask me--my conscience troubles me awful about it sometimes. i fell up stairs with dishes, and i fell down stairs with dishes. i spilled oil on the carpet, and broke a looking-glass; but it was all accidental--entirely accidental--they found i was too ''spensive,' and so they sent me home." "oh, i wouldn't do anything like that--i wouldn't destroy anything--but i've made up my mind that i won't stay there at any rate. i don't mind work--i want to do something to assist father and mother; but i don't want to be any one's servant. i wish i was big enough to work at the shop." "how did your mother come to think of putting you there?" asked kinch. "the lord alone knows," was the reply. "i suppose old mrs. thomas told her it was the best thing that could be done for me, and mother thinks what she says is law and gospel. i believe old mrs. thomas thinks a coloured person can't get to heaven, without first living at service a little while." the school bell ringing put an end to this important conversation, and the boys recommenced their lessons. when charlie returned from school, the first person he saw on entering the house was robberts, mrs. thomas's chief functionary, and the presiding genius of the wine cellar--when he was trusted with the key. charlie learned, to his horror and dismay, that he had been sent by mrs. thomas to inquire into the possibility of obtaining his services immediately, as they were going to have a series of dinner parties, and it was thought that he could be rendered quite useful. "and must i go, mother?" he asked. "yes, my son; i've told robberts that you shall come up in the morning," replied mrs. ellis. then turning to robberts, she inquired, "how is aunt rachel?" at this question, the liveried gentleman from mrs. thomas's shook his head dismally, and answered: "don't ask me, woman; don't ask me, if you please. that old sinner gets worse and worse every day she lives. these dinners we're 'spectin to have has just set her wild--she is mad as fury 'bout 'em--and she snaps me up just as if i was to blame. that is an awful old woman, now mind i tell you." as mr. robberts concluded, he took his hat and departed, giving charlie the cheering intelligence that he should expect him early next morning. charlie quite lost his appetite for supper in consequence of his approaching trials, and, laying aside his books with a sigh of regret, sat listlessly regarding his sisters; enlivened now and then by some cheerful remark from caddy, such as:-- "you'll have to keep your feet cleaner up there than you do at home, or you'll have aunt rach in your wool half a dozen times a day. and you mustn't throw your cap and coat down where you please, on the chairs or tables--she'll bring you out of all that in a short time. i expect you'll have two or three bastings before you have been there a week, for she don't put up with any nonsense. ah, boy," she concluded, chuckling, "you'll have a time of it--i don't envy you!" with these and similar enlivening anticipations, caddy whiled away the time until it was the hour for charlie to retire for the night, which he, did with a heavy heart. early the following morning he was awakened by the indefatigable caddy, and he found a small bundle of necessaries prepared, until his trunk of apparel could be sent to his new home. "oh, cad," he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes, "how i do hate to go up there! i'd rather take a good whipping than go." "well, it is too late now to talk about it; hurry and get your clothes on--it is quite late--you ought to have been off an hour ago." when he came down stairs prepared to go, his mother "hoped that he was going to behave like a man," which exhortation had the effect of setting him crying at once; and then he had to be caressed by the tearful esther, and, finally, started away with very red eyes, followed to the door by his mother and the girls, who stood looking after him for some moments. so hurried and unexpected had been his departure, that he had been unable to communicate with his friend kinch. this weighed very heavily on his spirits, and he occupied the time on his way to mrs. thomas's in devising various plans to effect that object. on arriving, he gave a faint rap, that was responded to by aunt rachel, who saluted him with-- "oh, yer's come, has yer--wipe your feet, child, and come in quick. shut the door after yer." "what shall i do with this?" timidly asked he, holding up his package of clothes. "oh, dem's yer rags is dey--fling 'em anywhere, but don't bring 'em in my kitchen," said she. "dere is enuff things in dere now--put 'em down here on this entry table, or dere, long side de knife-board--any wheres but in de kitchen." charlie mechanically obeyed, and then followed her into her sanctuary. "have you had your breakfast?" she asked, in a surly tone. "'cause if you haven't, you must eat quick, or you won't get any. i can't keep the breakfast things standing here all day." charlie, to whom the long walk had given a good appetite, immediately sat down and ate a prodigious quantity of bread and butter, together with several slices of cold ham, washed down by two cups of tea; after which he rested his knife and fork, and informed aunt rachel that he had done. "well, i think it's high time," responded she. "why, boy, you'll breed a famine in de house if you stay here long enough. you'll have to do a heap of work to earn what you'll eat, if yer breakfast is a sample of yer dinner. come, get up, child! and shell dese 'ere pease--time you get 'em done, old mrs. thomas will be down stairs." charlie was thus engaged when mrs. thomas entered the kitchen. "well, charles--good morning," said she, in a bland voice. "i'm glad to see you here so soon. has he had his breakfast, aunt rachel?" "yes; and he eat like a wild animal--i never see'd a child eat more in my life," was aunt rachel's abrupt answer. "i'm glad he has a good appetite," said mrs. thomas, "it shows he has good health. boys will eat; you can't expect them to work if they don't. but it is time i was at those custards. charlie, put down those peas and go into the other room, and bring me a basket of eggs you will find on the table." "and be sure to overset the milk that's 'long side of it--yer hear?" added aunt rachel. charlie thought to himself that he would like to accommodate her, but he denied himself that pleasure; on the ground that it might not be safe to do it. mrs. thomas was a housekeeper of the old school, and had a scientific knowledge of the manner in which all sorts of pies and puddings were compounded. she was so learned in custards and preserves that even aunt rachel sometimes deferred to her superior judgment in these matters. carefully breaking the eggs, she skilfully separated the whites from the yolks, and gave the latter to charlie to beat. at first he thought it great fun, and he hummed some of the popular melodies of the day, and kept time with his foot and the spatula. but pretty soon he exhausted his stock of tunes, and then the performances did not go off so well. his arm commenced aching, and he came to the sage conclusion, before he was relieved from his task, that those who eat the custards are much better off than those who prepare them. this task finished, he was pressed into service by aunt rachel, to pick and stone some raisins which she gave him, with the injunction either to sing or whistle all the time he was "at 'em;" and that if he stopped for a moment she should know he was eating them, and in that case she would visit him with condign punishment on the spot, for she didn't care a fig whose child he was. thus, in the performance of first one little job and then another, the day wore away; and as the hour approached at which the guests were invited, charlie, after being taken into the dining-room by robberts, where he was greatly amazed at the display of silver, cut glass, and elegant china, was posted at the door to relieve the guests of their coats and hats, which duty he performed to the entire satisfaction of all parties concerned. at dinner, however, he was not so fortunate. he upset a plate of soup into a gentleman's lap, and damaged beyond repair one of the elegant china vegetable dishes. he took rather too deep an interest in the conversation for a person in his station; and, in fact, the bright boy alluded to by mr. winston, as having corrected the reverend gentleman respecting the quotation from chaucer, was no other than our friend charlie ellis. in the evening, when the guests were departing, charlie handed mr. winston his coat, admiring the texture and cut of it very much as he did so. mr. winston, amused at the boy's manner, asked-- "what is your name, my little man?" "charles ellis," was the prompt reply. "i'm named after my father." "and where did your father come from, charlie?" he asked, looking very much interested. "from savanah, sir. now tell me where _you_ came from," replied charles. "i came from new orleans," said mr. winston, with a smile. "now tell me," he continued, "where do you live when you are with your parents? i should like to see your father." charlie quickly put his interrogator in possession of the desired information, after which mr. winston departed, soon followed by the other guests. charlie lay for some time that night on his little cot before he could get to sleep; and amongst the many matters that so agitated his mind, was his wonder what one of mrs. thomas's guests could want with his father. being unable however, to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion respecting it, he turned over and went to sleep. chapter iv. in which mr. winston finds an old friend. in the early part of mr. winston's career, when he worked as a boy on the plantation of his father, he had frequently received great kindness at the hands of one charles ellis, who was often employed as carpenter about the premises. on one occasion, as a great favour, he had been permitted to accompany ellis to his home in savanah, which was but a few miles distant, where he remained during the christmas holidays. this kindness he had never forgotten; and on his return to georgia from new orleans he sought for his old friend, and found he had removed to the north, but to which particular city he could not ascertain. as he walked homewards, the strong likeness of little charlie to his old friend forced itself upon him, and the more he reflected upon it the more likely it appeared that the boy might be his child; and the identity of name and occupation between the father of charlie and his old friend led to the belief that he was about to make some discovery respecting him. on his way to his hotel he passed the old state house, the bell of which was just striking ten. "it's too late to go to-night," said he, "it shall be the first thing i attend to in the morning;" and after walking on a short distance farther, he found himself at the door of his domicile. as he passed through the little knot of waiters who were gathered about the doors, one of them turning to another, asked, "ain't that man a southerner, and ain't he in your rooms, ben?" "i think he's a southerner," was the reply of ben. "but why do you ask, allen?" he enquired. "because it's time he had subscribed something," replied mr. allen. "the funds of the vigilance committee are very low indeed; in fact, the four that we helped through last week have completely drained us. we must make a raise from some quarter, and we might as well try it on him." mr. winston was waiting for a light that he might retire to his room, and was quickly served by the individual who had been so confidentially talking with mr. allen. after giving mr. winston the light, ben followed him into his room and busied himself in doing little nothings about the stove and wash-stand. "let me unbutton your straps, sir," said he, stooping down and commencing on the buttons, which he was rather long in unclosing. "i know, sir, dat you southern gentlemen ain't used to doing dese yer things for youself. i allus makes it a pint to show southerners more 'tention dan i does to dese yer northern folk, 'cause yer see i knows dey'r used to it, and can't get on widout it." "i am not one of that kind," said winston, as ben slowly unbuttoned the last strap. "i have been long accustomed to wait upon myself. i'll only trouble you to bring me up a glass of fresh water, and then i shall have done with you for the night." "better let me make you up a little fire, the nights is werry cool," continued ben. "i know you must feel 'em; i does myself; i'm from the south, too." "are you?" replied mr. winston, with some interest; "from what part!" "from tuckahoe county, virginia; nice place dat." "never having been there i can't say," rejoined mr. winston, smiling; "and how do you like the north? i suppose you are a runaway," continued he. "oh, no sir! no sir!" replied ben, "i was sot free--and i often wish," he added in a whining tone, "dat i was back agin on the old place--hain't got no kind marster to look after me here, and i has to work drefful hard sometimes. ah," he concluded, drawing a long sigh, "if i was only back on de old place!" "i heartily wish you were!" said mr. winston, indignantly, "and wish moreover that you were to be tied up and whipped once a day for the rest of your life. any man that prefers slavery to freedom deserves to be a slave--you ought to be ashamed of yourself. go out of the room, sir, as quick as possible!" "phew!" said the astonished and chagrined ben, as he descended the stairs; "that was certainly a great miss," continued he, talking as correct english, and with as pure northern an accent as any one could boast. "we have made a great mistake this time; a very queer kind of southerner that is. i'm afraid we took the wrong pig by the ear;" and as he concluded, he betook himself to the group of white-aproned gentlemen before mentioned, to whom he related the incident that had just occurred. "quite a severe fall that, i should say," remarked mr. allen. "perhaps we have made a mistake and he is not a southerner after all. well he is registered from new orleans, and i thought he was a good one to try it on." "it's a clear case we've missed it this time," exclaimed one of the party, "and i hope, ben, when you found he was on the other side of the fence, you did not say too much." "laws, no!" rejoined ben, "do you think i'm a fool? as soon as i heard him say what he did, i was glad to get off--i felt cheap enough, now mind, i tell you any one could have bought me for a shilling." now it must be here related that most of the waiters employed in this hotel were also connected with the vigilance committee of the under-ground railroad company--a society formed for the assistance of fugitive slaves; by their efforts, and by the timely information it was often in their power to give, many a poor slave was enabled to escape from the clutches of his pursuers. the house in which they were employed was the great resort of southerners, who occasionally brought with them their slippery property; and it frequently happened that these disappeared from the premises to parts unknown, aided in their flight by the very waiters who would afterwards exhibit the most profound ignorance as to their whereabouts. such of the southerners as brought no servants with them were made to contribute, unconsciously and most amusingly, to the escape of those of their friends. when a gentleman presented himself at the bar wearing boots entirely too small for him, with his hat so far down upon his forehead as almost to obscure his eyes, and whose mouth was filled with oaths and tobacco, he was generally looked upon as a favourable specimen to operate upon; and if he cursed the waiters, addressed any old man amongst them as "boy," and was continually drinking cock-tails and mint-juleps, they were sure of their man; and then would tell him the most astonishing and distressing tales of their destitution, expressing, almost with tears in their eyes, their deep desire to return to their former masters; whilst perhaps the person from whose mouth this tale of woe proceeded had been born in a neighbouring street, and had never been south of mason and dixon's[*] line. this flattering testimony in favour of "the peculiar institution" generally had the effect of extracting a dollar or two from the purse of the sympathetic southerner; which money went immediately into the coffers of the vigilance committee. [footnote *: the line dividing the free from the slave states.] it was this course of conduct they were about to pursue with mr. winston; not because he exhibited in person or manners any of the before-mentioned peculiarities, but from his being registered from new orleans. the following morning, as soon as he had breakfasted, he started in search of mr. ellis. the address was , little green-street; and, by diligently inquiring, he at length discovered the required place. after climbing up a long flight of stairs on the outside of an old wooden building, he found himself before a door on which was written, "charles ellis, carpenter and joiner." on opening it, he ushered himself into the presence of an elderly coloured man, who was busily engaged in planing off a plank. as soon as mr. winston saw his face fully, he recognized him as his old friend. the hair had grown grey, and the form was also a trifle bent, but he would have known him amongst a thousand. springing forward, he grasped his hand, exclaiming, "my dear old friend, don't you know me?" mr. ellis shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked at him intently for a few moments, but seemed no wiser from his scrutiny. the tears started to mr. winston's eyes as he said, "many a kind word i'm indebted to you for--i am george winston--don't you remember little george that used to live on the carter estate?" "why, bless me! it can't be that you are the little fellow that used to go home with me sometimes to savanah, and that was sold to go to new orleans?" "yes, the same boy; i've been through a variety of changes since then." "i should think you had," smilingly replied mr. ellis; "and, judging from appearances, very favourable ones! why, i took you for a white man--and you are a white man, as far as complexion is concerned. laws, child!" he continued, laying his hand familiarly on winston's shoulders, "how you have changed--i should never have known you! the last time i saw you, you were quite a shaver, running about in a long tow shirt, and regarding a hat and shoes as articles of luxury far beyond your reach. and now," said mr. ellis, gazing at him with admiring eyes, "just to look at you! why, you are as fine a looking man as one would wish to see in a day's travel. i've often thought of you. it was only the other day i was talking to my wife, and wondering what had become of you. she, although a great deal older than your cousin emily, used to be a sort of playmate of hers. poor emily! we heard she was sold at public sale in savanah--did you ever learn what became of her?" "oh, yes; i saw her about two months since, when on my way from new orleans. you remember old colonel garie? well, his son bought her, and is living with her. they have two children--she is very happy. i really love him; he is the most kind and affectionate fellow in the world; there is nothing he would not do to make her happy. emily will be so delighted to know that i have seen your wife--but who is mrs. ellis?--any one that i know?" "i do not know that you are acquainted with her, but you should remember her mother, old nanny tobert, as she was called; she kept a little confectionery--almost every one in savanah knew her." "i can't say i do," replied winston, reflectively. "she came here," continued mr. ellis, "some years ago, and died soon after her arrival. her daughter went to live with the thomases, an old philadelphia family, and it was from their house i married her." "thomases?" repeated mr. winston; "that is where i saw your boy--he is the image of you." "and how came you there?" asked ellis, with a look of surprise. "in the most natural manner possible. i was invited there to dinner yesterday--the bright face of your boy attracted my attention--so i inquired his name, and that led to the discovery of yourself." "and do the thomases know you are a coloured man?" asked mr. ellis, almost speechless with astonishment. "i rather think not," laughingly rejoined mr. winston. "it is a great risk you run to be passing for white in that way," said mr. ellis, with a grave look. "but how did you manage to get introduced to that set? they are our very first people." "it is a long story," was winston's reply; and he then, as briefly as he could, related all that had occurred to himself since they last met. "and now," continued he, as he finished his recital, "i want to know all about you and your family; and i also want to see something of the coloured people. since i've been in the north i've met none but whites. i'm not going to return to new orleans to remain. i'm here in search of a home. i wish to find some place to settle down in for life, where i shall not labour under as many disadvantages as i must struggle against in the south." "one thing i must tell you," rejoined mr. ellis; "if you should settle down here, you'll have to be either one thing or other--white or coloured. either you must live exclusively amongst coloured people, or go to the whites and remain with them. but to do the latter, you must bear in mind that it must never be known that you have a drop of african blood in your veins, or you would be shunned as if you were a pestilence; no matter how fair in complexion or how white you may be." "i have not as yet decided on trying the experiment, and i hardly think it probable i shall," rejoined winston. as he said this he took out his watch, and was astonished to find how very long his visit had been. he therefore gave his hand to mr. ellis, and promised to return at six o'clock and accompany him home to visit his family. as he was leaving the shop, mr. ellis remarked: "george, you have not said a word respecting your mother." his face flushed, and the tears started in his eyes, as he replied, in a broken voice, "she's dead! only think, ellis, she died within a stone's throw of me, and i searching for her all the while. i never speak of it unless compelled; it is too harrowing. it was a great trial to me; it almost broke my heart to think that she perished miserably so near me, whilst i was in the enjoyment of every luxury. oh, if she could only have lived to see me as i am now!" continued he; "but he ordered it otherwise, and we must bow. 'twas god's will it should be so. good bye till evening. i shall see you again at six." great was the surprise of mrs. ellis and her daughters on learning from mr. ellis, when he came home to dinner, of the events of the morning; and great was the agitation caused by the announcement of the fact, that his friend was to be their guest in the evening. mrs. ellis proposed inviting some of their acquaintances to meet him; but to this project her husband objected, saying he wanted to have a quiet evening with him, and to talk over old times; and that persons who were entire strangers to him would only be a restraint upon them. caddy seemed quite put out by the announcement of the intended visit. she declared that nothing was fit to be seen, that the house was in a state of disorder shocking to behold, and that there was scarce a place in it fit to sit down in; and she forthwith began to prepare for an afternoon's vigorous scrubbing and cleaning. "just let things remain as they are, will you, caddy dear," said her father. "please be quiet until i get out of the house," he continued, as she began to make unmistakeable demonstrations towards raising a dust. "in a few moments you shall have the house to yourself, only give me time to finish my dinner in peace." esther, her mother, and their sewing were summarily banished to an upstairs room, whilst caddy took undivided possession of the little parlour, which she soon brought into an astonishing state of cleanliness. the ornaments were arranged at exact distances from the corners of the mantelpiece, the looking-glass was polished, until it appeared to be without spot or blemish, and its gilt frame was newly adorned with cut paper to protect it from the flies. the best china was brought out, carefully dusted, and set upon the waiter, and all things within doors placed in a state of forwardness to receive their expected guest. the door-steps were, however, not as white and clean as they might be, and that circumstance pressed upon caddy's mind. she therefore determined to give them a hasty wipe before retiring to dress for the evening. having done this, and dressed herself to her satisfaction, she came down stairs to prepare the refreshments for tea. in doing this, she continually found herself exposing her new silk dress to great risks. she therefore donned an old petticoat over her skirt, and tied an old silk handkerchief over her head to protect her hair from flying particles of dust; and thus arrayed she passed the time in a state of great excitement, frequently looking out of the window to see if her father and their guest were approaching. in one of these excursions, she, to her intense indignation, found a beggar boy endeavouring to draw, with a piece of charcoal, an illustration of a horse-race upon her so recently cleaned door-steps. "you young villain," she almost screamed, "go away from there. how dare you make those marks upon the steps? go off at once, or i'll give you to a constable." to these behests the daring young gentleman only returned a contemptuous laugh, and put his thumb to his nose in the most provoking manner. "ain't you going?" continued the irate caddy, almost choked with wrath at the sight of the steps, over which she had so recently toiled, scored in every direction with black marks. "just wait till i come down, i'll give it to you, you audacious villain, you," she cried, as she closed the window; "i'll see if i can't move you!" caddy hastily seized a broom, and descended the stairs with the intention of inflicting summary vengeance upon the dirty delinquent who had so rashly made himself liable to her wrath. stealing softly down the alley beside the house, she sprang suddenly forward, and brought the broom with all her energy down upon the head of mr. winston, who was standing on the place just left by the beggar. she struck with such force as to completely crush his hat down over his eyes, and was about to repeat the blow, when her father caught her arm, and she became aware of the awful mistake she had made. "why, my child!" exclaimed her father, "what on earth, is the matter with you, have you lost your senses?" and as he spoke, he held her at arm's length from him to get a better look at her. "what are you dressed up in this style for?" he continued, as he surveyed her from head to foot; and then bursting into a loud laugh at her comical appearance, he released her, and she made the quickest possible retreat into the house by the way she came out. bushing breathless upstairs, she exclaimed, "oh, mother, mother, i've done it now! they've come, and i've beat him over the head with a broom!" "beat whom over the head with a broom?" asked mrs. ellis. "oh, mother, i'm so ashamed, i don't know what to do with myself. i struck mr. winston with a broom. mr. winston, the gentleman father has brought home." "i really believe the child is crazy," said mrs. ellis, surveying the chagrined girl. "beat mr. winston over the head with a broom! how came you to do it?" "oh, mother, i made a great mistake; i thought he was a beggar." "he must be a very different looking person from what we have been led to expect," here interrupted esther. "i understood father to say that he was very gentlemanlike in appearance." "so he is," replied caddy. "but you just said you took him for a beggar?" replied her mother. "oh, don't bother me, don't bother me! my head is all turned upside down. do, esther, go down and let them in--hear how furiously father is knocking! oh, go--do go!" esther quickly descended and opened the door for winston and her father; and whilst the former was having the dust removed and his hat straightened, mrs. ellis came down and was introduced by her husband. she laughingly apologized for the ludicrous mistake caddy had made, which afforded great amusement to all parties, and divers were the jokes perpetrated at her expense during the remainder of the evening. her equanimity having been restored by winston's assurances that he rather enjoyed the joke than otherwise--and an opportunity having been afforded her to obliterate the obnoxious marks from the door-steps--she exhibited great activity in forwarding all the arrangements for tea. they sat a long while round the table--much time that, under ordinary circumstances, would have been given to the demolition of the food before them, being occupied by the elders of the party in inquiries after mutual friends, and in relating the many incidents that had occurred since they last met. tea being at length finished, and the things cleared away, mrs. ellis gave the girls permission to go out. "where are you going?" asked their father. "to the library company's room--to-night is their last lecture." "i thought," said winston, "that coloured persons were excluded from such places. i certainly have been told so several times." "it is quite true," replied mr. ellis; "at the lectures of the white library societies a coloured person would no more be permitted to enter than a donkey or a rattle-snake. this association they speak of is entirely composed of people of colour. they have a fine library, a debating club, chemical apparatus, collections of minerals, &c. they have been having a course of lectures delivered before them this winter, and to-night is the last of the course." "wouldn't you like to go, mr. winston?" asked mrs. ellis, who had a mother's desire to secure so fine an escort for her daughters. "no, no--don't, george," quickly interposed mr. ellis; "i am selfish enough to want you entirely to myself to-night. the girls will find beaux enough, i'll warrant you." at this request the girls did not seem greatly pleased, and miss caddy, who already, in imagination, had excited the envy of all her female friends by the grand _entree_ she was to make at the lyceum, leaning on the arm of winston, gave her father a by no means affectionate look, and tying her bonnet-strings with a hasty jerk, started out in company with her sister. "you appear to be very comfortable here, ellis," said mr. winston, looking round the apartment. "if i am not too inquisitive--what rent do you pay for this house?" "it's mine!" replied ellis, with an air of satisfaction; "house, ground, and all, bought and paid for since i settled here." "why, you are getting on well! i suppose," remarked winston, "that you are much better off than the majority of your coloured friends. from all i can learn, the free coloured people in the northern cities are very badly off. i've been frequently told that they suffer dreadfully from want and privations of various kinds." "oh, i see you have been swallowing the usual dose that is poured down southern throats by those northern negro-haters, who seem to think it a duty they owe the south to tell all manner of infamous lies upon us free coloured people. i really get so indignant and provoked sometimes, that i scarcely know what to do with myself. badly off, and in want, indeed! why, my dear sir, we not only support our own poor, but assist the whites to support theirs, and enemies are continually filling the public ear with the most distressing tales of our destitution! only the other day the colonization society had the assurance to present a petition to the legislature of this state, asking for an appropriation to assist them in sending us all to africa, that we might no longer remain a burthen upon the state--and they came very near getting it, too; had it not been for the timely assistance of young denbigh, the son of judge denbigh, they would have succeeded, such was the gross ignorance that prevailed respecting our real condition, amongst the members of the legislature. he moved a postponement of the vote until he could have time to bring forward facts to support the ground that he had assumed in opposition to the appropriation being made. it was granted; and, in a speech that does him honour, he brought forward facts that proved us to be in a much superior condition to that in which our imaginative enemies had described us. ay! he did more--he proved us to be in advance of the whites in wealth and general intelligence: for whilst it was one in fifteen amongst the whites unable to read and write, it was but one in eighteen amongst the coloured (i won't pretend to be correct about the figures, but that was about the relative proportions); and also, that we paid, in the shape of taxes upon our real estate, more than our proportion for the support of paupers, insane, convicts, &c." "well," said the astonished winston, "that is turning the tables completely. you must take me to visit amongst the coloured people; i want to see as much of them as possible during my stay." "i'll do what i can for you, george. i am unable to spare you much time just at present, but i'll put you in the hands of one who has abundance of it at his disposal--i will call with you and introduce you to walters." "who is walters?" asked mr. winston. "a friend of mine--a dealer in real estate." "oh, then he is a white man?" "not by any means," laughingly replied mr. ellis. "he is as black as a man can conveniently be. he is very wealthy; some say that he is worth half a million of dollars. he owns, to my certain knowledge, one hundred brick houses. i met him the other day in a towering rage: it appears, that he owns ten thousand dollars' worth of stock, in a railroad extending from this to a neighbouring city. having occasion to travel in it for some little distance, he got into the first-class cars; the conductor, seeing him there, ordered him out--he refused to go, and stated that he was a shareholder. the conductor replied, that he did not care how much stock he owned, he was a nigger, and that no nigger should ride in those cars; so he called help, and after a great deal of trouble they succeeded in ejecting him." "and he a stockholder! it was outrageous," exclaimed winston. "and was there no redress?" "no, none, practically. he would have been obliged to institute a suit against the company; and, as public opinion now is, it would be impossible for him to obtain a verdict in his favour." the next day winston was introduced to mr. walters, who expressed great pleasure in making his acquaintance, and spent a week in showing him everything of any interest connected with coloured people. winston was greatly delighted with the acquaintances he made; and the kindness and hospitality with which he was received made a most agreeable impression upon him. it was during this period that he wrote the glowing letters to mr. and mrs. garie, the effects of which will be discerned in the next chapter. chapter v. the garies decide on a change. we must now return to the garies, whom we left listening to mr. winston's description of what he saw in philadelphia, and we need not add anything respecting it to what the reader has already gathered from the last chapter; our object being now to describe the effect his narrative produced. on the evening succeeding the departure of winston for new orleans, mr. and mrs. garie were seated in a little arbour at a short distance from the house, and which commanded a magnificent prospect up and down the river. it was overshadowed by tall trees, from the topmost branches of which depended large bunches of georgian moss, swayed to and fro by the soft spring breeze that came gently sweeping down the long avenue of magnolias, laden with the sweet breath of the flowers with which the trees were covered. a climbing rose and cape jessamine had almost covered the arbour, and their intermingled blossoms, contrasting with the rich brown colour of the branches of which it was constructed, gave it an exceedingly beautiful and picturesque appearance. this arbour was their favourite resort in the afternoons of summer, as they could see from it the sun go down behind the low hills opposite, casting his gleams of golden light upon the tops of the trees that crowned their summits. northward, where the chain of hills was broken, the waters of the river would be brilliant with waves of gold long after the other parts of it were shrouded in the gloom of twilight. mr. and mrs. garie sat looking at the children, who were scampering about the garden in pursuit of a pet rabbit which had escaped, and seemed determined not to be caught upon any pretence whatever. "are they not beautiful?" said mr. garie, with pride, as they bounded past him. "there are not two prettier children in all georgia. you don't seem half proud enough of them," he continued, looking down upon his wife affectionately. mrs. garie, who was half reclining on the seat, and leaning her head upon his shoulder, replied, "oh, yes, i am, garie; i'm sure i love them dearly--oh, so dearly!" continued she, fervently--"and i only wish"--here she paused, as if she felt she had been going to say something that had better remain unspoken. "you only wish what, dear? you were going to say something," rejoined her husband. "come, out with it, and let me hear what it was." "oh, garie, it was nothing of any consequence." "consequence or no consequence, let me hear what it was, dear." "well, as you insist on hearing it, i was about to say that i wish they were not little slaves." "oh, em! em!" exclaimed he, reproachfully, "how can you speak in that manner? i thought, dear, that you regarded me in any other light than that of a master. what have i done to revive the recollection that any such relation existed between us? am i not always kind and affectionate? did you ever have a wish ungratified for a single day, if it was in my power to compass it? or have i ever been harsh or neglectful?" "oh, no, dear, no--forgive me, garie--do, pray, forgive me--you are kindness itself--believe me, i did not think to hurt your feelings by saying what i did. i know you do not treat me or them as though we were slaves. but i cannot help feeling that we are such--and it makes me very sad and unhappy sometimes. if anything should happen that you should be taken away suddenly, think what would be our fate. heirs would spring up from somewhere, and we might be sold and separated for ever. respecting myself i might be indifferent, but regarding the children i cannot feel so." "tut, tut, em! don't talk so gloomily. do you know of any one, now, who has been hired to put me to death?" said he, smiling. "don't talk so, dear; remember, 'in the midst of life we are in death.' it was only this morning i learned that celeste--you remember celeste, don't you?--i cannot recall her last name." "no, dear, i really can't say that i do remember whom you refer to." "i can bring her to your recollection, i think," continued she. "one afternoon last fall we were riding together on the augusta-road, when you stopped to admire a very neat cottage, before the door of which two pretty children were playing." "oh, yes, i remember something about it--i admired the children so excessively that you became quite jealous." "i don't remember that part of it," she continued. "but let me tell you my story. last week the father of the children started for washington; the cars ran off the track, and were precipitated down a high embankment, and he and some others were killed. since his death it has been discovered that all his property was heavily mortgaged to old macturk, the worst man in the whole of savannah; and he has taken possession of the place, and thrown her and the children into the slave-pen, from which they will be sold to the highest bidder at a sheriff's sale. who can say that a similar fate may never be mine? these things press upon my spirit, and make me so gloomy and melancholy at times, that i wish it were possible to shun even myself. lately, more than ever, have i felt disposed to beg you to break up here, and move off to some foreign country where there is no such thing as slavery. i have often thought how delightful it would be for us all to be living in that beautiful italy you have so often described to me--or in france either. you said you liked both those places--why not live in one of them?" "no, no, emily; i love america too much to ever think of living anywhere else. i am much too thorough a democrat ever to swear allegiance to a king. no, no--that would never do--give me a free country." "that is just what i say," rejoined mrs. garie; "that is exactly what i want; that is why i should like to get away from here, because this is _not_ a free country--god knows it is not!" "oh, you little traitor! how severely you talk, abusing your native land in such shocking style, it's really painful to hear you," said mr. garie in a jocular tone. "oh, love," rejoined she, "don't joke, it's not a subject for jesting. it is heavier upon my heart than you dream of. wouldn't you like to live in the free states? there is nothing particular to keep you here, and only think how much better it would be for the children: and garie," she continued in a lower tone, nestling close to him as she spoke, and drawing his head towards her, "i think i am going to--" and she whispered some words in his ear, and as she finished she shook her head, and her long curls fell down in clusters over her face. mr. garie put the curls aside, and kissing her fondly, asked, "how long have you known it, dear?" "not long, not very long," she replied. "and i have such a yearning that it should be born a free child. i do want that the first air it breathes should be that of freedom. it will kill me to have another child born here! its infant smiles would only be a reproach to me. oh," continued she, in a tone of deep feeling, "it is a fearful thing to give birth to an inheritor of chains;" and she shuddered as she laid her head on her husband's bosom. mr. garie's brow grew thoughtful, and a pause in the conversation ensued. the sun had long since gone down, and here and there the stars were beginning to show their twinkling light. the moon, which had meanwhile been creeping higher and higher in the blue expanse above, now began to shed her pale, misty beams on the river below, the tiny waves of which broke in little circlets of silver on the shore almost at their feet. mr. garie was revolving in his mind the conversation he had so recently held with mr. winston respecting the free states. it had been suggested by him that the children should be sent to the north to be educated, but he had dismissed the notion, well knowing that the mother would be heart-broken at the idea of parting with her darlings. until now, the thought of going to reside in the north had never been presented for his consideration. he was a southerner in almost all his feelings, and had never had a scruple respecting the ownership of slaves. but now the fact that he was the master as well as the father of his children, and that whilst he resided where he did it was out of his power to manumit them; that in the event of his death they might be seized and sold by his heirs, whoever they might be, sent a thrill of horror through him. he had known all this before, but it had never stood out in such bold relief until now. "what are you thinking of, garie?" asked his wife, looking up into his face. "i hope i have not vexed you by what i've said." "oh, no, dear, not at all. i was only thinking whether you would be any happier if i acceded to your wishes and removed to the north. here you live in good style--you have a luxurious home, troops of servants to wait upon you, a carriage at your disposal. in fact, everything for which you express a desire." "i know all that, garie, and what i am about to say may seem ungrateful, but believe me, dear, i do not mean it to be so. i had much rather live on crusts and wear the coarsest clothes, and work night and day to earn them, than live here in luxury, wearing gilded chains. carriages and fine clothes cannot create happiness. i have every physical comfort, and yet my heart is often heavy--oh, so very heavy; i know i am envied by many for my fine establishment; yet how joyfully would i give it all up and accept the meanest living for the children's freedom--and your love." "but, emily, granted we should remove to the north, you would find annoyances there as well as here. there is a great deal of prejudice existing there against people of colour, which, often exposes them to great inconveniences." "yes, dear, i know all that; i should expect that. but then on the other hand, remember what george said respecting the coloured people themselves; what a pleasant social circle they form, and how intelligent many of them are! oh, garie, how i have longed for friends!--we have visitors now and then, but none that i can call friends. the gentlemen who come to see you occasionally are polite to me, but, under existing circumstances, i feel that they cannot entertain for me the respect i think i deserve. i know they look down upon and despise me because i'm a coloured woman. then there would be another advantage; i should have some female society--here i have none. the white ladies of the neighbourhood will not associate with me, although i am better educated, thanks to your care, than many of them, so it is only on rare occasions, when i can coax some of our more cultivated coloured acquaintances from savannah to pay us a short visit, that i have any female society, and no woman can be happy without it. i have no parents, nor yet have you. we have nothing we greatly love to leave behind--no strong ties to break, and in consequence would be subjected to no great grief at leaving. if i only could persuade you to go!" said she, imploringly. "well, emily," replied he, in an undecided manner, "i'll think about it. i love you so well, that i believe i should be willing to make any sacrifice for your happiness. but it is getting damp and chilly, and you know," said he, smiling, "you must be more than usually careful of yourself now." the next evening, and many more besides, were spent in discussing the proposed change. many objections to it were stated, weighed carefully, and finally set aside. winston was written to and consulted, and though he expressed some surprise at the proposal, gave it his decided approval. he advised, at the same time, that the estate should not be sold, but be placed in the hands of some trustworthy person, to be managed in mr. garie's absence. under the care of a first-rate overseer, it would not only yield a handsome income, but should they be dissatisfied with their northern home, they would have the old place still in reserve; and with the knowledge that they had this to fall back upon, they could try their experiment of living in the north with their minds less harassed than they otherwise would be respecting the result. as mr. garie reflected more and more on the probable beneficial results of the project, his original disinclination to it diminished, until he finally determined on running the risk; and he felt fully rewarded for this concession to his wife's wishes when he saw her recover all her wonted serenity and sprightliness. they were soon in all the bustle and confusion consequent on preparing for a long journey. when mr. garie's determination to remove became known, great consternation prevailed on the plantation, and dismal forebodings were entertained by the slaves as to the result upon themselves. divers were the lamentations heard on all sides, when they were positively convinced that "massa was gwine away for true;" but they were somewhat pacified, when they learned that no one was to be sold, and that the place would not change hands. for mr. garie was a very kind master, and his slaves were as happy as slaves can be under any circumstances. not much less was the surprise which the contemplated change excited in the neighbourhood, and it was commented on pretty freely by his acquaintances. one of them--to whom he had in conversation partially opened his mind, and explained that his intended removal grew out of anxiety respecting the children, and his own desire that they might be where they could enjoy the advantages of schools, &c.--sneered almost to his face at what he termed his crack-brained notions; and subsequently, in relating to another person the conversation he had had with mr. garie, spoke of him as "a soft-headed fool, led by the nose by a yaller wench. why can't he act," he said, "like other men who happen to have half-white children--breed them up for the market, and sell them?" and he might have added, "as i do," for he was well known to have so acted by two or three of his own tawny offspring. mr. garie, at the suggestion of winston, wrote to mr. walters, to procure them a small, but neat and comfortable house, in philadelphia; which, when procured, he was to commit to the care of mr. and mrs. ellis, who were to have it furnished and made ready to receive him and his family on their arrival, as mr. garie desired to save his wife as much as possible, from the care and anxiety attendant upon the arrangement of a new residence. one most important matter, and on which depended the comfort and happiness of his people, was the selection of a proper overseer. on its becoming known that he required such a functionary, numbers of individuals who aspired to that dignified and honourable office applied forthwith; and as it was also known that the master was to be absent, and that, in consequence, the party having it under his entire control, could cut and slash without being interfered with, the value of the situation was greatly enhanced. it had also another irresistible attraction, the absence of the master would enable the overseer to engage in the customary picking and stealing operations, with less chance of detection. in consequence of all these advantages, there was no want of applicants. great bony new england men, traitors to the air they first breathed, came anxiously forward to secure the prize. mean, weasen-faced, poor white georgians, who were able to show testimonials of their having produced large crops with a small number of hands, and who could tell to a fraction how long a slave could be worked on a given quantity of corn, also put in their claims for consideration. short, thick-set men, with fierce faces, who gloried in the fact that they had at various times killed refractory negroes, also presented themselves to undergo the necessary examination. mr. garie sickened as he contemplated the motley mass of humanity that presented itself with such eagerness for the attainment of so degrading an office; and as he listened to their vulgar boastings and brutal language, he blushed to think that such men were his countrymen. never until now had he had occasion for an overseer. he was not ambitious of being known to produce the largest crop to the acre, and his hands had never been driven to that shocking extent, so common with his neighbours. he had been his own manager, assisted by an old negro, called ephraim--most generally known as eph, and to him had been entrusted the task of immediately superintending the hands engaged in the cultivation of the estate. this old man was a great favourite with the children, and clarence, who used to accompany him on his pony over the estate, regarded him as the most wonderful and accomplished coloured gentleman in existence. eph was in a state of great perturbation at the anticipated change, and he earnestly sought to be permitted to accompany them to the north. mr. garie was, however, obliged to refuse his request, as he said, that it was impossible that the place could get on without him. an overseer being at last procured, whose appearance and manners betokened a better heart than that of any who had yet applied for the situation, and who was also highly-recommended for skill and honesty; nothing now remained to prevent mr. garie's early departure. chapter vi. pleasant news. one evening mr. ellis was reading the newspaper, and mrs. ellis and the girls were busily engaged in sewing, when who should come in but mr. walters, who had entered without ceremony at the front door, which had been left open owing to the unusual heat of the weather. "here you all are, hard at work," exclaimed he, in his usual hearty manner, accepting at the same time the chair offered to him by esther. "come, now," continued he, "lay aside your work and newspapers, for i have great news to communicate." "indeed, what is it?--what can it be?" cried the three females, almost in a breath; "do let us hear it!" "oh," said mr. walters, in a provokingly slow tone, "i don't think i'll tell you to-night; it may injure your rest; it will keep till to-morrow." "now, that is always the way with mr. walters," said caddy, pettishly; "he always rouses one's curiosity, and then refuses to gratify it;--he is so tantalizing sometimes!" "i'll tell you this much," said he, looking slily at caddy, "it is connected with a gentleman who had the misfortune to be taken for a beggar, and who was beaten over the head in consequence by a young lady of my acquaintance." "now, father has been telling you that," exclaimed caddy, looking confused, "and i don't thank him for it either; i hear of that everywhere i go--even the burtons know of it." mr. walters now looked round the room, as though he missed some one, and finally exclaimed, "where is charlie? i thought i missed somebody--where is my boy?" "we have put him out to live at mrs. thomas's," answered mrs. ellis, hesitatingly, for she knew mr. walters' feelings respecting the common practice of sending little coloured boys to service. "it is a very good place for him," continued she--"a most excellent place." "that is too bad," rejoined mr. walters--"too bad; it is a shame to make a servant of a bright clever boy like that. why, ellis, man, how came you to consent to his going? the boy should be at school. it really does seem to me that you people who have good and smart boys take the very course to ruin them. the worst thing you can do with a boy of his age is to put him at service. once get a boy into the habit of working for a stipend, and, depend upon it, when he arrives at manhood, he will think that if he can secure so much a month for the rest of his life he will be perfectly happy. how would you like him to be a subservient old numskull, like that old robberts of theirs?" here esther interrupted mr. walters by saying, "i am very glad to hear you express yourself in that manner, mr. walters--very glad. charlie is such a bright, active little fellow; i hate to have him living there as a servant. and he dislikes it, too, as much as any one can. i do wish mother would take him away." "hush, esther," said her mother, sharply; "your mother lived at service, and no one ever thought the worse of her for it." esther looked abashed, and did not attempt to say anything farther. "now, look here, ellen," said mr. walters. (he called her ellen, for he had been long intimate with the family.) "if you can't get on without the boy's earning something, why don't you do as white women and men do? do you ever find them sending their boys out as servants? no; they rather give them a stock of matches, blacking, newspapers, or apples, and start them out to sell them. what is the result? the boy that learns to sell matches soon learns to sell other things; he learns to make bargains; he becomes a small trader, then a merchant, then a millionaire. did you ever hear of any one who had made a fortune at service? where would i or ellis have been had we been hired out all our lives at so much a month? it begets a feeling of dependence to place a boy in such a situation; and, rely upon it, if he stays there long, it will spoil him for anything better all his days." mrs. ellis was here compelled to add, by way of justifying herself, that it was not their intention to let him remain there permanently; his father only having given his consent for him to serve during the vacation. "well, don't let him stay there longer, i pray you," continued walters. "a great many white people think that we are only fit for servants, and i must confess we do much to strengthen the opinion by permitting our children to occupy such situations when we are not in circumstances to compel us to do so. mrs. thomas may tell you that they respect their old servant robberts as much as they do your husband; but they don't, nevertheless--i don't believe a word of it. it is impossible to have the same respect for the man who cleans your boots, that you have for the man who plans and builds your house." "oh, well, walters," here interposed mr. ellis, "i don't intend the boy to remain there, so don't get yourself into an unnecessary state of excitement about it. let us hear what this great news is that you have brought." "oh, i had almost forgotten it," laughingly replied walters, at the same time fumbling in his pocket for a letter, which he at length produced. "here," he continued, opening it, "is a letter i have received from a mr. garie, enclosing another from our friend winston. this mr. garie writes me that he is coming to the north to settle, and desires me to procure them a house; and he says also that he has so far presumed upon an early acquaintance of his wife with mrs. ellis as to request that she will attend to the furnishing of it. you are to purchase all that is necessary to make them comfortable, and i am to foot the bills." "what, you don't mean emily winston's husband?" said the astonished mrs. ellis. "i can't say whose husband it is, but from winston's letter," replied mr. walters, "i suppose he is the person alluded to." "that is news," continued mrs. ellis. "only think, she was a little mite of a thing when i first knew her, and now she is a woman and the mother of two children. how time does fly. i must be getting quite old," concluded she, with a sigh. "nonsense, ellen," remarked mr. ellis, "you look surprisingly young, you are quite a girl yet. why, it was only the other day i was asked if you were one of my daughters." mrs. ellis and the girls laughed at this sally of their father's, who asked mr. walters if he had as yet any house in view. "there is one of my houses in winter-street that i think will just suit them. the former tenants moved out about a week since. if i can call for you to-morrow," he continued, turning to mrs. ellis, "will you accompany me there to take a look at the premises?" "it is a dreadful long walk," replied mrs. ellis. "how provoking it is to think, that because persons are coloured they are not permitted to ride in the omnibuses or other public conveyances! i do hope i shall live to see the time when we shall be treated as civilized creatures should be." "i suppose we shall be so treated when the millennium comes," rejoined walters, "not before, i am afraid; and as we have no reason to anticipate that it will arrive before to-morrow, we shall have to walk to winter-street, or take a private conveyance. at any rate, i shall call for you to-morrow at ten. good night--remember, at ten." "well, this is a strange piece of intelligence," exclaimed mrs. ellis, as the door closed upon mr. walters. "i wonder what on earth can induce them to move on here. their place, i am told, is a perfect paradise. in old colonel garie's time it was said to be the finest in georgia. i wonder if he really intends to live here permanently?" "i can't say, my dear," replied mrs. ellis; "i am as much in the dark as you are." "perhaps they are getting poor, ellis, and are coming here because they can live cheaper." "oh, no, wife; i don't think that can be the occasion of their removal. i rather imagine he purposes emancipating his children. he cannot do it legally in georgia; and, you know, by bringing them here, and letting them remain six months, they are free--so says the law of some of the southern states, and i think of georgia." the next morning mrs. ellis, caddy, and mr. walters, started for winter-street; it was a very long walk, and when they arrived there, they were all pretty well exhausted. "oh, dear," exclaimed mrs. ellis, after walking upstairs, "i am so tired, and there is not a chair in the house. i must rest here," said she, seating herself upon the stairs, and looking out upon the garden. "what a large yard! if ours were only as large as this, what a delightful place i could make of it! but there is no room to plant anything at our house, the garden is so very small." after they were all somewhat rested, they walked through the house and surveyed the rooms, making some favourable commentary upon each. "the house don't look as if it would want much cleaning," said caddy, with a tone of regret. "so much the better, i should say," suggested mr. walters. "not as caddy views the matter," rejoined mrs. ellis. "she is so fond of house-cleaning, that i positively think she regards the cleanly state of the premises as rather a disadvantage than otherwise." they were all, however, very well pleased with the place; and on their way home they settled which should be the best bedroom, and where the children should sleep. they also calculated how much carpet and oilcloth would be necessary, and what style of furniture should be put in the parlour. "i think the letter said plain, neat furniture, and not too expensive, did it not?" asked mrs. ellis. "i think those were the very words," replied caddy; "and, oh, mother, isn't it nice to have the buying of so many pretty things? i do so love to shop!" "particularly with some one else's money," rejoined her mother, with a smile. "yes, or one's own either, when one has it," continued caddy; "i like to spend money under any circumstances." thus in conversation relative to the house and its fixtures, they beguiled the time until they reached their home. on arriving there, mrs. ellis found robberts awaiting her return with a very anxious countenance. he informed her that mrs. thomas wished to see her immediately; that charlie had been giving that estimable lady a world of trouble; and that her presence was necessary to set things to rights. "what has he been doing?" asked mrs. ellis. "oh, lots of things! he and aunt rachel don't get on together at all; and last night he came nigh having the house burned down over our heads." "why, robberts, you don't tell me so! what a trial boys are," sighed mrs. ellis. "he got on first rate for a week or two; but since that he has been raising satan. he and aunt rachel had a regular brush yesterday, and he has actually lamed the old woman to that extent she won't be able to work for a week to come." "dear, dear, what am i to do?" said the perplexed mrs. ellis; "i can't go up there immediately, i am too tired. say to mrs. thomas i will come up this evening. i wonder," concluded she, "what has come over the boy." "mother, you know how cross aunt rachel is; i expect she has been ill-treating him. he is so good-natured, that he never would behave improperly to an old person unless goaded to it by some very harsh usage." "that's the way--go on, esther, find some excuse for your angel," said caddy, ironically. "of course that lamb could not do anything wrong, and, according to your judgment, he never does; but, i tell you, he is as bad as any other boy--boys are boys. i expect he has been tracking over the floor after aunt rachel has scrubbed it, or has been doing something equally provoking; he has been in mischief, depend upon it." things had gone on very well with master charlie for the first two weeks after his introduction into the house of the fashionable descendant of the worthy maker of leathern breeches. his intelligence, combined with the quickness and good-humour with which he performed the duties assigned him, quite won the regard of the venerable lady who presided over that establishment. it is true she had detected him in several attempts upon the peace and well-being of aunt rachel's tom; but with tom she had little sympathy, he having recently made several felonious descents upon her stores of cream and custards. in fact, it was not highly probable, if any of his schemes had resulted seriously to the spiteful _protege_ of aunt rachel, that mrs. thomas would have been overwhelmed with grief, or disposed to inflict any severe punishment on the author of the catastrophe. unfortunately for mrs. thomas, charlie, whilst going on an errand, had fallen in with his ancient friend and adviser--in short, he had met no less a person than the formerly all-sufficient kinch. great was the delight of both parties at this unexpected meeting, and warm, indeed, was the exchange of mutual congratulations on this auspicious event. kinch, in the excess of his delight, threw his hat several feet in the air; nor did his feelings of pleasure undergo the least abatement when that dilapidated portion of his costume fell into a bed of newly-mixed lime, from which he rescued it with great difficulty and at no little personal risk. "hallo! kinch, old fellow, how are you?" cried charlie; "i've been dying to see you--why haven't you been up?" "why, i did come up often, but that old witch in the kitchen wouldn't let me see you--she abused me scandalous. i wanted to pull her turban off and throw it in the gutter. why, she called me a dirty beggar, and threatened to throw cold water on me if i didn't go away. phew! ain't she an old buster!" "why, i never knew you were there." "yes," continued kinch; "and i saw you another time hung up behind the carriage. i declare, charlie, you looked so like a little monkey, dressed up in that sky-blue coat and silver buttons, that i liked to have died a-laughing at you;" and kinch was so overcome by the recollection of the event in question, that he was obliged to sit down upon a door-step to recover himself. "oh, i do hate to wear this confounded livery!' said charlie, dolefully--" the boys scream 'johnny coat-tail' after me in the streets, and call me 'blue jay,' and 'blue nigger,' and lots of other names. i feel that all that's wanting to make a complete monkey of me, is for some one to carry me about on an organ." "what do you wear it for, then?" asked kinch. "because i can't help myself, that's the reason. the boys plague me to that extent sometimes, that i feel like tearing the things into bits--but mother says i must wear it. kinch," concluded he, significantly, "something will have to be done, i can't stand it." "you remember what i told you about the wig, don't you?" asked kinch; and, on receiving an affirmative reply, he continued, "just try that on, and see how it goes--you'll find it'll work like a charm; it's a regular footman-expatriator--just try it now; you'll see if it isn't the thing to do the business for you." "i'm determined to be as bad as i can," rejoined charlie; "i'm tired enough of staying there: that old aunt rach is a devil--i don't believe a saint from heaven could get on with her; i'm expecting we'll have a pitched battle every day." beguiling the time with this and similar conversation, they reached the house to which charlie had been despatched with a note; after which, he turned his steps homeward, still accompanied by the redoubtable kinch. as ill luck would have it, they passed some boys who were engaged in a game of marbles, charlie's favourite pastime, and, on kinch's offering him the necessary stock to commence play, he launched into the game, regardless of the fact that the carriage was ordered for a drive within an hour, and that he was expected to fill his accustomed place in the rear of that splendid vehicle. once immersed in the game, time flew rapidly on. mrs. thomas awaited his return until her patience was exhausted, when she started on her drive without him. as they were going through a quiet street, to her horror and surprise, prominent amidst a crowd of dirty boys, she discovered her little footman, with his elegant blue livery covered with dirt and sketches in white chalk; for, in the excitement of the game, charlie had not observed that kinch was engaged in drawing on the back of his coat his favourite illustration, to wit, a skull and cross-bones. "isn't that our charlie?" said she to her daughter, surveying the crowd of noisy boys through her eye-glass. "i really believe it is--that is certainly our livery; pull the check-string, and stop the carriage." now robberts had been pressed into service in consequence of charlie's absence, and was in no very good humour at being compelled to air his rheumatic old shins behind the family-carriage. it can therefore be readily imagined with what delight he recognized the delinquent footman amidst the crowd, and with what alacrity he descended and pounced upon him just at the most critical moment of the game. clutching fast hold of him by the collar of his coat, he dragged him to the carriage-window, and held him before the astonished eyes of his indignant mistress, who lifted up her hands in horror at the picture he presented. "oh! you wretched boy," said she, "just look at your clothes, all covered with chalk-marks and bespattered with lime! your livery is totally ruined--and your knees, too--only look at them--the dirt is completely ground into them." "but you haven't seed his back, marm," said robberts; "he's got the pirate's flag drawn on it. that boy'll go straight to the devil--i know he will." all this time charlie, to his great discomfiture, was being shaken and turned about by robberts in the most unceremonious manner. kinch, with his usual audacity, was meanwhile industriously engaged in tracing on robbert's coat a similar picture to that he had so skilfully drawn on charlie's, to the great delight of a crowd of boys who stood admiring spectators of his artistic performances. the coachman, however, observing this operation, brought it to a rather hasty conclusion by a well directed cut of the whip across the fingers of the daring young artist. this so enraged kinch, that in default of any other missile, he threw his lime-covered cap at the head of the coachman; but, unfortunately for himself, the only result of his exertions was the lodgment of his cap in the topmost bough of a neighbouring tree, from whence it was rescued with great difficulty. "what _shall_ we do with him?" asked mrs. thomas, in a despairing tone, as she looked at charlie. "put him with the coachman," suggested mrs. morton. "he can't sit there, the horses are so restive, and the seat is only constructed for one, and he would be in the coachman's way. i suppose he must find room on behind with robberts." "i won't ride on the old carriage," cried charlie, nerved by despair; "i won't stay here nohow. i'm going home to my mother;" and as he spoke he endeavoured to wrest himself from robberts' grasp. "put him in here," said mrs. thomas; "it would never do to let him go, for he will run home with some distressing tale of ill-treatment; no, we must keep him until i can send for his mother--put him in here." much to mrs. morton's disgust, charlie was bundled by robberts into the bottom of the carriage, where he sat listening to the scolding of mrs. thomas and her daughter until they arrived at home. he remained in disgrace for several days after this adventure; but as mrs. thomas well knew that she could not readily fill his place with another, she made a virtue of necessity, and kindly looked over this first offence. the situation was, however, growing more and more intolerable. aunt rachel and he had daily skirmishes, in which he was very frequently worsted. he had held several hurried consultations with kinch through the grating of the cellar window, and was greatly cheered and stimulated in the plans he intended to pursue by the advice and sympathy of his devoted friend. master kinch's efforts to console charlie were not without great risk to himself, as he had on two or three occasions narrowly escaped falling into the clutches of robberts, who well remembered kinch's unprecedented attempt upon the sacredness of his livery; and what the result might have been had the latter fallen into his hands, we cannot contemplate without a shudder. these conferences between kinch and charlie produced their natural effect, and latterly it had been several times affirmed by aunt rachel that, "dat air boy was gittin' 'tirely too high--gittin' bove hissef 'pletely--dat he was gittin' more and more aggriwatin' every day--dat she itched to git at him--dat she 'spected nothin' else but what she'd be 'bliged to take hold o' him;" and she comported herself generally as if she was crazy for the conflict which she saw must sooner or later occur. charlie, unable on these occasions to reply to her remarks without precipitating a conflict for which he did not feel prepared, sought to revenge himself upon the veteran tom; and such was the state of his feelings, that he bribed kinch, with a large lump of sugar and the leg of a turkey, to bring up his mother's jerry, a fierce young cat, and they had the satisfaction of shutting him up in the wood-house with the belligerent tom, who suffered a signal defeat at jerry's claws, and was obliged to beat a hasty retreat through the window, with a seriously damaged eye, and with the fur torn off his back in numberless places. after this charlie had the pleasure of hearing aunt rachel frequently bewail the condition of her favourite, whose deplorable state she was inclined to ascribe to his influence, though she was unable to bring it home to him in such a manner as to insure his conviction. chapter vii. mrs. thomas has her troubles. mrs. thomas was affected, as silly women sometimes are, with an intense desire to be at the head of the _ton_. for this object she gave grand dinners and large evening parties, to which were invited all who, being two or three removes from the class whose members occupy the cobbler's bench or the huckster's stall, felt themselves at liberty to look down upon the rest of the world from the pinnacle on which they imagined themselves placed. at these social gatherings the conversation never turned upon pedigree, and if any of the guests chanced by accident to allude to their ancestors, they spoke of them as members of the family, who, at an early period of their lives, were engaged in mercantile pursuits. at such dinners mrs. thomas would sit for hours, mumbling dishes that disagreed with her; smiling at conversations carried on in villanous french, of which language she did not understand a word; and admiring the manners of addle-headed young men (who got tipsy at her evening parties), because they had been to europe, and were therefore considered quite men of the world. these parties and dinners she could not be induced to forego, although the late hours and fatigue consequent thereon would place her on the sick-list for several days afterwards. as soon, however, as she recovered sufficiently to resume her place at the table, she would console herself with a dinner of boiled mutton and roasted turnips, as a slight compensation for the unwholesome french dishes she had compelled herself to swallow on the occasions before mentioned. amongst the other modern fashions she had adopted, was that of setting apart one morning of the week for the reception of visitors; and she had mortally offended several of her oldest friends by obstinately refusing to admit them at any other time. two or three difficulties had occurred with robberts, in consequence of this new arrangement, as he could not be brought to see the propriety of saying to visitors that mrs. thomas was "not at home," when he knew she was at that very moment upstairs peeping over the banisters. his obstinacy on this point had induced her to try whether she could not train charlie so as to fit him for the important office of uttering the fashionable and truthless "not at home" with unhesitating gravity and decorum; and, after a series of mishaps, she at last believed her object was effected, until an unlucky occurrence convinced her to the contrary. mrs. thomas, during the days on which she did not receive company, would have presented, to any one who might have had the honour to see that venerable lady, an entirely different appearance to that which she assumed on gala days. a white handkerchief supplied the place of the curling wig, and the tasty french cap was replaced by a muslin one, decorated with an immense border of ruffling, that flapped up and down over her silver spectacles in the most comical manner possible. a short flannel gown and a dimity petticoat of very antique pattern and scanty dimensions, completed her costume. thus attired, and provided with a duster, she would make unexpected sallies into the various domestic departments, to see that everything was being properly conducted, and that no mal-practices were perpetrated at times when it was supposed she was elsewhere. she showed an intuitive knowledge of all traps set to give intimation of her approach, and would come upon aunt rachel so stealthily as to induce her to declare, "dat old mrs. thomas put her more in mind of a ghost dan of any other libin animal." one morning, whilst attired in the manner described, mrs. thomas had been particularly active in her excursions through the house, and had driven the servants to their wits' ends by her frequent descents upon them at the most unexpected times, thereby effectually depriving them of the short breathing intervals they were anxious to enjoy. charlie in particular had been greatly harassed by her, and was sent flying from place to place until his legs were nearly run off, as he expressed it. and so, when lord cutanrun, who was travelling in america to give his estates in england an opportunity to recuperate, presented his card, charlie, in revenge, showed him into the drawing-room, where he knew that mrs. thomas was busily engaged trimming an oil-lamp. belying on the explicit order she had given to say that she was not at home, she did not even look up when his lordship entered, and as he advanced towards her, she extended to him a basin of dirty water, saying, "here, take this." receiving no response she looked up, and to her astonishment and horror beheld, not charlie, but lord cutanrun. in the agitation consequent upon his unexpected appearance, she dropped the basin, the contents of which, splashing in all directions, sadly discoloured his lordship's light pants, and greatly damaged the elegant carpet. "oh! my lord," she exclaimed, "i didn't--couldn't--wouldn't--" and, unable to ejaculate further, she fairly ran out of the apartment into the entry, where she nearly fell over charlie, who was enjoying the confusion his conduct had created. "oh! you limb!--you little wretch!" said she. "you knew i was not at home!" "why, where are you now?" he asked, with the most provoking air of innocence. "if you ain't in the house now, you never was." "never mind, sir," said she, "never mind. i'll settle with you for this. don't stand there grinning at me; go upstairs and tell mrs. morton to come down immediately, and then get something to wipe up that water. o dear! my beautiful carpet! and for a lord to see me in such a plight! oh! it's abominable! i'll give it to you, you scamp! you did it on purpose," continued the indignant mrs. thomas. "don't deny it--i know you did. what are you standing there for? why don't you call mrs. morton?" she concluded, as charlie, chuckling over the result of his trick, walked leisurely upstairs. "that boy will be the death of me," she afterwards said, on relating the occurrence to her daughter. "just to think, after all the trouble i've had teaching him when to admit people and when not, that he should serve me such a trick. i'm confident he did it purposely." alas! for poor mrs. thomas; this was only the first of a series of annoyances that charlie had in store, with which to test her patience and effect his own deliverance. a few days after, one of their grand dinners was to take place, and charlie had been revolving in his mind the possibility of his finding some opportunity, on that occasion, to remove the old lady's wig; feeling confident that, could he accomplish that feat, he would be permitted to turn his back for ever on the mansion of mrs. thomas. never had mrs. thomas appeared more radiant than at this dinner. all the guests whose attendance she had most desired were present, a new set of china had lately arrived from paris, and she was in full anticipation of a grand triumph. now, to charlie had been assigned the important duty of removing the cover from the soup-tureen which was placed before his mistress, and the little rogue had settled upon that moment as the most favourable for the execution of his purpose. he therefore secretly affixed a nicely crooked pin to the elbow of his sleeve, and, as he lifted the cover, adroitly hooked it into her cap, to which he knew the wig was fastened, and in a twinkling had it off her head, and before she could recover from her astonishment and lay down the soup-ladle he had left the room. the guests stared and tittered at the grotesque figure she presented,--her head being covered with short white hair, and her face as red as a peony at the mortifying situation in which she was placed. as she rose from her chair charlie presented himself, and handed her the wig, with an apology for the _accident_. in her haste to put it on, she turned it wrong side foremost; the laughter of the guests could now no longer be restrained, and in the midst of it mrs. thomas left the room. encountering charlie as she went, she almost demolished him in her wrath; not ceasing to belabour him till his outcries became so loud as to render her fearful that he would alarm the guests; and she then retired to her room, where she remained until the party broke up. it was her custom, after these grand entertainments, to make nocturnal surveys of the kitchen, to assure herself that none of the delicacies had been secreted by the servants for their personal use and refreshment. charlie, aware of this, took his measures for an ample revenge for the beating he had received at her hands. at night, when all the rest of the family had retired, he hastily descended to the kitchen, and, by some process known only to himself, imprisoned the cat in a stone jar that always stood upon the dresser, and into which he was confident mrs. thomas would peep. he then stationed himself upon the stairs, to watch the result. he had not long to wait, for as soon as she thought the servants were asleep, she came softly into the kitchen, and, after peering about in various places, she at last lifted up the lid of the jar. tom, tired of his long confinement, sprang out, and, in so doing, knocked the lamp out of her hand, the fluid from which ignited and ran over the floor. "murder!--fire!--watch!" screamed the thoroughly frightened old woman. "oh, help! help! fire!" at this terrible noise nearly every one in the household was aroused, and hurried to the spot whence it proceeded. they found mrs. thomas standing in the dark, with the lid of the jar in her hand, herself the personification of terror. the carpet was badly burned in several places, and the fragments of the lamp were scattered about the floor. "what has happened?" exclaimed mr. morton, who was the first to enter the kitchen. "what is all this frightful noise occasioned by?" "oh, there is a man in the house!" answered mrs. thomas, her teeth chattering with fright. "there was a man in here--he has just sprung out," she continued, pointing to the bread-jar. "pooh, pooh--that's nonsense, madam," replied the son-in-law. "why an infant could not get in there, much less a man!" "i tell you it was a man then," angrily responded mrs. thomas; "and he is in the house somewhere now." "such absurdity!" muttered mr. morton; adding, in a louder tone: "why, my dear mamma, you've seen a mouse or something of the kind." "mouse, indeed!" interrupted the old lady. "do you think i'm in my dotage, and i don't know a man from a mouse?" just then the cat, whose back had got severely singed in the _melee_, set up a most lamentable caterwauling; and, on being brought to light from the depths of a closet into which he had flown, his appearance immediately discovered the share he had had in the transaction. "it must have been the cat," said robberts. "only look at his back--why here the fur is singed off him! i'll bet anything," continued he, "that air boy has had something to do with this--for it's a clear case that the cat couldn't git into the jar, and then put the lid on hissef." tom's inability to accomplish this feat being most readily admitted on all sides, inquiry was immediately made as to the whereabouts of charlie; his absence from the scene being rather considered as evidence of participation, for, it was argued, if he had been unaware of what was to transpire, the noise would have drawn him to the spot at once, as he was always the first at hand in the event of any excitement. robberts was despatched to see if he was in his bed, and returned with the intelligence that the bed had not even been opened. search was immediately instituted, and he was discovered in the closet at the foot of the stairs. he was dragged forth, shaken, pummelled, and sent to bed, with the assurance that his mother should be sent for in the morning, to take him home, and keep him there. this being exactly the point to which he was desirous of bringing matters, he went to bed, and passed a most agreeable night. aunt rachel, being one of those sleepers that nothing short of an earthquake can rouse until their customary time for awaking, had slept soundly through the stirring events of the past night. she came down in the morning in quite a placid state of mind, expecting to enjoy a day of rest, as she had the night before sat up much beyond her usual time, to set matters to rights after the confusion consequent on the dinner party. what was her astonishment, therefore, on finding the kitchen she had left in a state of perfect order and cleanliness, in a condition that resembled the preparation for an annual house-cleaning. "lord, bless us!" she exclaimed, looking round; "what on yarth has happened? i raly b'lieve dere's bin a fire in dis 'ere house, and i never knowed a word of it. why i might have bin burnt up in my own bed! dere's de lamp broke--carpet burnt--pots and skillets hauled out of the closet--ebery ting turned upside down; why dere's bin a reg'lar 'sturbance down here," she continued, as she surveyed the apartment. at this juncture, she espied tom, who sat licking his paws before the fire, and presenting so altered an appearance, from the events of the night, as to have rendered him unrecognizable even by his best friend. "strange cat in de house! making himself quite at home at dat," said aunt rachel, indignantly. her wrath, already much excited, rose to the boiling point at what she deemed a most daring invasion of her domain. she, therefore, without ceremony, raised a broom, with which she belaboured the astonished tom, who ran frantically from under one chair to another till he ensconced himself in a small closet, from which he pertinaciously refused to be dislodged. "won't come out of dere, won't you?" said she. "i'll see if i can't make you den;" and poor tom dodged behind pots and kettles to avoid the blows which were aimed at him; at last, thoroughly enraged by a hard knock on the back, he sprang fiercely into the face of his tormentor, who, completely upset by the suddenness of his attack, fell sprawling on the floor, screaming loudly for help. she was raised up by robberts, who came running to her assistance, and, on being questioned as to the cause of her outcries, replied:-- "dere's a strange cat in de house--wild cat too, i raly b'lieve;" and spying tom at that moment beneath the table, she made another dash at him for a renewal of hostilities. "why that's tom," exclaimed robberts; "don't you know your own cat?" "oh," she replied, "dat ar isn't tom now, is it? why, what's the matter wid him?" robberts then gave her a detailed account of the transactions of the previous night, in which account the share charlie had taken was greatly enlarged and embellished; and the wrathful old woman was listening to the conclusion when charlie entered. hardly had he got into the room, when, without any preliminary discussion, aunt rachel--to use her own words--pitched into him to give him particular fits. now charlie, not being disposed to receive "particular fits," made some efforts to return the hard compliments that were being showered upon him, and the advice of kinch providentially occurring to him--respecting an attack upon the understanding of his venerable antagonist--he brought his hard shoes down with great force upon her pet corn, and by this _coup de pied_ completely demolished her. with a loud scream she let him go; and sitting down upon the floor, declared herself lamed for life, beyond the possibility of recovery. at this stage of the proceedings, robberts came to the rescue of his aged coadjutor, and seized hold of charlie, who forthwith commenced so brisk an attack upon his rheumatic shins, as to cause him to beat a hurried retreat, leaving charlie sole master of the field. the noise that these scuffles occasioned brought mrs. thomas into the kitchen, and charlie was marched off by her into an upstairs room, where he was kept in "durance vile" until the arrival of his mother. mrs. thomas had a strong liking for charlie--not as a boy, but as a footman. he was active and intelligent, and until quite recently, extremely tractable and obedient; more than all, he was a very good-looking boy, and when dressed in the thomas livery, presented a highly-respectable appearance. she therefore determined to be magnanimous--to look over past events, and to show a christian and forgiving spirit towards his delinquencies. she sent for mrs. ellis, with the intention of desiring her to use her maternal influence to induce him to apologize to aunt rachel for his assault upon her corns, which apology mrs. thomas was willing to guarantee should be accepted; as for the indignities that had been inflicted on herself, she thought it most politic to regard them in the light of accidents, and to say as little about that part of the affair as possible. when mrs. ellis made her appearance on the day subsequent to the events just narrated, mrs. thomas enlarged to her upon the serious damage that aunt rachel had received, and the urgent necessity that something should be done to mollify that important individual. when charlie was brought into the presence of his mother and mrs. thomas, the latter informed him, that, wicked as had been his conduct towards herself, she was willing, for his mother's sake, to look over it; but that he must humble himself in dust and ashes before the reigning sovereign of the culinary kingdom, who, making the most of the injury inflicted on her toe, had declared herself unfit for service, and was at that moment ensconced in a large easy-chair, listening to the music of her favourite smoke-jack, whilst a temporary cook was getting up the dinner, under her immediate supervision and direction. "charlie, i'm quite ashamed of you," said his mother, after listening to mrs. thomas's lengthy statement. "what has come over you, child?"--charlie stood biting his nails, and looking very sullen, but vouchsafed them no answer.--"mrs. thomas is so kind as to forgive you, and says she will look over the whole affair, if you will beg aunt rachel's pardon. come, now," continued mrs. ellis, coaxingly, "do, that's a good boy." "yes, do," added mrs. thomas, "and i will buy you a handsome new suit of livery." this was too much for charlie; the promise of another suit of the detested livery quite overcame him, and he burst into tears. "why, what ails the boy? he's the most incomprehensible child i ever saw! the idea of crying at the promise of a new suit of clothes!--any other child would have been delighted," concluded mrs. thomas. "i don't want your old button-covered uniform," said charlie, "and i won't wear it, neither! and as for aunt rachel, i don't care how much she is hurt--i'm only sorry i didn't smash her other toe; and i'll see her skinned, and be skinned myself, before i'll ask her pardon!" both mrs. thomas and charlie's mother stood aghast at this unexpected declaration; and the result of a long conference, held by the two, was that charlie should be taken home, mrs. ellis being unable to withstand his tears and entreaties. as he passed through the kitchen on his way out, he made a face at aunt rachel, who, in return, threw at him one of the turnips she was peeling. it missed the object for which it was intended, and came plump into the eye of robberts, giving to that respectable individual for some time thereafter the appearance of a prize-fighter in livery. charlie started for home in the highest spirits, which, however, became considerably lower on his discovering his mother's view of his late exploits was very different from his own. mrs. ellis's fondness and admiration of her son, although almost amounting to weakness, were yet insufficient to prevent her from feeling that his conduct, even after making due allowance for the provocation he had received, could not be wholly excused as mere boyish impetuosity and love of mischievous fun. she knew that his father would feel it his duty, not only to reprimand him, but to inflict some chastisement; and this thought was the more painful to her from the consciousness, that but for her own weak compliance with mrs. thomas's request, her boy would not have been placed in circumstances which his judgment and self-command had proved insufficient to carry him through. the day, therefore, passed less agreeably than charlie had anticipated; for now that he was removed from the scene of his trials, he could not disguise from himself that his behaviour under them had been very different from what it ought to have been, and this had the salutary effect of bringing him into a somewhat humbler frame of mind. when his father returned in the evening, therefore, charlie appeared so crest-fallen that even caddy could scarcely help commiserating him, especially as his subdued state during the day had kept him from committing any of those offences against tidiness which so frequently exasperated her. mr. ellis, though very strict on what he thought points of duty, had much command of temper, and was an affectionate father. he listened, therefore, with attention to the details of charlie's grievances, as well as of his misdemeanours, and some credit is due to him for the unshaken gravity he preserved throughout. although he secretly acquitted his son of any really bad intention, he thought it incumbent on him to make charlie feel in some degree the evil consequences of his unruly behaviour. after giving him a serious lecture, and pointing out the impropriety of taking such measures to deliver himself from the bondage in which his parents themselves had thought fit to place him, without even appealing to them, he insisted on his making the apologies due both to mrs. thomas and aunt rachel (although he was fully aware that both had only got their deserts); and, further, intimated that he would not be reinstated in his parents' good graces until he had proved, by his good conduct and docility, that he was really sorry for his misbehaviour. it was a severe trial to charlie to make these apologies; but he well knew that what his father had decided upon must be done--so he made a virtue of necessity, and, accompanied by his mother, on the following day performed his penance with as good a grace as he was able; and, in consideration of this submission, his father, when he came home in the evening, greeted him with all his usual kindness, and the recollection of this unlucky affair was at once banished from the family circle. chapter viii. trouble in the ellis family. since the receipt of mr. garie's letter, mrs. ellis and caddy had been busily engaged in putting the house in a state of preparation for their reception. caddy, whilst superintending its decoration, felt herself in elysium. for the first time in her life she had the supreme satisfaction of having two unfortunate house-cleaners entirely at her disposal; consequently, she drove them about and worried them to an extent unparalleled in any of their former experience. she sought for and discovered on the windows (which they had fondly regarded as miracles of cleanliness) sundry streaks and smears, and detected infinite small spots of paint and whitewash on the newly-scrubbed floors. she followed them upstairs and downstairs, and tormented them to that extent, that charlie gave it as his private opinion that he should not be in the least surprised, on going up there, to find that the two old women had made away with caddy, and hidden her remains in the coal-bin. whilst she was thus engaged, to charlie was assigned the duty of transporting to winter-street her diurnal portion of food, without a hearty share of which she found it impossible to maintain herself in a state of efficiency; her labours in chasing the women about the house being of a rather exhausting nature. when he made the visits in question, charlie was generally reconnoitred by his sister from a window over the door, and was compelled to put his shoes through a system of purification, devised by her for his especial benefit. it consisted of three courses of scraper, and two of mat; this being considered by her as strictly necessary to bring his shoes to such a state of cleanliness as would entitle him to admission into the premises of which she was the temporary mistress. charlie, on two or three occasions finding a window open, made stealthy descents upon the premises without first having duly observed these quarantine regulations; whereupon he was attacked by caddy, who, with the assistance of the minions under her command, so shook and pummelled him as to cause his precipitate retreat through the same opening by which he had entered, and that, too, in so short a space of time as to make the whole manoeuvre appear to him in the light of a well-executed but involuntary feat of ground and lofty tumbling. one afternoon he started with his sister's dinner, consisting of a dish of which she was particularly fond, and its arrival was therefore looked for with unusual anxiety. charlie, having gorged himself to an almost alarming extent, did not make the haste that the case evidently demanded; and as he several times stopped to act as umpire in disputed games of marbles (in the rules of which he was regarded as an authority), he necessarily consumed a great deal of time on the way. caddy's patience was severely tried by the long delay, and her temper, at no time the most amiable, gathered bitterness from the unprecedented length of her fast. therefore, when he at length appeared, walking leisurely up winter-street, swinging the kettle about in the most reckless manner, and setting it down on the pavement to play leap-frog over the fire-plugs, her wrath reached a point that boded no good to the young trifler. now, whilst charlie had been giving his attention to the difficulties growing out of the games of marbles, he did not observe that one of the disputants was possessed of a tin kettle, in appearance very similar to his own, by the side of which, in the excitement of the moment, he deposited his own whilst giving a practical illustration of his view of the point under consideration. having accomplished this to his entire satisfaction, he resumed what he supposed was his kettle, and went his way rejoicing. now, if caddy ellis had a fondness for one dish more than any other, it was for haricot, with plenty of carrots; and knowing she was to have this for her dinner, she, to use her own pointed expression, "had laid herself out to have a good meal." she had even abstained from her customary lunch that she might have an appetite worthy of the occasion; and accordingly, long ere the dinner hour approached, she was hungry as a wolf. notwithstanding this fact, when charlie made his appearance at the door, she insisted on his going through all the accustomed forms with the mat and scraper before entering the house; an act of self-sacrifice on her part entirely uncalled for, as the day was remarkably fine, and charlie's boots unusually clean. he received two or three by no means gentle shoves and pokes as he entered, which he bore with unusual indifference, making not the slightest effort at retaliation, as was his usual practice. the fact is, charlie was, as lions are supposed to be, quite disinclined for a fight after a hearty meal, so he followed caddy upstairs to the second story. here she had got up an extempore dining-table, by placing a pasting board across two chairs. seating herself upon a stool, she jerked off the lid of the kettle, and, to her horror and dismay, found not the favourite haricot, but a piece of cheese-rind, a crust of dry bread, and a cold potatoe. charlie, who was amusing himself by examining the flowers in the new carpet, did not observe the look of surprise and disgust that came over the countenance of his sister, as she took out, piece by piece, the remains of some schoolboy's repast. "look here," she at last burst forth, "do you call this _my_ dinner?" "yes," said charlie, in a deliberate tone, "and a very good one too, i should say; if you can't eat that dinner, you ought to starve; it's one of mother's best haricots." "you don't call this cold potatoe and cheese-rind haricot, do you?" asked caddy, angrily. at this charlie looked up, and saw before her the refuse scraps, which she had indignantly emptied upon the table. he could scarcely believe his eyes; he got up and looked in the kettle, but found no haricot. "well," said he, with surprise, "if that don't beat me! i saw mother fill it with haricot myself; i'm clean beat about it." "tell me what you've done with it, then," almost screamed the angry girl. "i really don't know what has become of it," he answered, with a bewildered air. "i saw--i saw--i--i--" "you saw--you saw," replied the indignant caddy, imitating his tone; and taking up the kettle, she began to examine it more closely. "why, this isn't even our kettle; look at this lid. i'm sure it's not ours. you've been stopping somewhere to play, and exchanged it with some other boy, that's just what you've done." just then it occurred to charlie that at the place where he had adjusted the dispute about the marbles, he had observed in the hands of one of the boys a kettle similar to his own; and it flashed across his mind that he had then and there made the unfortunate exchange. he broke his suspicion to caddy in the gentlest manner, at the same time edging his way to the door to escape the storm that he saw was brewing. the loss of her dinner--and of such a dinner--so enraged the hungry girl, as to cause her to seize a brush lying near and begin to belabour him without mercy. in his endeavour to escape from her his foot was caught in the carpet, and he was violently precipitated down the long flight of stairs. his screams brought the whole party to his assistance; even kinch, who was sitting on the step outside, threw off his usual dread of caddy, and rushed into the house. "oh, take me up," piteously cried charlie; "oh, take me up, i'm almost killed." in raising him, one of the old women took hold of his arm, which caused him to scream again. "don't touch my arm, please don't touch my arm; i'm sure it's broke." "no, no, it's not broke, only sprained, or a little twisted," said she; and, seizing it as she spoke, she gave it a pull and a wrench, for the purpose of making it all right again; at this charlie's face turned deathly pale, and he fainted outright. "run for a doctor," cried the now thoroughly-alarmed caddy; "run for the doctor! my brother's dead!" and bursting into tears, she exclaimed, "oh, i've killed my brother, i've killed my brother!" "don't make so much fuss, child," soothingly replied one of the old women: "he's worth half a dozen dead folk yet. lor bless you, child, he's only fainted." water was procured and thrown in his face, and before kinch returned with the doctor, he was quite restored to consciousness. "don't cry, my little man," said the physician, as he took out his knife and ripped up the sleeve of charlie's coat. "don't cry; let me examine your arm." stripping up the shirt-sleeve, he felt it carefully over, and shaking his head (physicians always shake their heads) pronounced the arm broken, and that, too, in an extremely bad place. at this information charlie began again to cry, and caddy broke forth into such yells of despair as almost to drive them distracted. the physician kindly procured a carriage, and saw charlie comfortably placed therein; and held in the arms of kinch, with the lamenting and disheartened caddy on the opposite seat, he was slowly driven home. the house was quite thrown into confusion by their arrival under such circumstances; mrs. ellis, for a wonder, did not faint, but proceeded at once to do what was necessary. mr. ellis was sent for, and he immediately despatched kinch for dr. burdett, their family physician, who came without a moment's delay. he examined charlie's arm, and at first thought it would be necessary to amputate it. at the mere mention of the word amputate, caddy set up such a series of lamentable howls as to cause her immediate ejectment from the apartment. dr. burdett called in dr. diggs for a consultation, and between them it was decided that an attempt should be made to save the injured member. "now, charlie," said dr. burdett, "i'm afraid we must hurt you, my boy--but if you have any desire to keep this arm you must try to bear it." "i'll bear anything to save my arm, doctor; i can't spare that," said he, manfully. "i'll want it by-and-by to help take care of mother and the girls." "you're a brave little fellow," said dr. diggs, patting him on the head, "so then we'll go at it at once." "stop," cried charlie, "let mother put her arm round my neck so, and es, you hold the good hand. now then, i'm all right--fire away!" and clenching his lips hard, he waited for the doctor to commence the operation of setting his arm. charlie's mother tried to look as stoical as possible, but the corners of her mouth would twitch, and there was a nervous trembling of her under-lip; but she commanded herself, and only when charlie gave a slight groan of pain, stooped and kissed his forehead; and when she raised her head again, there was a tear resting on the face of her son that was not his own. esther was the picture of despair, and she wept bitterly for the misfortune which had befallen her pet brother; and when the operation was over, refused to answer poor caddy's questions respecting charlie's injuries, and scolded her with a warmth and volubility that was quite surprising to them all. "you must not be too hard on caddy," remarked mr. ellis. "she feels bad enough, i'll warrant you. it is a lesson that will not, i trust, be thrown away upon her; it will teach her to command her temper in future." caddy was in truth quite crushed by the misfortune she had occasioned, and fell into such a state of depression and apathy as to be scarcely heard about the house; indeed, so subdued was she, that kinch went in and out without wiping his feet, and tracked the mud all over the stair-carpet, and yet she uttered no word of remonstrance. poor little charlie suffered much, and was in a high fever. the knocker was tied up, the windows darkened, and all walked about the house with sad and anxious countenances. day after day the fever increased, until he grew delirious, and raved in the most distressing manner. the unfortunate haricot was still on his mind, and he was persecuted by men with strange-shaped heads and carrot eyes. sometimes he imagined himself pursued by caddy, and would cry in the most piteous manner to have her prevented from beating him. then his mind strayed off to the marble-ground, where he would play imaginary games, and laugh over his success in such a wild and frightful manner as to draw tears from the eyes of all around him. he was greatly changed; the bright colour had fled from his cheek; his head had been shaved, and he was thin and wan, and at times they were obliged to watch him, and restrain him from tossing about, to the great peril of his broken arm. at last his situation became so critical that dr. burdett began to entertain but slight hopes of his recovery; and one morning, in the presence of caddy, hinted as much to mr. ellis. "oh, doctor, doctor," exclaimed the distracted girl, "don't say that! oh, try and save him! how could i live with the thought that i had killed my brother! oh, i can't live a day if he dies! will god ever forgive me? oh, what a wretch i have been! oh, do think of something that will help him! he _mustn't_ die, you _must_ save him!" and crying passionately, she threw herself on the floor in an agony of grief. they did their best to pacify her, but all their efforts were in vain, until mr. ellis suggested, that since she could not control her feelings, she must be sent to stay with her aunt, as her lamentations and outcries agitated her suffering brother and made his condition worse. the idea of being excluded from the family circle at such a moment had more effect on caddy than all previous remonstrances. she implored to have the sentence suspended for a time at least, that she might try to exert more self-command; and mr. ellis, who really pitied her, well knowing that her heart was not in fault, however reprehensible she was in point of temper, consented; and caddy's behaviour from that moment proved the sincerity of her promises; and though she could not quite restrain occasional outbursts of senseless lamentation, still, when she felt such fits of despair coming on, she wisely retired to some remote corner of the house, and did not re-appear till she had regained her composure. the crisis was at length over, and charlie was pronounced out of danger. no one was more elated by this announcement than our friend kinch, who had, in fact, grown quite ashy in his complexion from confinement and grief, and was now thrown by this intelligence into the highest possible spirits. charlie, although faint and weak, was able to recognize his friends, and derived great satisfaction from the various devices of kinch to entertain him. that young gentleman quite distinguished himself by the variety and extent of his resources. he devised butting matches between himself and a large gourd, which he suspended from the ceiling, and almost blinded himself by his attempts to butt it sufficiently hard to cause it to rebound to the utmost length of the string, and might have made an idiot of himself for ever by his exertions, but for the timely interference of mr. ellis, who put a final stop to this diversion. then he dressed himself in a short gown and nightcap, and made the pillow into a baby, and played the nurse with it to such perfection, that charlie felt obliged to applaud by knocking with the knuckles of his best hand upon the head-board of his bedstead. on the whole, he was so overjoyed as to be led to commit all manner of eccentricities, and conducted himself generally in such a ridiculous manner, that charlie laughed himself into a state of prostration, and kinch was, in consequence, banished from the sick-room, to be re-admitted only on giving his promise to abstain from being as _funny as he could_ any more. after the lapse of a short time charlie was permitted to sit up, and held regular _levees_ of his schoolmates and little friends. he declared it was quite a luxury to have a broken arm, as it was a source of so much amusement. the old ladies brought him jellies and blanc-mange, and he was petted and caressed to such an unparalleled extent, as to cause his delighted mother to aver that she lived in great fear of his being spoiled beyond remedy. at length he was permitted to come downstairs and sit by the window for a few hours each day. whilst thus amusing himself one morning, a handsome carriage stopped before their house, and from it descended a fat and benevolent-looking old lady, who knocked at the door and rattled the latch as if she had been in the daily habit of visiting there, and felt quite sure of a hearty welcome. she was let in by esther, and, on sitting down, asked if mrs. ellis was at home. whilst esther was gone to summon her mother, the lady looked round the room, and espying charlie, said, "oh, there you are--i'm glad to see you; i hope you are improving." "yes, ma'am," politely replied charlie, wondering all the time who their visitor could be. "you don't seem to remember me--you ought to do so; children seldom forget any one who makes them a pleasant promise." as she spoke, a glimmer of recollection shot across charlie's mind, and he exclaimed, "you are the lady who came to visit the school." "yes; and i promised you a book for your aptness, and," continued she, taking from her reticule a splendidly-bound copy of "robinson crusoe," "here it is." mrs. ellis, as soon as she was informed that a stranger lady was below, left caddy to superintend alone the whitewashing of charlie's sick-room, and having hastily donned another gown and a more tasty cap, descended to see who the visitor could be. "you must excuse my not rising," said mrs. bird, for that was the lady's name; "it is rather a difficulty for me to get up and down often--so," continued she, with a smile, "you must excuse my seeming rudeness." mrs. ellis answered, that any apology was entirely unnecessary, and begged she would keep her seat. "i've come," said mrs. bird, "to pay your little man a visit. i was so much pleased with the manner in which he recited his exercises on the day of examination, that i promised him a book, and on going to the school to present it, i heard of his unfortunate accident. he looks very much changed--he has had a very severe time, i presume?" "yes, a very severe one. we had almost given him over, but it pleased god to restore him," replied mrs. ellis, in a thankful tone. "he is very weak yet," she continued, "and it will be a long time before he is entirely recovered." "who is your physician?" asked mrs. bird. "doctor burdett," was the reply; "he has been our physician for years, and is a very kind friend of our family." "and of mine, too," rejoined mrs. bird; "he visits my house every summer. what does he think of the arm?" she asked. "he thinks in time it will be as strong as ever, and recommends sending charlie into the country for the summer; but," said mrs. ellis, "we are quite at a loss where to send him." "oh! let me take him," said mrs. bird--"i should be delighted to have him. i've got a beautiful place--he can have a horse to ride, and there are wide fields to scamper over! only let me have him, and i'll guarantee to restore him to health in a short time." "you're very kind," replied mrs. ellis--"i'm afraid he would only be a burthen to you--be a great deal of trouble, and be able to do but little work." "work! why, dear woman," replied mrs. bird, with some astonishment, "i don't want him to work--i've plenty of servants; i only want him to enjoy himself, and gather as much strength as possible. come, make up your mind to let him go with me, and i'll send him home as stout as i am." at the bare idea of charlie's being brought to such a state of obesity, kinch, who, during the interview, had been in the back part of the room, making all manner of faces, was obliged to leave the apartment, to prevent a serious explosion of laughter, and after their visitor had departed he was found rolling about the floor in a tempest of mirth. after considerable conversation relative to the project, mrs. bird took her leave, promising to call soon again, and advising mrs. ellis to accept her offer. mrs. ellis consulted dr. burdett, who pronounced it a most fortunate circumstance, and said the boy could not be in better hands; and as charlie appeared nothing loth, it was decided he should go to warmouth, to the great grief of kinch, who thought it a most unheard-of proceeding, and he regarded mrs. bird thenceforth as his personal enemy, and a wilful disturber of his peace. chapter ix. breaking up. the time for the departure of the garies having been fixed, all in the house were soon engaged in the bustle of preparation. boxes were packed with books, pictures, and linen; plate and china were wrapped and swaddled, to prevent breakage and bruises; carpets were taken up, and packed away; curtains taken down, and looking-glasses covered. only a small part of the house was left in a furnished state for the use of the overseer, who was a young bachelor, and did not require much space. in superintending all these arrangements mrs. garie displayed great activity; her former cheerfulness of manner had entirely returned, and mr. garie often listened with delight to the quick pattering of her feet, as she tripped lightly through the hall, and up and down the long stairs. the birds that sang about the windows were not more cheerful than herself, and when mr. garie heard her merry voice singing her lively songs, as in days gone by, he experienced a feeling of satisfaction at the pleasant result of his acquiescence in her wishes. he had consented to it as an act of justice due to her and the children; there was no pleasure to himself growing out of the intended change, beyond that of gratifying emily, and securing freedom to her and the children. he knew enough of the north to feel convinced that he could not expect to live there openly with emily, without being exposed to ill-natured comments, and closing upon himself the doors of many friends who had formerly received him with open arms. the virtuous dignity of the northerner would be shocked, not so much at his having children by a woman of colour, but by his living with her in the midst of them, and acknowledging her as his wife. in the community where he now resided, such things were more common; the only point in which he differed from many other southern gentlemen in this matter was in his constancy to emily and the children, and the more than ordinary kindness and affection with which he treated them. mr. garie had for many years led a very retired life, receiving an occasional gentleman visitor; but this retirement had been entirely voluntary, therefore by no means disagreeable; but in the new home he had accepted, he felt that he might be shunned, and the reflection was anything but agreeable. moreover, he was about to leave a place endeared to him by a thousand associations. here he had passed the whole of his life, except about four years spent in travelling through europe and america. mr. garie was seated in a room where there were many things to recall days long since departed. the desk at which he was writing was once his father's, and he well remembered the methodical manner in which every drawer was carefully kept; over it hung a full-length portrait of his mother, and it seemed, as he gazed at it, that it was only yesterday that she had taken his little hand in her own, and walked with him down the long avenue of magnolias that were waving their flower-spangled branches in the morning breeze, and loading it with fragrance. near him was the table on which her work-basket used to stand. he remembered how important he felt when permitted to hold the skeins of silk for her to wind, and how he would watch her stitch, stitch, hour after hour, at the screen that now stood beside the fire-place; the colours were faded, but the recollection of the pleasant smiles she would cast upon him from time to time, as she looked up from her work, was as fresh in his memory as if it were but yesterday. mr. garie was assorting and arranging the papers that the desk contained, when he heard the rattle of wheels along the avenue, and looking out of the window, he saw a carriage approaching. the coachman was guiding his horses with one hand, and with the other he was endeavouring to keep a large, old-fashioned trunk from falling from the top. this was by no means an easy matter, as the horses appeared quite restive, and fully required his undivided attention. the rather unsteady motion of the carriage caused its inmate to put his head out of the window, and mr. garie recognized his uncle john, who lived in the north-western part of the state, on the borders of alabama. he immediately left his desk, and hastened to the door to receive him. "this is an unexpected visit, but none the less pleasant on that account," said mr. garie, his face lighting up with surprise and pleasure as uncle john alighted. "i had not the least expectation of being honoured by a visit from you. what has brought you into this part of the country? business, of course? i can't conceive it possible that you should have ventured so far from home, at this early season, for the mere purpose of paying me a visit." "you may take all the honour to yourself this time," smilingly replied uncle john, "for i have come over for your especial benefit; and if i accomplish the object of my journey, i shall consider the time anything but thrown away." "let me take your coat; and, eph, see you to that trunk," said mr. garie. "you see everything is topsy-turvy with us, uncle john. we look like moving, don't we?" "like that or an annual house-cleaning," he replied, as he picked his way through rolls of carpet and matting, and between half-packed boxes; in doing which, he had several narrow escapes from the nails that protruded from them on all sides. "it's getting very warm; let me have something to drink," said he, wiping his face as he took his seat; "a julep--plenty of brandy and ice, and but little mint." eph, on receiving this order, departed in great haste in search of mrs. garie, as he knew that, whilst concocting one julep, she might be prevailed upon to mix another, and eph had himself a warm liking for that peculiar southern mixture, which liking he never lost any opportunity to gratify. emily hurried downstairs, on hearing of the arrival of uncle john, for he was regarded by her as a friend. she had always received from him marked kindness and respect, and upon the arrival of mr. garie's visitors, there was none she received with as much pleasure. quickly mixing the drink, she carried it into the room where he and her husband were sitting. she was warmly greeted by the kind-hearted old man, who, in reply to her question if he had come to make them a farewell visit, said he hoped not: he trusted to make them many more in the same place. "i'm afraid you won't have an opportunity," she replied. "in less than a week we expect to be on our way to new york.--i must go," continued she, "and have a room prepared for you, and hunt up the children. you'll scarcely know them, they have grown so much since you were here. i'll soon send them," and she hurried off to make uncle john's room comfortable. "i was never more surprised in my life," said the old gentleman, depositing the glass upon the table, after draining it of its contents--"never more surprised than when i received your letter, in which you stated your intention of going to the north to live. a more ridiculous whim it is impossible to conceive--the idea is perfectly absurd! to leave a fine old place like this, where you have everything around you so nice and comfortable, to go north, and settle amongst a parcel of strange yankees! my dear boy, you must give it up. i'm no longer your guardian--the law don't provide one for people of thirty years and upwards--so it is out of my power to say you shall not do it; but i am here to use all my powers of persuasion to induce you to relinquish the project." "uncle john, you don't seem to understand the matter. it is not a whim, by any means--it is a determination arising from a strict sense of duty; i feel that it is an act of justice to emily and the children. i don't pretend to be better than most men; but my conscience will not permit me to be the owner of my own flesh and blood. i'm going north, because i wish to emancipate and educate my children--you know i can't do it here. at first i was as disinclined to favour the project as you are; but i am now convinced it is my duty, and, i must add, that my inclination runs in the same direction." "look here, clarence, my boy," here interrupted uncle john; "you can't expect to live there as you do here; the prejudice against persons of colour is much stronger in some of the northern cities than it is amongst us southerners. you can't live with emily there as you do here; you will be in everybody's mouth. you won't be able to sustain your old connections with your northern friends--you'll find that they will cut you dead." "i've looked at it well, uncle john. i've counted the cost, and have made up my mind to meet with many disagreeable things. if my old friends choose to turn their backs on me because my wife happens to belong to an oppressed race, that is not my fault. i don't feel that i have committed any sin by making the choice i have; and so their conduct or opinions won't influence my happiness much." "listen to me, clary, for a moment," rejoined the old gentleman. "as long as you live here in georgia you can sustain your present connection with impunity, and if you should ever want to break it off, you could do so by sending her and the children away; it would be no more than other men have done, and are doing every day. but go to the north, and it becomes a different thing. your connection with emily will inevitably become a matter of notoriety, and then you would find it difficult to shake her off there, as you could here, in case you wanted to marry another woman." "oh, uncle, uncle, how can you speak so indifferently about my doing such an ungenerous act; to characterize it in the very mildest terms. i feel that emily is as much my wife in the eyes of god, as if a thousand clergymen had united us. it is not my fault that we are not legally married; it is the fault of the laws. my father did not feel that my mother was any more his wife, than i do that emily is mine." "hush, hush; that is all nonsense, boy; and, besides, it is paying a very poor compliment to your mother to rank her with your mulatto mistress. i like emily very much; she has been kind, affectionate, and faithful to you. yet i really can't see the propriety of your making a shipwreck of your whole life on her account. now," continued uncle john, with great earnestness, "i hoped for better things from you. you have talents and wealth; you belong to one of the oldest and best families in the state. when i am gone, you will be the last of our name; i had hoped that you would have done something to keep it from sinking into obscurity. there is no honour in the state to which you might not have aspired with a fair chance of success; but if you carry out your absurd determination, you will ruin yourself effectually." "well; i shall be ruined then, for i am determined to go. i feel it my duty to carry out my design," said mr. garie. "well, well, clary," rejoined his uncle, "i've done my duty to my brother's son. i own, that although i cannot agree with you in your project, i can and do honour the unselfish motive that prompts it. you will always find me your friend under all circumstances, and now," concluded he, "it's off my mind." the children were brought in and duly admired; a box of miniature carpenter's tools was produced; also, a wonderful man with a string through his waist--which string, when pulled, caused him to throw his arms and legs about in a most astonishing manner. the little folks were highly delighted with these presents, which, uncle john had purchased at augusta; they scampered off, and soon had every small specimen of sable humanity on the place at their heels, in ecstatic admiration of the wonderful articles of which they had so recently acquired possession. as uncle john had absolutely refused all other refreshment than the julep before mentioned, dinner was ordered at a much earlier hour than usual. he ate very heartily, as was his custom; and, moreover, persisted in stuffing the children (as old gentlemen will do sometimes) until their mother was compelled to interfere to prevent their having a bilious attack in consequence. whilst the gentlemen were sitting over their desert, mr. garie asked his uncle, if he had not a sister, with whom there was some mystery connected. "no mystery," replied uncle john. "your aunt made a very low marriage, and father cut her off from the family entirely. it happened when i was very young; she was the eldest of us all; there were four of us, as you know--your father, bernard, i, and this sister of whom we are speaking. she has been dead for some years; she married a carpenter whom father employed on the place--a poor white man from new york. i have heard it said, that he was handsome, but drunken and vicious. they left one child--a boy; i believe he is alive in the north somewhere, or was, a few years since." "and did she never make any overtures for a reconciliation?" "she did, some years before father's death, but he was inexorable; he returned her letter, and died without seeing or forgiving her," replied uncle john. "poor thing; i suppose they were very poor?" "i suppose they were. i have no sympathy for her. she deserved her fate, for marrying a greasy mechanic, in opposition to her father's commands, when she might have connected herself with any of the highest families in the state." the gentlemen remained a long while that night, sipping their wine, smoking cigars, and discussing the probable result of the contemplated change. uncle john seemed to have the worst forebodings as to the ultimate consequences, and gave it as his decided opinion, that they would all return to the old place in less than a year. "you'll soon get tired of it," said he; "everything is so different there. here you can get on well in your present relations; but mark me, you'll find nothing but disappointment and trouble where you are going." the next morning he departed for his home; he kissed the children affectionately, and shook hands warmly with their mother. after getting into the carriage, he held out his hand again to his nephew, saying:-- "i am afraid you are going to be disappointed; but i hope you may not. good bye, good bye--god bless you!" and his blue eyes looked very watery, as he was driven from the door. that day, a letter arrived from savannah, informing them that the ship in which they had engaged passage would be ready to sail in a few days; and they, therefore, determined that the first instalment of boxes and trunks should be sent to the city forthwith; and to eph was assigned the melancholy duty of superintending their removal. "let me go with him, pa," begged little clarence, who heard his father giving eph his instructions. "oh, no," replied mr. garie; "the cart will be full of goods, there will be no room for you." "but, pa, i can ride my pony; and, besides, you might let me go, for i shan't have many more chances to ride him--do let me go." "oh, yes, massa, let him go. why dat ar chile can take care of his pony all by hissef. you should just seed dem two de oder day. you see de pony felt kinder big dat day, an' tuck a heap o' airs on hissef, an' tried to trow him--twarn't no go--massa clary conquered him 'pletely. mighty smart boy, dat," continued eph, looking at little clarence, admiringly, "mighty smart. i let him shoot off my pistol toder day, and he pat de ball smack through de bull's eye--dat boy is gwine to be a perfect ramrod." "oh, pa," laughingly interrupted little clarence; "i've been telling him of what you read to me about nimrod being a great hunter." "that's quite a mistake, eph," said mr. garie, joining in the laugh. "well, i knowed it was suffin," said eph, scratching his head; "suffin with a rod to it; i was all right on that pint--but you'r gwine to let him go, ain't yer, massa?" "i suppose, i must," replied mr. garie; "but mind now that no accident occurs to young ramrod." "i'll take care o' dat," said eph, who hastened off to prepare the horses, followed by the delighted clarence. that evening, after his return from savannah, clarence kept his little sister's eyes expanded to an unprecedented extent by his narration of the wonderful occurrences attendant on his trip to town, and also of what he had seen in the vessel. he produced an immense orange, also a vast store of almonds and raisins, which had been given him by the good-natured steward. "but em," said he, "we are going to sleep in such funny little places; even pa and mamma have got to sleep on little shelves stuck up against the wall; and they've got a thing that swings from the ceiling that they keep the tumblers and wine-glasses in--every glass has got a little hole for itself. oh, it's so nice!" "and have they got any nice shady trees on the ship?" asked the wondering little em. "oh, no--what nonsense!" answered clarence, swelling with the importance conferred by his superior knowledge. "why, no, em; who ever heard of such a thing as trees on a ship? they couldn't have trees on a ship if they wanted--there's no earth for them to grow in. but i'll tell you what they've got--they've got masts a great deal higher than any tree, and i'm going to climb clear up to the top when we go to live on the ship." "i wouldn't," said em; "you might fall down like ben did from the tree, and then you'd have to have your head sewed up as he had." the probability that an occurrence of this nature might be the result of his attempt to climb the mast seemed to have considerable weight with master clarence, so he relieved his sister's mind at once by relinquishing the project. the morning for departure at length arrived. eph brought the carriage to the door at an early hour, and sat upon the box the picture of despair. he did not descend from his eminence to assist in any of the little arrangements for the journey, being very fearful that the seat he occupied might be resumed by its rightful owner, he having had a lengthy contest with the sable official who acted as coachman, and who had striven manfully, on this occasion, to take possession of his usual elevated station on the family equipage. this, eph would by no means permit, as he declared, "he was gwine to let nobody drive massa dat day but hissef." it was a mournful parting. the slaves crowded around the carriage kissing and embracing the children, and forcing upon them little tokens of remembrance. blind jacob, the patriarch of the place, came and passed his hands over the face of little em for the last time, as he had done almost every week since her birth, that, to use his own language, "he might see how de piccaninny growed." his bleared and sightless eyes were turned to heaven to ask a blessing on the little ones and their parents. "why, daddy jake, you should not take it so hard," said mr. garie, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "you'll see us all again some day." "no, no, massa, i'se feared i won't; i'se gettin' mighty old, massa, and i'se gwine home soon. i hopes i'll meet you all up yonder," said he, pointing heavenward. "i don't 'spect to see any of you here agin." many of the slaves were in tears, and all deeply lamented the departure of their master and his family, for mr. garie had always been the kindest of owners, and mrs. garie was, if possible, more beloved than himself. she was first at every sick-bed, and had been comforter-general to all the afflicted and distressed in the place. at last the carriage rolled away, and in a few hours they reached savannah, and immediately went on board the vessel. chapter x. another parting. mrs. ellis had been for some time engaged in arranging and replenishing charlie's wardrobe, preparatory to his journey to warmouth with mrs. bird. an entire new suit of grey cloth had been ordered of the tailor, to whom mrs. ellis gave strict injunctions not to make them too small. notwithstanding the unfavourable results of several experiments, mrs. ellis adhered with wonderful tenacity to the idea that a boy's clothes could never be made too large, and, therefore, when charlie had a new suit, it always appeared as if it had been made for some portly gentleman, and sent home to charlie by mistake. this last suit formed no exception to the others, and charlie surveyed with dismay its ample dimensions as it hung from the back of the chair. "oh, gemini!" said he, "but that jacket is a rouser! i tell you what, mother, you'll have to get out a search-warrant to find me in that jacket; now, mind, i tell you!" "nonsense!" replied mrs. ellis, "it don't look a bit too large; put it on." charlie took up the coat, and in a twinkling had it on over his other. his hands were almost completely lost in the excessively long sleeves, which hung down so far that the tips of his fingers were barely visible. "oh, mother!" he exclaimed, "just look at these sleeves--if such a thing were to happen that any one were to offer me a half dollar, they would change their mind before i could get my hand out to take it; and it will almost go twice round me, it is so large in the waist." "oh, you can turn the sleeves up; and as for the waist--you'll soon grow to it; it will be tight enough for you before long, i'll warrant," said mrs. ellis. "but, mother," rejoined charlie, "that is just what you said about the other blue suit, and it was entirely worn out before you had let down the tucks in the trowsers." "never mind the blue suit," persisted mrs. ellis, entirely unbiassed by this statement of facts. "you'll grow faster this time--you're going into the country, you must remember--boys always grow fast in the country; go into the other room and try on the trowsers." charlie retired into another room with the trowsers in question. here he was joined by kinch, who went into fits of laughter over charlie's pea-jacket, as he offensively called the new coat. "why, charlie," said he, "it fits you like a shirt on a bean-pole, or rather it's like a sentry's box--it don't touch you any where. but get into these pants," said he, almost choking with the laughter that charlie's vexed look caused him to suppress--"get into the pants;" at the same time tying a string round charlie's neck. "what are you doing that for?" exclaimed charlie, in an irritated tone; "i shouldn't have thought you would make fun of me!" "oh," said kinch, assuming a solemn look, "don't they always tie a rope round a man's body when they are going to lower him into a pit? and how on earth do you ever expect we shall find you in the legs of them trowsers, unless something is fastened to you?" here charlie was obliged to join in the laugh that kinch could no longer restrain. "stop that playing, boys," cried mrs. ellis, as their noisy mirth reached her in the adjoining room; "you forget i am waiting for you." charlie hastily drew on the trousers, and found that their dimensions fully justified the precaution kinch was desirous of taking to secure him from sinking into oblivion. "oh, i can't wear these things," said charlie, tears of vexation starting from his eyes. "why, they are so large i can't even keep them up; and just look at the legs, will you--they'll have to be turned up a quarter of a yard at least." "here," said kinch, seizing a large pillow, "i'll stuff this in. oh, golly, how you look! if you ain't a sight to see!" and he shouted with laughter as he surveyed charlie, to whom the pillow had imparted the appearance of a london alderman. "if you don't look like squire baker now, i'll give it up. you are as big as old daddy downhill. you are a regular daniel lambert!" the idea of looking like squire baker and daddy downhill, who were the "fat men" of their acquaintance, amused charlie as much as it did his companion, and making the house ring with their mirth, they entered the room where mr. ellis and the girls had joined mrs. ellis. "what on earth is the matter with the child?" exclaimed mr. ellis, as he gazed upon the grotesque figure charlie presented. "what has the boy been doing to himself?" hereupon kinch explained how matters stood, to the infinite amusement of all parties. "oh, ellen," said mr. ellis, "you must have them altered; they're a mile too big for him. i really believe they would fit me." "they do look rather large," said mrs. ellis, reluctantly; "but it seems such a waste to take them in, as he grows so fast." "he would not grow enough in two years to fill that suit," rejoined mr. ellis; "and he will have worn them out in less than six months;" and so, to the infinite satisfaction of charlie, it was concluded that they should be sent back to the tailor's for the evidently necessary alterations. the day for charlie's departure at last arrived. kinch, who had been up since two o'clock in the morning, was found by caddy at the early hour of five waiting upon the door-step to accompany his friend to the wharf. beside him lay a bag, in which there appeared to be some living object. "what have you got in here?" asked caddy, as she gave the bag a punch with the broom she was using. "it's a present for charlie," replied kinch, opening the bag, and displaying, to the astonished gaze of caddy, a very young pig. "why," said she, laughing, "you don't expect he can take that with him, do you?" "why not?" asked kinch, taking up the bag and carrying it into the house. "it's just the thing to take into the country; charlie can fatten him and sell him for a lot of money." it was as much as mrs. ellis could do to convince charlie and kinch of the impracticability of their scheme of carrying off to warmouth the pig in question. she suggested, as it was the exclusive property of kinch, and he was so exceedingly anxious to make charlie a parting gift, that she should purchase it, which she did, on the spot; and kinch invested all the money in a large cross-bow, wherewith charlie was to shoot game sufficient to supply both kinch and his own parents. had charlie been on his way to the scaffold, he could not have been followed by a more solemn face than that presented by kinch as he trudged on with him in the rear the porter who carried the trunk. "i wish you were not going," said he, as he put his arm affectionately over charlie's shoulder, "i shall be so lonesome when you are gone; and what is more, i know i shall get licked every day in school, for who will help me with my sums?" "oh, any of the boys will, they all like you, kinch; and if you only study a little harder, you can do them yourself," was charlie's encouraging reply. on arriving at the boat, they found. mrs. bird waiting for them; so charlie hastily kissed his mother and sisters, and made endless promises not to be mischievous, and, above all, to be as tidy as possible. then tearing himself away from them, and turning to kinch, he exclaimed, "i'll be back to see you all again soon, so don't cry old fellow;" and at the same time thrusting his hand into his pocket, he drew out a number of marbles, which he gave him, his own lips quivering all the while. at last his attempts to suppress his tears and look like a man grew entirely futile, and he cried heartily as mrs. bird took his hand and drew him on board the steamer. as it slowly moved from the pier and glided up the river, charlie stood looking with tearful eyes at his mother and sisters, who, with kinch, waved their handkerchiefs as long as they could distinguish him, and then he saw them move away with the crowd. mrs. bird, who had been conversing with a lady who accompanied her a short distance on her journey, came and took her little _protege_ by the hand, and led him to a seat near her in the after part of the boat, informing him, as she did so, that they would shortly exchange the steamer for the cars, and she thought he had better remain near her. after some time they approached the little town where the passengers took the train for new york. mrs. bird, who had taken leave of her friend, held charlie fast by the hand, and they entered the cars together. he looked a little pale and weak from the excitement of parting and the novelty of his situation. mrs. bird, observing his pallid look, placed him on a seat, and propped him up with shawls and cushions, making him as comfortable as possible. the train had not long started, when the conductor came through to inspect the tickets, and quite started with surprise at seeing charlie stretched at full length upon the velvet cushion. "what are you doing here?" exclaimed he, at the same time shaking him roughly, to arouse him from the slight slumber into which he had fallen. "come, get up: you must go out of this." "what do you mean by such conduct?" asked mrs. bird, very much surprised. "don't wake him; i've got his ticket; the child is sick." "i don't care whether he's sick or well--he can't ride in here. we don't allow niggers to ride in this car, no how you can fix it--so come, youngster," said he, gruffly, to the now aroused boy, "you must travel out of this." "he shall do no such thing," replied mrs. bird, in a decided tone; "i've paid fall price for his ticket, and he shall ride here; you have no legal right to eject him." "i've got no time to jaw about rights, legal or illegal--all i care to know is, that i've my orders not to let niggers ride in these cars, and i expect to obey, so you see there is no use to make any fuss about it." "charlie," said mrs. bird, "sit here;" and she moved aside, so as to seat him between herself and the window. "now," said she, "move him if you think best." "i'll tell you what it is, old woman," doggedly remarked the conductor: "you can't play that game with me. i've made up my mind that no more niggers shall ride in this car, and i'll have him out of here, cost what it may." the passengers now began to cluster around the contending parties, and to take sides in the controversy. in the end, the conductor stopped the train, and called in one or two of the irish brake-men to assist him, if necessary, in enforcing his orders. "you had better let the boy go into the negro car, madam," said one of the gentlemen, respectfully; "it is perfectly useless to contend with these ruffians. i saw a coloured man ejected from here last week, and severely injured; and, in the present state of public feeling, if anything happened to you or the child, you would be entirely without redress. the directors of this railroad control the state; and there is no such thing as justice to be obtained in any of the state courts in a matter in which they are concerned. if you will accept of my arm, i will accompany you to the other car--if you will not permit the child to go there alone, you had better go quietly with him." "oh, what is the use of so much talk about it? why don't you hustle the old thing out," remarked a bystander, the respectability of whose appearance contrasted broadly with his manners; "she is some crack-brained abolitionist. making so much fuss about a little nigger! let her go into the nigger car--she'll be more at home there." mrs. bird, seeing the uselessness of contention, accepted the proffered escort of the gentleman before mentioned, and was followed out of the cars by the conductor and his blackguard assistants, all of them highly elated by the victory they had won over a defenceless old woman and a feeble little boy. mrs. bird shrunk back, as they opened the door of the car that had been set apart for coloured persons, and such objectionable whites as were not admitted to the first-class cars. "oh, what a wretched place!" she exclaimed, as she surveyed the rough pine timbers and dirty floor; "i would not force a dog to ride in such a filthy place." "oh, don't stay here, ma'am; never mind me--i shall get on by myself well enough, i dare say," said charlie; "it is too nasty a place for you to stay in." "no, my child," she replied; "i'll remain with you. i could not think of permitting you to be alone in your present state of health. i declare," she continued, "it's enough to make any one an abolitionist, or anything else of the kind, to see how inoffensive coloured people are treated!" that evening they went on board the steamer that was to convey them to warmouth, where they arrived very early the following morning. charlie was charmed with the appearance of the pretty little town, as they rode through it in mrs. bird's carriage, which awaited them at the landing. at the door of her residence they were met by two cherry-faced maids, who seemed highly delighted at the arrival of their mistress. "now, charlie," said mrs. bird, as she sat down in her large arm-chair, and looked round her snug little parlour with an air of great satisfaction--"now we are at home, and you must try and make yourself as happy as possible. betsey," said she, turning to one of the women, "here is a nice little fellow, whom i have brought with me to remain during the summer, of whom i want you to take the best care; for," continued she, looking at him compassionately, "the poor child has had the misfortune to break his arm recently, and he has not been strong since. the physician thought the country would be the best place for him, and so i've brought him here to stay with us. tell reuben to carry his trunk into the little maple chamber, and by-and-by, after i have rested, i will take a walk over the place with him." "here are two letters for you," said betsey, taking them from the mantelpiece, and handing them to her mistress. mrs. bird opened one, of which she read a part, and then laid it down, as being apparently of no importance. the other, however, seemed to have a great effect upon her, as she exclaimed, hurriedly, "tell reuben not to unharness the horses--i must go to francisville immediately--dear mrs. hinton is very ill, and not expected to recover. you must take good care of charlie until i return. if i do not come back to-night, you will know that she is worse, and that i am compelled to remain there;" and, on the carriage being brought to the door, she departed in haste to visit her sick friend. chapter xi the new home. when mrs. garie embarked, she entertained the idea so prevalent among fresh-water sailors, that she was to be an exception to the rule of father neptune, in accordance with which all who intrude for the first time upon his domain are compelled to pay tribute to his greatness, and humbly bow in acknowledgment of his power. mrs. garie had determined not to be sea-sick upon any account whatever, being fully persuaded she could brave the ocean with impunity, and was, accordingly, very brisk and blithe-looking, as she walked up and down upon the deck of the vessel. in the course of a few hours they sailed out of the harbour, and were soon in the open sea. she began to find out how mistaken she had been, as unmistakable symptoms convinced her of the vanity of all human calculations. "why, you are not going to be ill, em, after all your valiant declarations!" exclaimed mr. garie, supporting her unsteady steps, as they paced to and fro. "oh, no, no!" said she, in a firm tone; "i don't intend to give up to any such nonsense. i believe that people can keep up if they try. i do feel a little fatigued and nervous; it's caused, no doubt, by the long drive of this morning--although i think it singular that a drive should affect me in this manner." thus speaking, she sat down by the bulwarks of the vessel, and a despairing look gradually crept over her face. at last she suddenly rose, to look at the water, as we may imagine. the effect of her scrutiny, however, was, that she asked feebly to be assisted to her state-room, where she remained until their arrival in the harbour of new york. the children suffered only for a short time, and as their father escaped entirely, he was able to watch that they got into no mischief. they were both great favourites with the captain and steward, and, between the two, were so stuffed and crammed with sweets as to place their health in considerable jeopardy. it was a delightful morning when they sailed into the harbour of new york. the waters were dancing and rippling in the morning sun, and the gaily-painted ferry-boats were skimming swiftly across its surface in their trips to and from the city, which was just awaking to its daily life of bustling toil. "what an immense city it is!" said mrs. garie--"how full of life and bustle! why there are more ships at one pier here than there are in the whole port of savanah!" "yes, dear," rejoined her husband; "and what is more, there always will be. our folks in georgia are not waked up yet; and when they do arouse themselves from their slumber, it will be too late. but we don't see half the shipping from here--this is only one side of the city--there is much more on the other. look over there," continued he, pointing to jersey city,--"that is where we take the cars for philadelphia; and if we get up to dock in three or four hours, we shall be in time for the mid-day train." in less time than they anticipated they were alongside the wharf; the trunks were brought up, and all things for present use were safely packed together and despatched, under the steward's care, to the office of the railroad. mr. and mrs. garie, after bidding good-bye to the captain, followed with the children, who were thrown into a great state of excitement by the noise and bustle of the crowded thoroughfare. "how this whirl and confusion distracts me," said mrs. garie, looking out of the carriage-window. "i hope philadelphia is not as noisy a place as this." "oh, no," replied mr. garie; "it is one of the most quiet and clean cities in the world, whilst this is the noisiest and dirtiest. i always hurry out of new york; it is to me such a disagreeable place, with its extortionate hackmen and filthy streets." on arriving at the little steamer in which they crossed the ferry, they found it about to start, and therefore had to hurry on board with all possible speed. under the circumstances, the hackman felt that it would be flying in the face of providence if he did not extort a large fare, and he therefore charged an extravagant price. mr. garie paid him, as he had no time to parley, and barely succeeded in slipping a _douceur_ into the steward's hand, when the boat pushed off from the pier. in a few moments they had crossed the river, and were soon comfortably seated in the cars whirling over the track to philadelphia. as the conductor came through to examine the tickets, he paused for a moment before mrs. garie and the children. as he passed on, his assistant inquired, "isn't that a nigger?" "yes, a half-white one," was the reply. "why don't you order her out, then?--she has no business to ride in here," continued the first speaker. "i guess we had better let her alone," suggested the conductor, "particularly as no one has complained; and there might be a row if she turned out to be the nurse to those children. the whole party are southerners, that's clear; and these southerners are mighty touchy about their niggers sometimes, and kick and cut like the devil about them. i guess we had better let her alone, unless some one complains about her being there." as they drove through the streets of philadelphia on the way to their new home, mrs. garie gave rent to many expressions of delight at the appearance of the city. "oh, what a sweet place! everything is so bright and fresh-looking; why the pavement and doorsteps look as if they were cleaned twice a day. just look at that house, how spotless it is; i hope ours resembles that. ours is a new house, is it not?" she inquired. "not entirely; it has been occupied before, but only for a short time, i believe," was her husband's reply. it had grown quite dark by the time they arrived at winter-street, where caddy had been anxiously holding watch and ward in company with the servants who had been procured for them. a bright light was burning in the entry as the coachman stopped at the door. "this is no. ," said he, opening the door of the carriage, "shall i ring?" "yes, do," replied mr. garie; but whilst he was endeavouring to open the gate of the little garden in front, caddy, who had heard the carriage stop, bounded out to welcome them. "this is mr. garie, i suppose," said she, as he alighted. "yes, i am; and you, i suppose, are the daughter of mr. ellis?" "yes, sir; i'm sorry mother is not here to welcome you; she was here until very late last night expecting your arrival, and was here again this morning," said caddy, taking at the same time one of the little carpet bags. "give me the little girl, i can take care of her too," she continued; and with little em on one arm and the carpet bag on the other, she led the way into the house. "we did not make up any fire," said she, "the weather is very warm to us. i don't know how it may feel to you, though." "it is a little chilly," replied mrs. garie, as she sat down upon the sofa, and looked round the room with a smile of pleasure, and added, "all this place wants, to make it the most bewitching of rooms, is a little fire." caddy hurried the new servants from place to place remorselessly, and set them to prepare the table and get the things ready for tea. she waylaid a party of labourers, who chanced to be coming that way, and hired them to carry all the luggage upstairs--had the desired fire made--mixed up some corn-bread, and had tea on the table in a twinkling. they all ate very heartily, and caddy was greatly praised for her activity. "you are quite a housekeeper," said mrs. garie to caddy. "do you like it?" "oh, yes," she replied. "i see to the house at home almost entirely; mother and esther are so much engaged in sewing, that they are glad enough to leave it in my hands, and i'd much rather do that than sew." "i hope," said mrs. garie, "that your mother will permit you to remain with us until we get entirely settled." "i know she will," confidently replied caddy. "she will be up here in the morning. she will know you have arrived by my not having gone home this evening." the children had now fallen asleep with their heads in close proximity to their plates, and mrs. garie declared that she felt very much fatigued and slightly indisposed, and thought the sooner she retired the better it would be for her. she accordingly went up to the room, which she had already seen and greatly admired, and was soon in the land of dreams. as is always the case on such occasions, the children's night-dresses could not be found. clarence was put to bed in one of his father's shirts, in which he was almost lost, and little em was temporarily accommodated with a calico short gown of caddy's, and, in default of a nightcap, had her head tied up in a madras handkerchief, which gave her, when her back was turned, very much the air of an old creole who had been by some mysterious means deprived of her due growth. the next morning mrs. garie was so much indisposed at to be unable to rise, and took her breakfast in bed. her husband had finished his meal, and was sitting in the parlour, when he observed a middle-aged coloured lady coming into the garden. "look, caddy," cried he, "isn't this your mother?" "oh, yes, that is she," replied caddy, and ran and opened the door, exclaiming, "oh, mother, they're come;" and as she spoke, mr. garie came into the entry and shook hands heartily with her. "i'm so much indebted to you," said he, "for arranging everything so nicely for us--there is not a thing we would wish to alter." "i am very glad you are pleased; we did our best to make it comfortable," was her reply. "and you succeeded beyond our expectation; but do come up," continued he, "emily will be delighted to see you. she is quite unwell this morning; has not even got up yet;" and leading the way upstairs, he ushered mrs. ellis into the bedroom. "why, can this be you?" said she, surveying emily with surprise and pleasure. "if i had met you anywhere, i should never have known you. how you have altered! you were not so tall as my caddy when i saw you last; and here you are with two children--and pretty little things they are too!" said she, kissing little em, who was seated on the bed with her brother, and sharing with him the remains of her mother's chocolate. "and you look much younger that i expected to see you," replied mrs. garie. "draw a chair up to the bed, and let us have a talk about old times. you must excuse my lying down; i don't intend to get up to-day; i feel quite indisposed." mrs. ellis took off her bonnet, and prepared for a long chat; whilst mr. garie, looking at his watch, declared it was getting late, and started for down town, where he had to transact some business. "you can scarcely think, ellen, how much i feel indebted to you for all you have done for us; and we are so distressed to hear about charlie's accident. you must have had a great deal of trouble." "oh, no, none to speak of--and had it been ever so much, i should have been just as pleased to have done it; i was so glad you were coming. what did put it in your heads to come here to live?" continued mrs. ellis. "oh, cousin george winston praised the place so highly, and you know how disagreeable georgia is to live in. my mind was never at rest there respecting these," said she, pointing to the children; "so that i fairly teased garie into it. did you recognize george?" "no, i didn't remember much about him. i should never have taken him for a coloured man; had i met him in the street, i should have supposed him to be a wealthy white southerner. what a gentleman he is in his appearance and manners," said mrs. ellis. "yes, he is all that--my husband thinks there is no one like him. but we won't talk about him now; i want you to tell me all about yourself and family, and then i'll tell you everything respecting my own fortunes." hereupon ensued long narratives from both parties, which occupied the greater part of the morning. mr. garie, on leaving the house, slowly wended his way to the residence of mr. walters. as he passed into the lower part of the city, his attention was arrested by the number of coloured children he saw skipping merrily along with their bags of books on their arms. "this," said he to himself, "don't much resemble georgia."[*] [footnote *: it is a penal offence in georgia to teach coloured children to read.] after walking some distance he took out a card, and read, , easton-street; and on inquiry found himself in the very street. he proceeded to inspect the numbers, and was quite perplexed by their confusion and irregularity. a coloured boy happening to pass at the time, he asked him: "which way do the numbers run, my little man?" the boy looked up waggishly, and replied: "they don't run at all; they are permanently affixed to each door." "but," said mr. garie, half-provoked, yet compelled to smile at the boy's pompous wit, "you know what i mean; i cannot find the number i wish; the street is not correctly numbered." "the street is not numbered at all," rejoined the boy, "but the houses are," and he skipped lightly away. mr. garie was finally set right about the numbers, and found himself at length before the door of mr. walters's house. "quite a handsome residence," said he, as he surveyed the stately house, with its spotless marble steps and shining silver door-plate. on ringing, his summons was quickly answered by a well-dressed servant, who informed him that mr. walters was at home, and ushered him into the parlour. the elegance of the room took mr. garie completely by surprise, as its furniture indicated not only great wealth, but cultivated taste and refined habits. the richly-papered walls were adorned by paintings from the hands of well-known foreign and native artists. rich vases and well-executed bronzes were placed in the most favourable situations in the apartment; the elegantly-carved walnut table was covered with those charming little bijoux which the french only are capable of conceiving, and which are only at the command of such purchasers as are possessed of more money than they otherwise can conveniently spend. mr. garie threw himself into a luxuriously-cushioned chair, and was soon so absorbed in contemplating the likeness of a negro officer which hung opposite, that he did not hear the soft tread of mr. walters as he entered the room. the latter, stepping slowly forward, caught the eye of mr. garie, who started up, astonished at the commanding figure before him. "mr. garie, i presume?" said mr. walters. "yes," he replied, and added, as he extended his hand; "i have the pleasure of addressing mr. walters, i suppose?" mr. walters bowed low as he accepted the proffered hand, and courteously requested his visitor to be seated. as mr. garie resumed his seat, he could not repress a look of surprise, which mr. walters apparently perceived, for a smile slightly curled his lip as he also took a seat opposite his visitor. mr. walters was above six feet in height, and exceedingly well-proportioned; of jet-black complexion, and smooth glossy skin. his head was covered with a quantity of woolly hair, which was combed back from a broad but not very high forehead. his eyes were small, black, and piercing, and set deep in his head. his aquiline nose, thin lips, and broad chin, were the very reverse of african in their shape, and gave his face a very singular appearance. in repose, his countenance was severe in its expression; but when engaged in agreeable conversation, the thin sarcastic-looking lips would part, displaying a set of dazzlingly white teeth, and the small black eyes would sparkle with animation. the neatness and care with which he was dressed added to the attractiveness of his appearance. his linen was the perfection of whiteness, and his snowy vest lost nothing by its contact therewith. a long black frock coat, black pants, and highly-polished boots, completed his attire. "i hope," said he, "your house suits you; it is one of my own, and has never been rented except for a short time to a careful tenant, who was waiting for his own house to be finished. i think you will find it comfortable." "oh, perfectly so, i am quite sure. i must thank you for the prompt manner in which you have arranged everything for us. it seems more like coming to an old home than to a new residence," replied mr. garie. "i am delighted to hear you say so," said mr. walters. "i shall be most happy to call and pay my respects to mrs. garie when agreeable to her. depend upon it, we will do all in our power to make our quiet city pleasant to you both." mr. garie thanked him, and after some further conversation, rose to depart. as he was leaving the room, he stopped before the picture which had so engaged his attention, when mr. walters entered. "so you, too, are attracted by that picture," said mr. walters, with a smile. "all white men look at it with interest. a black man in the uniform of a general officer is something so unusual that they cannot pass it with a glance." "it is, indeed, rather a novelty," replied mr. garie, "particularly to a person from my part of the country. who is it?" "that is toussaint l'ouverture," replied mr. walters; "and i have every reason to believe it to be a correct likeness. it was presented to an american merchant by toussaint himself--a present in return for some kindness shown him. this merchant's son, not having the regard for the picture that his father entertained for it, sold it to me. that," continued mr. walters, "looks like a man of intelligence. it is entirely different from any likeness i ever saw of him. the portraits generally represent him as a monkey-faced person, with a handkerchief about his head." "this," said mr. garie, "gives me an idea of the man that accords with his actions." thus speaking, he continued looking at the picture for a short time, and then took his departure, after requesting mr. walters to call upon him at an early opportunity. chapter xii. mr. garie's neighbour. we must now introduce our readers into the back parlour of the house belonging to mr. garie's next-door neighbour, mr. thomas stevens. we find this gentleman standing at a window that overlooked his garden, enjoying a fragrant havannah. his appearance was not by any means prepossessing; he was rather above than below the middle height, with round shoulders, and long, thin arms, finished off by disagreeable-looking hands. his head was bald on the top, and the thin greyish-red hair, that grew more thickly about his ears, was coaxed up to that quarter, where an attempt had been made to effect such a union between the cords of the hair from each side as should cover the place in question. the object, however, remained unaccomplished; as the hair was either very obstinate and would not be induced to lie as desired, or from extreme modesty objected to such an elevated position, and, in consequence, stopped half-way, as if undecided whether to lie flat or remain erect, producing the effect that would have been presented had he been decorated with a pair of horns. his baldness might have given an air of benevolence to his face, but for the shaggy eyebrows that over-shadowed his cunning-looking grey eyes. his cheekbones were high, and the cadaverous skin was so tightly drawn across them, as to give it a very parchment-like appearance. around his thin compressed lips there was a continual nervous twitching, that added greatly to the sinister aspect of his face. on the whole, he was a person from whom you would instinctively shrink; and had he been president or director of a bank in which you had money deposited, his general aspect would not have given you additional confidence in the stable character or just administration of its affairs. mr. george stevens was a pettifogging attorney, who derived a tolerable income from a rather disreputable legal practice picked up among the courts that held their sessions in the various halls of the state-house. he was known in the profession as slippery george, from the easy manner in which he glided out of scrapes that would have been fatal to the reputation of any other lawyer. did a man break into a house, and escape without being actually caught on the spot with the goods in his possession, stevens was always able to prove an alibi by a long array of witnesses. in fact, he was considered by the swell gentry of the city as their especial friend and protector, and by the members of the bar generally as anything but an ornament to the profession. he had had rather a fatiguing day's labour, and on the evening of which we write, was indulging in his usual cigar, and amusing himself at the same time by observing the gambols of clarence and little em, who were enjoying a romp in their father's garden. "come here, jule," said he, "and look at our new neighbour's children--rather pretty, ain't they?" he was joined by a diminutive red-faced woman, with hair and eyes very much like his own, and a face that wore a peevish, pinched expression. "rather good-looking," she replied, after observing them for a few minutes, and then added, "have you seen their parents?" "no, not yet," was the reply. "i met walters in the street this morning, who informed me they are from the south, and very rich; we must try and cultivate them--ask the children in to play with ours, and strike up an intimacy in that way, the rest will follow naturally, you know. by the way, jule," continued he, "how i hate that nigger walters, with his grand airs. i wanted some money of him the other day on rather ticklish securities for a client of mine, and the black wretch kept me standing in his hall for at least five minutes, and then refused me, with some not very complimentary remarks upon my assurance in offering him such securities. it made me so mad i could have choked him--it is bad enough to be treated with _hauteur_ by a white man, but contempt from a nigger is almost unendurable." "why didn't you resent it in some way? i never would have submitted to anything of the kind from him," interrupted mrs. stevens. "oh, i don't dare to just now; i have to be as mild as milk with him. you forget about the mortgage; don't you know he has me in a tight place there, and i don't see how to get out of it either. if i am called slippery george, i tell you what, jule, there's not a better man of business in the whole of philadelphia than that same walters, nigger as he is; and no one offends him without paying dear for it in some way or other. i'll tell you something he did last week. he went up to trenton on business, and at the hotel they refused to give him dinner because of his colour, and told him they did not permit niggers to eat at their tables. what does he do but buy the house over the landlord's head. the lease had just expired, and the landlord was anxious to negotiate another; he was also making some arrangements with his creditors, which could not be effected unless he was enabled to renew the lease of the premises he occupied. on learning that the house had been sold, he came down to the city to negotiate with the new owner, and to his astonishment found him to be the very man he had refused a meal to the week before. blunt happened to be in walters's office at the time the fellow called. walters, he says, drew himself up to his full height, and looked like an ebony statue. "sir," said he, "i came to your house and asked for a meal, for which i was able to pay; you not only refused it to me, but heaped upon me words such as fall only from the lips of blackguards. you refuse to have me in your house--i object to have you in mine: you will, therefore, quit the premises immediately." the fellow sneaked out quite crestfallen, and his creditors have broken him up completely. "i tell you what, jule, if i was a black," continued he, "living in a country like this, i'd sacrifice conscience and everything else to the acquisition of wealth." as he concluded, he turned from the window and sat down by a small table, upon which a lighted lamp had been placed, and where a few law papers were awaiting a perusal. a little boy and girl were sitting opposite to him. the boy was playing with a small fly-trap, wherein he had already imprisoned a vast number of buzzing sufferers. in appearance he bore a close resemblance to his father; he had the same red hair and sallow complexion, but his grey eyes had a dull leaden hue. "do let them go, george, do!" said the little girl, in a pleading tone. "you'll kill them, shut up there." "i don't care if i do," replied he, doggedly; "i can catch more--look here;" and as he spoke he permitted a few of the imprisoned insects to creep partly out, and then brought the lid down upon them with a force that completely demolished them. the little girl shuddered at this wanton exhibition of cruelty, and offered him a paper of candy if he would liberate his prisoners, which he did rather reluctantly, but promising himself to replenish the box at the first opportunity. "ah!" said he, in a tone of exultation, "father took me with him to the jail to-day, and i saw all the people locked up. i mean to be a jailer some of these days. wouldn't you like to keep a jail, liz?" continued he, his leaden eyes receiving a slight accession of brightness at the idea. "oh, no!" replied she; "i would let all the people go, if i kept the jail." a more complete contrast than this little girl presented to her parents and brother, cannot be imagined. she had very dark chestnut hair, and mild blue eyes, and a round, full face, which, in expression, was sweetness itself. she was about six years old, and her brother's junior by an equal number of years. her mother loved her, but thought her tame and spiritless in her disposition; and her father cherished as much affection for her as he was capable of feeling for any one but himself. mrs. stevens, however, doted on their eldest hope, who was as disagreeable as a thoroughly spoiled and naturally evil-disposed boy could be. as the evenings had now become quite warm, mr. garie frequently took a chair and enjoyed his evening cigar upon the door-step of his house; and as mr. stevens thought his steps equally suited to this purpose, it was very natural he should resort there with the same object. mr. stevens found no difficulty in frequently bringing about short neighbourly conversations with mr. garie. the little folk, taking their cue from their parents, soon became intimate, and ran in and out of each other's houses in the most familiar manner possible. lizzy stevens and little em joined hearts immediately, and their intimacy had already been cemented by frequent consultations on the various ailments wherewith they supposed their dolls afflicted. clarence got on only tolerably with george stevens; he entertained for him that deference that one boy always has for another who is his superior in any boyish pastime; but there was little affection lost between them--they cared very little for each other's society. mrs. garie, since her arrival, had been much confined to her room, in consequence of her protracted indisposition. mrs. stevens had several times intimated to mr. garie her intention of paying his wife a visit; but never having received any very decided encouragement, she had not pressed the matter, though her curiosity was aroused, and she was desirous of seeing what kind of person mrs. garie could be. her son george in his visits had never been permitted farther than the front parlour; and all the information that could be drawn from little lizzy, who was frequently in mrs. garie's bedroom, was that "she was a pretty lady, with great large eyes." one evening, when mr. garie was occupying his accustomed seat, he was accosted from the other side by mrs. stevens, who, as usual, was very particular in her inquiries after the state of his wife's health; and on learning that she was so much improved as to be down-stairs, suggested that, perhaps, she would be willing to receive her. "no doubt she will," rejoined mr. garie; and he immediately entered the house to announce the intended visit. the lamps were not lighted when mrs. stevens was introduced, and faces could not, therefore, be clearly distinguished. "my dear," said mr. garie, "this is our neighbour, mrs. stevens." "will you excuse me for not rising?" said mrs. garie, extending her hand to her visitor. "i have been quite ill, or i should have been most happy to have received you before. my little folks are in your house a great deal--i hope you do not find them troublesome." "oh, by no means! i quite dote on your little emily, she is such a sweet child--so very affectionate. it is a great comfort to have such a child near for my own to associate with--they have got quite intimate, as i hope we soon shall be." mrs. garie thanked her for the kindness implied in the wish, and said she trusted they should be so. "and how do you like your house?" asked mrs. stevens; "it is on the same plan as ours, and we find ours very convenient. they both formerly belonged to walters; my husband purchased of him. do you intend to buy?" "it is very probable we shall, if we continue to like philadelphia," answered mr. garie. "i'm delighted to hear that," rejoined she--"very glad, indeed. it quite relieves my mind about one thing: ever since mr. stevens purchased our house we have been tormented with the suspicion that walters would put a family of niggers in this; and if there is one thing in this world i detest more than another, it is coloured people, i think." mr. garie here interrupted her by making some remark quite foreign to the subject, with the intention, no doubt, of drawing her off this topic. the attempt was, however, an utter failure, for she continued--"i think all those that are not slaves ought to be sent out of the country back to africa, where they belong: they are, without exception, the most ignorant, idle, miserable set i ever saw." "i think," said mr. garie, "i can show you at least one exception, and that too without much trouble. sarah," he cried, "bring me a light." "oh," said mrs. stevens, "i suppose you refer to walters--it is true he is an exception; but he is the only coloured person i ever saw that could make the least pretension to anything like refinement or respectability. "let me show you another," said mr. garie, as he took the lamp from the servant and placed it upon the table near his wife. as the light fell on her face, their visitor saw that she belonged to the very class that she had been abusing in such unmeasured terms and so petrified was she with confusion at the _faux pas_ she had committed, that she was entirely unable to improvise the slightest apology. mrs. garie, who had been reclining on the lounge, partially raised herself and gave mrs. stevens a withering look. "i presume, madam," said she, in a hurried and agitated tone, "that you are very ignorant of the people upon whom you have just been heaping such unmerited abuse, and therefore i shall not think so hardly of you as i should, did i deem your language dictated by pure hatred; but, be its origin what it may, it is quite evident that our farther acquaintance could be productive of no pleasure to either of us--you will, therefore, permit me," continued she, rising with great dignity, "to wish you good evening;" and thus speaking, she left the room. mrs. stevens was completely demolished by this unexpected _denouement_ of her long-meditated visit, and could only feebly remark to mr. garie that it was getting late, and she would go; and rising, she suffered herself to be politely bowed out of the house. in her intense anxiety to relate to her husband the scene which had just occurred, she could not take time to go round and through the gate, but leaped lightly over the low fence that divided the gardens, and rushed precipitately into the presence of her husband. "good heavens! george, what do you think?" she exclaimed; "i've had such a surprise!" "i should think that you had, judging from appearances," replied he. "why, your eyes are almost starting out of your head! what on earth has happened?" he asked, as he took the shade off the lamp to get a better view of his amiable partner. "you would not guess in a year," she rejoined; "i never would have dreamed it--i never was so struck in my life!" "struck with what? do talk sensibly, jule, and say what all this is about," interrupted her husband, in an impatient manner. "come, out with it--what has happened?" "why, would you have thought it," said she; "mrs. garie is a nigger woman--a real nigger--she would be known as such anywhere?" it was now mr. stevens's turn to be surprised. "why, jule," he exclaimed, "you astonish me! come, now, you're joking--you don't mean a real black nigger?" "oh, no, not jet black--but she's dark enough. she is as dark as that sarah we employed as cook some time ago." "you don't say so! wonders will never cease--and he such a gentleman, too!" resumed her husband. "yes; and it's completely sickening," continued mrs. stevens, "to see them together; he calls her my dear, and is as tender and affectionate to her as if she was a circassian--and she nothing but a nigger--faugh! it's disgusting." little clarence had been standing near, unnoticed by either of them during this conversation, and they were therefore greatly surprised when he exclaimed, with a burst of tears, "my mother is not a nigger any more than you are! how dare you call her such a bad name? i'll tell my father!" mr. stevens gave a low whistle, and looking at his wife, pointed to the door. mrs. stevens laid her hand on the shoulder of clarence, and led him to the door, saying, as she did so, "don't come in here any more--i don't wish you to come into my house;" and then closing it, returned to her husband. "you know, george," said she, "that i went in to pay her a short visit. i hadn't the remotest idea that she was a coloured woman, and i commenced giving my opinion respecting niggers very freely, when suddenly her husband called for a light, and i then saw to whom i had been talking. you may imagine my astonishment--i was completely dumb--and it would have done you good to have seen the air with which she left the room, after as good as telling me to leave the house." "well," said mr. stevens, "this is what may be safely termed an unexpected event. but, jule," he continued, "you had better pack these young folks off to bed, and then you can tell me the rest of it." clarence stood for some time on the steps of the house from which he had been so unkindly ejected, with his little heart swelling with indignation. he had often heard the term nigger used in its reproachful sense, but never before had it been applied to him or his, at least in his presence. it was the first blow the child received from the prejudice whose relentless hand was destined to crush him in after-years. it was his custom, when any little grief pressed upon his childish heart, to go and pour out his troubles on the breast of his mother; but he instinctively shrunk from confiding this to her; for, child as he was, he knew it would make her very unhappy. he therefore gently stole into the house, crept quietly up to his room, lay down, and sobbed himself to sleep. chapter xiii. hopes consummated. to emily winston we have always accorded the title of mrs. garie; whilst, in reality, she had no legal claim to it whatever. previous to their emigration from georgia, mr. garie had, on one or two occasions, attempted, but without success, to make her legally his wife. he ascertained that, even if he could have found a clergyman willing to expose himself to persecution by marrying them, the ceremony itself would have no legal weight, as a marriage between a white and a mulatto was not recognized as valid by the laws of the state; and he had, therefore, been compelled to dismiss the matter from his mind, until an opportunity should offer for the accomplishment of their wishes. now, however, that they had removed to the north, where they would have no legal difficulties to encounter, he determined to put his former intention into execution. although emily had always maintained a studied silence on the subject, he knew that it was the darling wish of her heart to be legally united to him; so he unhesitatingly proceeded to arrange matters for the consummation of what he felt assured would promote the happiness of both. he therefore wrote to dr. blackly, a distinguished clergyman of the city, requesting him to perform the ceremony, and received from him an assurance that he would be present at the appointed time. matters having progressed thus far, he thought it time to inform emily of what he had done. on the evening succeeding the receipt of an answer from the rev. dr. blackly--after the children had been sent to bed--he called her to him, and, taking her hand, sat down beside her on the sofa. "emily," said he, as he drew her closer to him, "my dear, faithful emily! i am about to do you an act of justice--one, too, that i feel will increase the happiness of us both. i am going to marry you, my darling! i am about to give you a lawful claim to what you have already won by your faithfulness and devotion. you know i tried, more than once, whilst in the south, to accomplish this, but, owing to the cruel and unjust laws existing there, i was unsuccessful. but now, love, no such difficulty exists; and here," continued he, "is an answer to the note i have written to dr. blackly, asking him to come next wednesday night, and perform the ceremony.--you are willing, are you not, emily?" he asked. "willing!" she exclaimed, in a voice tremulous with emotion--"willing! oh, god! if you only knew how i have longed for it! it has been my earnest desire for years!" and, bursting into tears, she leaned, sobbing, on his shoulder. after a few moments she raised her head, and, looking searchingly in his face, she asked: "but do you do this after full reflection on the consequences to ensue? are you willing to sustain all the odium, to endure all the contumely, to which your acknowledged union with one of my unfortunate race will subject you? clarence! it will be a severe trial--a greater one than any you have yet endured for me--and one for which i fear my love will prove but a poor recompense! i have thought more of these things lately; i am older now in years and experience. there was a time when i was vain enough to think that my affection was all that was necessary for your happiness; but men, i know, require more to fill their cup of content than the undivided affection of a woman, no matter how fervently beloved. you have talents, and, i have sometimes thought, ambition. oh, clarence! how it would grieve me, in after-years, to know that you regretted that for me you had sacrificed all those views and hopes that are cherished by the generality of your sex! have you weighed it well?" "yes, emily--well," replied mr. garie; "and you know the conclusion. my past should be a guarantee for the future. i had the world before me, and chose you--and with, you i am contented to share my lot; and feel that i receive, in your affection, a full reward for any of the so-called sacrifices i may make. so, dry your tears, my dear," concluded he, "and let us hope for nothing but an increase of happiness as the result." after a few moments of silence, he resumed: "it will be necessary, emily, to have a couple of witnesses. now, whom would you prefer? i would suggest mrs. ellis and her husband. they are old friends, and persons on whose prudence we can rely. it would not do to have the matter talked about, as it would expose us to disagreeable comments." mrs. garie agreed perfectly with him as to the selection of mr. and mrs. ellis; and immediately despatched a note to mrs. ellis, asking her to call at their house on the morrow. when she came, emily informed her, with some confusion of manner, of the intended marriage, and asked her attendance as witness, at the same time informing her of the high opinion her husband entertained of their prudence in any future discussion of the matter. "i am really glad he is going to marry you, emily," replied mrs. ellis, "and depend upon it we will do all in our power to aid it. only yesterday, that inquisitive mrs. tiddy was at our house, and, in conversation respecting you, asked if i knew you to be married to mr. garie. i turned the conversation somehow, without giving her a direct answer. mr. garie, i must say, does act nobly towards you. he must love you, emily, for not one white man in a thousand would make such a sacrifice for a coloured woman. you can't tell how we all like him--he is so amiable, so kind in his manner, and makes everyone so much at ease in his company. it's real good in him, i declare, and i shall begin to have some faith in white folks, after all.--wednesday night," continued she; "very well--we shall be here, if the lord spare us;" and, kissing emily, she hurried off, to impart the joyful intelligence to her husband. the anxiously looked for wednesday evening at last arrived, and emily arrayed herself in a plain white dress for the occasion. her long black hair had been arranged in ringlets by mrs. ellis, who stood by, gazing admiringly at her. "how sweet you look, emily--you only want a wreath of orange blossoms to complete your appearance. don't you feel a little nervous?" asked her friend. "a little excited," she answered, and her hand shook as she put back one of the curls that had fallen across her face. just then a loud ringing at the door announced the arrival of dr. blackly, who was shown into the front parlour. emily and mrs. ellis came down into the room where mr. garie was waiting for them, whilst mr. ellis brought in dr. blackly. the reverend gentleman gazed with some surprise at the party assembled. mr. garie was so thoroughly saxon in appearance, that no one could doubt to what race he belonged, and it was equally evident that emily, mrs. ellis, and her husband, were coloured persons. dr. blackly looked from one to the other with evident embarrassment, and then said to mr. garie, in a low, hesitating tone:-- "i think there has been some mistake here--will you do me the favour to step into another room?" mr. garie mechanically complied, and stood waiting to learn the cause of dr. blackly's strange conduct. "you are a white man, i believe?" at last stammered forth the doctor. "yes, sir; i presume my appearance is a sufficient guarantee of that," answered mr. garie. "oh yes, i do not doubt it, and for that reason you must not be surprised if i decline to proceed with the ceremony." "i do not see how my being a white man can act as a barrier to its performance," remarked mr. garie in reply. "it would not, sir, if all the parties were of one complexion; but i do not believe in the propriety of amalgamation, and on no consideration could i be induced to assist in the union of a white man or woman with a person who has the slightest infusion of african blood in their veins. i believe the negro race," he continued, "to be marked out by the hand of god for servitude; and you must pardon me if i express my surprise that a gentleman of your evident intelligence should seek such a connection--you must be labouring under some horrible infatuation." "enough, sir," replied mr. garie, proudly; "i only regret that i did not know it was necessary to relate every circumstance of appearance, complexion, &c. i wished to obtain a marriage certificate, not a passport. i mistook you for a _christian minister_, which mistake you will please to consider as my apology for having troubled you;" and thus speaking, he bowed dr. blackly out of the house. mr. garie stepped back to the door of the parlour and called out mr. ellis. "we are placed in a very difficult dilemma," said he, as he was joined by the latter. "would you believe it? that prejudiced old sinner has actually refused to marry us." "it is no more than you might have expected of him--he's a thorough nigger-hater--keeps a pew behind the organ of his church for coloured people, and will not permit them to receive the sacrament until all the white members of his congregation are served. why, i don't see what on earth induced you to send for him." "i knew nothing of his sentiments respecting coloured people. i did not for a moment have an idea that he would hesitate to marry us. there is no law here that forbids it. what can we do?" said mr. garie, despairingly. "i know a minister who will marry you with pleasure, if i can only catch him at home; he is so much engaged in visiting the sick and other pastoral duties." "do go--hunt him up, ellis. it will be a great favour to me, if you can induce him to come. poor emily--what a disappointment this will be to her," said he, as he entered the room where she was sitting. "what is the matter, dear?" she asked, as she observed garie's anxious face. "i hope there is no new difficulty." mr. garie briefly explained what had just occurred, and informed her, in addition, of mr. ellis having gone to see if he could get father banks, as the venerable old minister was called. "it seems, dear," said she, despondingly, "as if providence looked unfavourably on our design; for every time you have attempted it, we have been in some way thwarted;" and the tears chased one another down her face, which had grown pale in the excitement of the moment. "oh, don't grieve about it, dear; it is only a temporary disappointment. i can't think all the clergymen in the city are like dr. blackly. some one amongst them will certainly oblige us. we won't despair; at least not until ellis comes back." they had not very long to wait; for soon after this conversation footsteps were heard in the garden, and mr. ellis entered, followed by the clergyman. in a very short space of time they were united by father banks, who seemed much affected as he pronounced his blessing upon them. "my children," he said, tremulously, "you are entering upon a path which, to the most favoured, is full of disappointment, care, and anxieties; but to you who have come together under such peculiar circumstances, in the face of so many difficulties, and in direct opposition to the prejudices of society, it will be fraught with more danger, and open to more annoyances, than if you were both of one race. but if men revile you, revile not again; bear it patiently for the sake of him who has borne so much for you. god bless you, my children," said he, and after shaking hands with them all, he departed. mr. and mrs. ellis took their leave soon after, and then mrs. garie stole upstairs alone into the room where the children were sleeping. it seemed to her that night that they were more beautiful than ever, as they lay in their little beds quietly slumbering. she knelt beside them, and earnestly prayed their heavenly father that the union which had just been consummated in the face of so many difficulties might prove a boon to them all. "where have you been, you runaway?" exclaimed her husband as she re-entered the parlour. "you stayed away so long, i began to have all sorts of frightful ideas--i thought of the 'mistletoe hung in the castle hall,' and of old oak chests, and all kind of terrible things. i've been sitting here alone ever since the ellises went: where have you been?" "oh, i've been upstairs looking at the children. bless their young hearts! they looked so sweet and happy--and how they grow! clarence is getting to be quite a little man; don't you think it time, dear, that he was sent to school? i have so much more to occupy my mind here than i had in georgia, so many household duties to attend to, that i am unable to give that attention to his lessons which i feel is requisite. besides, being so much at home, he has associated with that wretched boy of the stevens's, and is growing rude and noisy; don't you think he had better be sent to school?" "oh yes, emily, if you wish it," was mr. garie's reply. "i will search out a school to-morrow, or next day;" and taking out his watch, he continued, "it is near twelve o'clock--how the night has flown away--we must be off to bed. after the excitement of the evening, and your exertions of to-day, i fear that you will be indisposed to-morrow." clarence, although over nine years old, was so backward in learning, that they were obliged to send him to a small primary school which had recently been opened in the neighbourhood; and as it was one for children of both sexes, it was deemed advisable to send little em with him. "i do so dislike to have her go," said her mother, as her husband proposed that she should accompany clarence; "she seems so small to be sent to school. i'm afraid she won't be happy." "oh! don't give yourself the least uneasiness about her not being happy there, for a more cheerful set of little folks i never beheld. you would be astonished to see how exceedingly young some of them are." "what kind of a person is the teacher?" asked mrs. garie. "oh! she's a charming little creature; the very embodiment of cheerfulness and good humour. she has sparkling black eyes, a round rosy face, and can't be more than sixteen, if she is that old. had i had such a teacher when a boy, i should have got on charmingly; but mine was a cross old widow, who wore spectacles and took an amazing quantity of snuff, and used to flog upon the slightest pretence. i went into her presence with fear and trembling. i could never learn anything from her, and that must be my excuse for my present literary short-comings. but you need have no fear respecting em getting on with miss jordan: i don't believe she could be unkind to any one, least of all to our little darling." "then you will take them down in the morning," suggested mrs. garie; "but on no account leave emily unless she wishes to stay." chapter xiv. charlie at warmouth. after the departure of mrs. bird to visit her sick friend, betsey turned to charlie and bid him follow her into the kitchen. "i suppose you haven't been to breakfast," said she, in a patronizing manner; "if you haven't, you are just in time, as we will be done ours in a little while, and then you can have yours." charlie silently followed her down into the kitchen, where a man-servant and the younger maid were already at breakfast; the latter arose, and was placing another plate upon the table, when betsey frowned and nodded disapprovingly to her. "let him wait," whispered she; "i'm not going to eat with niggers." "oh! he's such a nice little fellow," replied eliza, in an undertone; "let him eat with us." betsey here suggested to charlie that he had better go up to the maple chamber, wash his face, and take his things out of his trunk, and that when his breakfast was ready she would call him. "what on earth can induce you to want to eat with a nigger?" asked betsey, as soon as charlie was out of hearing. "i couldn't do it; my victuals would turn on my stomach. i never ate at the same table with a nigger in my life." "nor i neither," rejoined eliza; "but i see no reason why i should not. the child appears to have good manners, he is neat and good-looking, and because god has curled his hair more than he has ours, and made his skin a little darker than yours or mine, that is no reason we should treat him as if he was not a human being." alfred, the gardener, had set down his saucer and appeared very much astonished at this declaration of sentiment on the part of eliza, and sneeringly remarked, "you're an abolitionist, i suppose." "no, i am not," replied she, reddening; "but i've been taught that god made all alike; one no better than the other. you know the bible says god is no respecter of persons." "well, if it does," rejoined alfred, with a stolid-look, "it don't say that man isn't to be either, does it? when i see anything in my bible that tells me i'm to eat and drink with niggers, i'll do it, and not before. i suppose you think that all the slaves ought to be free, and all the rest of the darned stuff these abolitionists are preaching. now if you want to eat with the nigger, you can; nobody wants to hinder you. perhaps he may marry you when he grows up--don't you think you had better set your cap at him?" eliza made no reply to this low taunt, but ate her breakfast in silence. "i don't see what mrs. bird brought him here for; she says he is sick,--had a broken arm or something; i can't imagine what use she intends to make of him," remarked betsey. "i don't think she intends him to be a servant here, at any rate," said eliza; "or why should she have him put in the maple chamber, when there are empty rooms enough in the garret?" "well, i guess i know what she brought him for," interposed alfred. "i asked her before she went away to get a little boy to help me do odd jobs, now that reuben is about to leave; we shall want a boy to clean the boots, run on errands, drive up the cows, and do other little chores.[*] i'm glad he's a black boy; i can order him round more, you know, than if he was white, and he won't get his back up half as often either. you may depend upon it, that's what mrs. bird has brought him here for." the gardener, having convinced himself that his view of the matter was the correct one, went into the garden for his day's labour, and two or three things that he had intended doing he left unfinished, with the benevolent intention of setting charlie at them the next morning. [footnote *: a yankeeism, meaning little jobs about a farm.] charlie, after bathing his face and arranging his hair, looked from the window at the wide expanse of country spread out before him, all bright and glowing in the warm summer sunlight. broad well-cultivated fields stretched away from the foot of the garden to the river beyond, and the noise of the waterfall, which was but a short distance off, was distinctly heard, and the sparkling spray was clearly visible through the openings of the trees. "what a beautiful place,--what grand fields to run in; an orchard, too, full of blossoming fruit-trees! well, this is nice," exclaimed charlie, as his eye ran over the prospect; but in the midst of his rapture came rushing back upon him the remembrance of the cavalier treatment he had met with below-stairs, and he said with a sigh, as the tears sprang to his eyes, "but it is not home, after all." just at this moment he heard his name called by betsey, and he hastily descended into the kitchen. at one end of the partially-cleared table a clean plate and knife and fork had been placed, and he was speedily helped to the remains of what the servants had been eating. "you mustn't be long," said betsey, "for to-day is ironing day, and we want the table as soon as possible." the food was plentiful and good, but charlie could not eat; his heart was full and heavy,--the child felt his degradation. "even the servants refuse to eat with me because i am coloured," thought he. "oh! i wish i was at home!" "why don't you eat?" asked betsey. "i don't think i want any breakfast; i'm not hungry," was the reply. "i hope you are not sulky," she rejoined; "we don't like sulky boys here; why don't you eat?" she repeated. the sharp, cold tones of her voice struck a chill into the child's heart, and his lip quivered as he stammered something farther about not being hungry; and he hurried away into the garden, where he calmed his feelings and allayed his home-sickness by a hearty burst of tears. after this was over, he wandered through the garden and fields until dinner; then, by reading his book and by another walk, he managed to get through the day. the following morning, as he was coming down stairs, he was met by alfred, who accosted him with, "oh! you're up, are you; i was just going to call you." and looking at charlie from head to foot, he inquired, "is that your best suit?" "no, it's my worst," replied charlie. "i have two suits better than this;" and thinking that mrs. bird had arrived, he continued, "i'll put on my best if mrs. bird wants me." "no, she ain't home," was the reply; "it's me that wants you; come down here; i've got a little job for you. take this," said he, handing him a dirty tow apron, "and tie it around your neck; it will keep the blacking off your clothes, you know. now," continued he, "i want you to clean these boots; these two pairs are mr. tyndall's--them you need not be particular with; but this pair is mine, and i want 'em polished up high,--now mind, i tell you. i'm going to wear a new pair of pants to meetin' to-morrow, and i expect to cut a dash, so you'll do 'em up slick, now won't you?" "i'll do my best," said charlie, who, although he did not dislike work, could not relish the idea of cleaning the servants' boots. "i'm afraid i shall find this a queer place," thought he. "i shall not like living here, i know--wait for my meals until the servants have finished, and clean their boots into the bargain. this is worse than being with mrs. thomas." charlie, however, went at it with a will, and was busily engaged in putting the finishing touches on alfred's boots, when he heard his name called, and on looking up, saw mrs. bird upon the piazza above. "why, bless me! child, what are you about?--whose boots are those, and why are you cleaning them?" "oh!" he replied, his face brightening up at the sight of mrs. bird, "i'm so glad you're come; those are mr. tyndall's boots, and these," he continued, holding up the boots on which he was engaged, "are the gardener's." "and who, pray, instructed you to clean them?" "the gardener," replied charlie. "he did, did he?" said mrs. bird, indignantly. "very well; now do you take off that apron and come to me immediately; before you do, however, tell alfred i want him." charlie quickly divested himself of the tow apron, and after having informed the gardener that mrs. bird desired his presence in the parlour, he ran up there himself. alfred came lumbering up stairs, after giving his boots an unusual scraping and cleansing preparatory to entering upon that part of the premises which to him was generally forbidden ground. "by whose direction did you set the child at that dirty work?" asked mrs. bird, after he had entered the room. "i hadn't anybody's direction to set him to work, but i thought you brought him here to do odd jobs. you know, ma'am, i asked you some time ago to get a boy, and i thought this was the one." "and if he had been, you would have taken a great liberty in assigning him any duties without first consulting me. but he is not a servant here, nor do i intend him to be such; and let me inform you, that instead of his cleaning your boots, it will be your duty henceforth to clean his. now," continued she, "you know his position here, let me see that you remember yours. you can go." this was said in so peremptory a manner, as to leave no room for discussion or rejoinder, and alfred, with a chagrined look, went muttering down stairs. "things have come to a pretty pass," grumbled he. "i'm to wait on niggers, black their boots, and drive them out, too, i suppose. i'd leave at once if it wasn't such a good situation. drat the old picture--what has come over her i wonder--she'll be asking old aunt charity, the black washerwoman to dine with her next. she has either gone crazy or turned abolitionist, i don't know which; something has happened to her, that's certain." "now, charlie," said mrs. bird, as the door closed upon the crest-fallen gardener, "go to your room and dress yourself nicely. after i've eaten my breakfast, i am going to visit a friend, and i want you to accompany me; don't be long." "can't i eat mine first, mrs. bird?" he asked, in reply. "i thought you had had yours, long ago," rejoined she. "the others hadn't finished theirs when you called me, and i don't get mine until they have done," said charlie. "until they have done; how happens that?" asked mrs. bird. "i think they don't like to eat with me, because i'm coloured," was charlie's hesitating reply. "that is too much," exclaimed mrs. bird; "if it were not so very ridiculous, i should be angry. it remains for me, then," continued she, "to set them an example. i've not eaten my breakfast yet--come, sit down with me, and we'll have it together." charlie followed mrs. bird into the breakfast-room, and took the seat pointed out by her. eliza, when she entered with the tea-urn, opened her eyes wide with astonishment at the singular spectacle she beheld. her mistress sitting down to breakfast _vis-a-vis_ to a little coloured boy! depositing the urn upon the table, she hastened back to the kitchen to report upon the startling events that were occurring in the breakfast-room. "well, i never," said she; "that beats anything i ever did see; why, mrs. bird must have turned abolitionist. charlie is actually sitting at the same table with her, eating his breakfast as natural and unconcerned as if he was as white as snow! wonders never will cease. you see i'm right though. i said that child wasn't brought here for a servant--we've done it for ourselves now--only think how mad she'll be when she finds he was made to wait for his meals until we have done. i'm glad i wasn't the one who refused to eat with him." "i guess she has been giving alfred a blowing up," said betsy, "for setting him at boot cleaning; for he looked like a thunder-cloud when he came down stairs, and was muttering something about a consarned pet-nigger--he looked anything but pleased." whilst the lower powers were discussing what they were pleased to regard as an evidence of some mental derangement on the part of mrs. bird, that lady was questioning charlie respecting his studies, and inquired if he would like to go to school in warmouth. "after a while, i think i should," he replied; "but for a week i'd like to be free to run about the fields and go fishing, and do lots of things. this is such a pretty place; and now that you have come i shall have nice times--i know i shall." "you seem to have great confidence in my ability to make you happy. how do you know that i am as kind as you seem to suppose?" asked mrs. bird, with a smile. "i know you are," answered charlie, confidently; "you speak so pleasantly to me. and do you know, mrs. bird," continued he, "that i liked you from the first day, when you praised me so kindly when i recited my lessons before you. did you ever have any little boys of your own?" a change immediately came over the countenance of mrs. bird, as she replied: "oh, yes, charlie; a sweet, good boy about your own age:" and the tears stood in her eyes as she continued. "he accompanied his father to england years ago--the ship in which they sailed was never heard of--his name was charlie too." "i didn't know that, or i should not have asked," said charlie, with some embarrassment of manner caused by the pain he saw he had inflicted. "i am very sorry," he continued. mrs. bird motioned him to finish his breakfast, and left the table without drinking the tea she had poured out for herself. there were but one or two families of coloured people living in the small town of warmouth, and they of a very humble description; their faces were familiar to all the inhabitants, and their appearance was in accordance with their humble condition. therefore, when charlie made his debut, in company with mrs. bird, his dress and manners differed so greatly from what they were accustomed to associate with persons of his complexion, that he created quite a sensation in the streets of the usually quiet and obscure little town. he was attired with great neatness; and not having an opportunity of playing marbles in his new suit, it still maintained its spotless appearance. the fine grey broadcloth coat and pants fitted him to a nicety, the jaunty cap was set slightly on one side of his head giving him, a somewhat saucy look, and the fresh colour now returning to his cheeks imparted to his face a much healthier appearance than it had worn for months. he and his kind friend walked on together for some time, chatting about the various things that attracted their attention on the way, until they reached a cottage in the garden of which a gentleman was busily engaged in training a rosebush upon a new trellis. so completely was he occupied with his pursuit that he did not observe the entrance of visitors, and quite started when he was gently tapped upon the shoulder by mrs. bird. "how busy we are," said she, gaily, at the same time extending her hand--"so deeply engaged, that we can scarcely notice old friends that we have not seen for months." "indeed, this is a pleasant surprise," he remarked, when he saw by whom he had been interrupted. "when did you arrive?" "only this morning; and, as usual, i have already found something with which to bore you--you know, mr. whately, i always have something to trouble you about." "don't say trouble, my dear mrs. bird; if you will say 'give me something to occupy my time usefully and agreeably,' you will come much nearer the mark. but who is this you have with you?" "oh, a little _protege_ of mine, poor little fellow--he met with a sad accident recently--he broke his arm; and i have brought him down here to recruit. charlie, walk around and look at the garden--i have a little matter of business to discuss with mr. whately, and when we shall have finished i will call you." mr. whately led the way into his library, and placing a seat for mrs. bird, awaited her communication. "you have great influence with the teacher of the academy, i believe," said she. "a little," replied mr. whately, smiling. "not a little," rejoined mrs. bird, "but a great deal; and, my dear mr. whately, i want you to exercise it in my behalf. i wish to enter as a scholar that little boy i brought with me this morning." "impossible!" said mr. whately. "my good friend, the boy is coloured!" "i am well aware of that," continued mrs. bird; "if he were not there would not be the least trouble about his admission; nor am i sure there will be as it is, if you espouse his cause. one who has been such a benefactor to the academy as yourself, could, i suppose, accomplish anything." "yes; but that is stretching my influence unduly. i would be willing to oblige you in almost anything else, but i hesitate to attempt this. why not send him to the public school?--they have a separate bench for black children; he can be taught there all that is necessary for him to know." "he is far in advance of any of the scholars there. i attended the examination of the school to which he was attached," said mrs. bird, "and i was very much surprised at the acquirements of the pupils; this lad was distinguished above all the rest--he answered questions that would have puzzled older heads, with the greatest facility. i am exceedingly anxious to get him admitted to the academy, as i am confident he will do honour to the interest i take in him." "and a very warm interest it must be, my dear mrs. bird, to induce you to attempt placing him in such an expensive and exclusive school. i am very much afraid you will have to give it up: many of the scholars' parents, i am sure, will object strenuously to the admission of a coloured boy as a scholar." "only tell me that you will propose him, and i will risk the refusal," replied mrs. bird--"it can be tried at all events; and if you will make the effort i shall be under deep obligations to you." "well, mrs. bird, let us grant him admitted--what benefit can accrue to the lad from an education beyond his station? he cannot enter into any of the learned professions: both whilst he is there, and after his education is finished, he will be like a fish out of water. you must pardon me if i say i think, in this case, your benevolence misdirected. the boy's parents are poor, i presume?" "they certainly are not rich," rejoined mrs. bird; "and it is for that reason i wish to do all that i can for him. if i can keep him with me, and give him a good education, it may be greatly for his advantage; there may be a great change in public sentiment before he is a man--we cannot say what opening there may be for him in the future." "not unless it changes very much. i never knew prejudice more rampant than it is at this hour. to get the boy admitted as a right is totally out of the question: if he is received at all, it will be as a special favour, and a favour which--i am sure it will require all my influence to obtain. i will set about it immediately, and, rely upon it, i will do my best for your _protege_." satisfied with the promise, which was as much as mrs. bird had dared to hope for, she called charlie, then shook hands with mr. whately and departed. chapter xv. mrs. stevens gains a triumph. the garies had now become thoroughly settled in philadelphia, and, amongst the people of colour, had obtained a very extensive and agreeable acquaintance. at the south mr. garie had never borne the reputation of an active person. having an ample fortune and a thoroughly southern distaste for labour, he found it by no means inconvenient or unpleasant to have so much time at his disposal. his newspaper in the morning, a good book, a stroll upon the fashionable promenade, and a ride at dusk, enabled him to dispose of his time without being oppressed with _ennui_. it was far happier for him that such was his disposition, as his domestic relations would have been the means of subjecting him to many unpleasant circumstances, from which his comparative retirement in a great measure screened him. once or twice since his settlement in the north his feelings had been ruffled, by the sneering remarks of some of his former friends upon the singularity of his domestic position; but his irritation had all fled before the smiles of content and happiness that beamed from the faces of his wife and children. mrs. garie had nothing left to wish for; she was surrounded by every physical comfort and in the enjoyment of frequent intercourse with intelligent and refined people, and had been greatly attracted toward esther ellis with whom she had become very intimate. one morning in november, these two were in the elegant little bed-room of mrs. garie, where a fire had been kindled, as the weather was growing very chilly and disagreeable. "it begins to look quite like autumn," said mrs. garie, rising and looking out of the window. "the chrysanthemums are drooping and withered, and the dry leaves are whirling and skimming through the air. i wonder," she continued, "if the children were well wrapped up this morning?" "oh, yes; i met them at the corner, on their way to school, looking as warm and rosy as possible. what beautiful children they are! little em has completely won my heart; it really seems a pity for her to be put on the shelf, as she must be soon." "how--what do you mean?" asked mrs. garie. "oh, this will explain," archly rejoined esther, as she held up to view one of the tiny lace trimmed frocks that she was making in anticipation of the event that has been previously hinted. mrs. garie laughed, and turned to look out of the window again. "do you know i found little lizzy stevens, your neighbour's daughter, shivering upon the steps in a neighbouring street, fairly blue with cold? she was waiting there for clarence and em. i endeavoured to persuade her to go on without them, but she would not. from what i could understand, she waits for them there every day." "her mother cannot be aware of it, then; for she has forbidden her children to associate with mine," rejoined mrs. garie. "i wonder she permits her little girl to go to the same school. i don't think she knows it, or it is very likely she would take her away." "has she ever spoken to you since the night of her visit?" asked esther. "never! i have seen her a great many times since; she never speaks, nor do i. there she goes now. that," continued mrs. garie, with a smile, "is another illustration of the truthfulness of the old adage, 'talk of--well, i won't say who,--'and he is sure to appear.'" and, thus speaking, she turned from the window, and was soon deeply occupied in the important work of preparing for the expected little stranger. mrs. garie was mistaken in her supposition that mrs. stevens was unaware that clarence and little em attended the same school to which her own little girl had been sent; for the evening before the conversation we have just narrated, she had been discussing the matter with her husband. "here," said she to him, "is miss jordan's bill for the last quarter. i shall never pay her another; i am going to remove lizzy from that school." "remove her! what for? i thought i heard you say, jule, that the child got on excellently well there,--that she improved very fast?" "so she does, as far as learning is concerned; but she is sitting right next to one of those garie children, and that is an arrangement i don't at all fancy. i don't relish the idea of my child attending the same school that niggers do; so i've come to the determination to take her away." "i should do no such thing," coolly remarked mr. stevens. "i should compel the teacher to dismiss the garies, or i should break up her school. those children have no right to be there whatever. i don't care a straw how light their complexions are, they are niggers nevertheless, and ought to go to a nigger school; they are no better than any other coloured children. i'll tell you what you can do, jule," continued he: "call on mrs. kinney, the roths, and one or two others, and induce them to say that if miss jordan won't dismiss the garies that they will withdraw their children; and you know if they do, it will break up the school entirely. if it was any other person's children but his, i would wink at it; but i want to give him a fall for his confounded haughtiness. just try that plan, jule, and you will be sure to succeed." "i am not so certain about it, stevens. miss jordan, i learn, is very fond of their little em. i must say i cannot wonder at it. she is the most loveable little creature i ever saw. i will say that, if her mother is a nigger." "yes, jule, all that may be; but i know the world well enough to judge that, when she becomes fully assured that it will conflict with her interests to keep them, she will give them up. she is too poor to be philanthropic, and, i believe, has sufficient good sense to know it." "well, i'll try your plan," said mrs. stevens; "i will put matters in train to-morrow morning." early the next morning, mrs. stevens might have been seen directing her steps to the house of mrs. kinney, with whom she was very intimate. she reached it just as that lady was departing to preside at a meeting of a female missionary society for evangelizing the patagonians. "i suppose you have come to accompany me to the meeting," said she to mrs. stevens, as soon as they had exchanged the usual courtesies. "oh, dear, no; i wish i was," she replied. "i've got a troublesome little matter on my hands; and last night my husband suggested my coming to ask your advice respecting it. george has such a high opinion of your judgment, that he would insist on my troubling you." mrs. kinney smiled, and looked gratified at this tribute to her importance. "and moreover," continued mrs. stevens, "it's a matter in which your interest, as well as our own, is concerned." mrs. kinney now began to look quite interested, and, untying the strings of her bonnet, exclaimed, "dear me, what can it be?" "knowing," said mrs. stevens, "that you entertain just the same sentiments that we do relative to associating with coloured people, i thought i would call and ask if you were aware that miss jordan receives coloured as well as white children in her school." "why, no! my dear mrs. stevens, you astound me. i hadn't the remotest idea of such a thing. it is very strange my children never mentioned it." "oh, children are so taken up with their play, they forget such things," rejoined mrs. stevens. "now," continued she, "husband said he was quite confident you would not permit your children to continue their attendance after this knowledge came to your ears. we both thought it would be a pity to break up the poor girl's school by withdrawing our children without first ascertaining if she would expel the little darkies. i knew, if i could persuade you to let me use your name as well as ours, and say that you will not permit your children to continue at her school unless she consents to our wishes, she, knowing the influence you possess, would, i am sure, accede to our demands immediately." "oh, you are perfectly at liberty to use my name, mrs. stevens, and say all that you think necessary to effect your object. but do excuse me for hurrying off," she continued, looking at her watch: "i was to have been at the meeting at ten o'clock, and it is now half-past. i hope you won't fail to call, and let me know how you succeed;" and, with her heart overflowing with tender care for the poor patagonian, mrs. kinney hastily departed. "that's settled," soliloquized mrs. stevens, with an air of intense satisfaction, as she descended the steps--"her four children would make a serious gap in the little school; and now, then," continued she, "for the roths." mrs. stevens found not the slightest difficulty in persuading mrs. roth to allow her name to be used, in connection with mrs. kinney's, in the threat to withdraw their children if the little garies were not immediately expelled. mrs. roth swore by mrs. kinney, and the mere mention of that lady's name was sufficient to enlist her aid. thus armed, mrs. stevens lost no time in paying a visit to miss jordan's school. as she entered, the busy hum of childish voices was somewhat stilled; and lizzy stevens touched little em, who sat next her, and whispered, "there is my mother." mrs. stevens was welcomed very cordially by miss jordan, who offered her the seat of honour beside her. "your school seems quite flourishing," she remarked, after looking around the room, "and i really regret being obliged to make a gap in your interesting circle." "i hope you don't intend to deprive me of your little girl," inquired miss jordan; "i should regret to part with her--not only because i am very fond of her, but in consideration of her own interest--she is coming on so rapidly." "oh, i haven't the slightest fault to find with her progress. _that_," said she, "is not the reason. i have another, of much more weight. of course, every one is at liberty to do as they choose; and we have no right to dictate to you what description of scholars you should receive; but, if they are not such, as we think proper companions for our children, you can't complain if we withdraw them." "i really do not understand you, mrs. stevens," said the teacher, with an astonished look: "i have none here but the children of the most respectable persons--they are all as well behaved as school children generally are." "i did not allude to behaviour; that, for all that i know to the contrary, is irreproachable; it is not character that is in question, but colour. i don't like my daughter to associate with coloured children." "coloured children!" repeated the now thoroughly bewildered teacher--"coloured children! my dear madam," continued she, smiling, "some one has been hoaxing you--i have no coloured pupils--i could not be induced to receive one on any account." "i am very glad to hear you say so," rejoined mrs. stevens, "for that convinces me that my fears were groundless. i was under the impression you had imbibed some of those pestilent abolition sentiments coming into vogue. i see you are not aware of it, but you certainly have two coloured scholars; and there," said she, pointing to clarence, "is one of them." clarence, who, with his head bent over his book, was sitting so near as to overhear a part of this conversation, now looked up, and found the cold, malignant, grey eyes of mrs. stevens fastened on him. he looked at her for a moment--then apparently resumed his studies. the poor boy had, when she entered the room, an instinctive knowledge that her visit boded no good to them. he was beginning to learn the anomalous situation he was to fill in society. he had detested mrs. stevens ever since the night she had ejected him so rudely from her house, and since then had learned to some extent what was meant by the term _nigger woman_. "you must certainly be misinformed," responded miss jordan. "i know their father--he has frequently been here. he is a southerner, a thorough gentleman in his manners; and, if ever a man was white, i am sure he is." "have you seen their mother?" asked mrs. stevens, significantly. "no, i never have," replied miss jordan; "she is in poor health; but she must unquestionably be a white woman--a glance at the children ought to convince you of that." "it might, if i had not seen her, and did not know her to be a coloured woman. you see, my dear miss jordan," continued she, in her blandest tone, "i am their next-door neighbour and have seen their mother twenty times and more; she is a coloured woman beyond all doubt." "i never could have dreamed of such a thing!" exclaimed miss jordan, as an anxious look overspread her face; then, after a pause, she continued: "i do not see what i am to do--it is really too unfortunate--i don't know how to act. it seems unjust and unchristian to eject two such children from my school, because their mother has the misfortune to have a few drops of african blood in her veins. i cannot make up my mind to do it. why, you yourself must admit that they are as white as any children in the room." "i am willing to acknowledge they are; but they have nigger blood in them, notwithstanding; and they are, therefore, as much niggers as the blackest, and have no more right to associate with white children than if they were black as ink. i have no more liking for white niggers than for black ones." the teacher was perplexed, and, turning to mrs. stevens, said, imploringly: "this matter seems only known to you; let me appeal to your generosity--say nothing more about it. i will try to keep your daughter away from them, if you wish--but pray do not urge me to the performance of an act that i am conscious would be unjust." mrs. stevens's face assumed a severe and disagreeable expression. "i hoped you would look at this matter in a reasonable light, and not compel those who would be your friends to appear in the light of enemies. if this matter was known to me alone, i should remove my daughter and say nothing more about it; but, unfortunately for you, i find that, by some means or other, both mrs. kinney and mrs. roth have become informed of the circumstance, and are determined to take their children away. i thought i would act a friend's part by you, and try to prevail on you to dismiss these two coloured children at once. i so far relied upon your right judgment as to assure them that you would not hesitate for a moment to comply with their wishes; and i candidly tell you, that it was only by my so doing that they were prevented from keeping their children at home to-day." miss jordan looked aghast at this startling intelligence; if mrs. roth and mrs. kinney withdrew their patronage and influence, her little school (the sole support of her mother and herself) would be well-nigh broken up. she buried her face in her hands, and sat in silence for a few seconds; then looking at mrs. stevens, with tearful eyes, exclaimed, "god forgive me if it must be so; nothing but the utter ruin that stares me in the face if i refuse induces me to accede to your request." "i am sorry that you distress yourself so much about it. you know you are your own mistress, and can do as you choose," said mrs. stevens; "but if you will be advised by me, you will send them away at once." "after school i will," hesitatingly replied miss jordan. "i hate to appear so pressing," resumed mrs. stevens; "but i feel it my duty to suggest that you had better do it at once, and before the rest of the scholars. i did not wish, to inform you to what extent this thing had gone; but it really has been talked of in many quarters, and it is generally supposed that you are cognisant of the fact that the garies are coloured; therefore you see the necessity of doing something at once to vindicate yourself from the reproach of abolitionism." at the pronunciation of this then terrible word in such connection with herself, miss jordan turned quite pale, and for a moment struggled to acquire sufficient control of her feelings to enable her to do as mrs. stevens suggested; at last, bursting into tears, she said, "oh, i cannot--will not--do it. i'll dismiss them, but not in that unfeeling manner; that i cannot do." the children were now entirely neglecting their lessons, and seemed much affected by miss jordan's tears, of which they could not understand the cause. she observing this, rang the bell, the usual signal for intermission. mrs. stevens, satisfied with the triumph she had effected, took leave of miss jordan, after commending her for the sensible conclusion at which she had arrived, and promising to procure her two more pupils in the room of those she was about to dismiss. miss jordan was a long time writing the note that she intended sending to mr. garie; and one of the elder girls returned to the school-room, wondering at the unusually long time that had been given for recreation. "tell clarence and his sister to come here," said she to the girl who had just entered; and whilst they were on their way upstairs, she folded the note, and was directing it when clarence entered. "clarence," said she, in a soft voice, "put on your hat; i have a note of some importance for you to take to your father--your father remember--don't give it to any one else." taking out her watch, she continued, "it is now so late that you would scarcely get back before the time for dismissal, so you had better take little emily home with you." "i hope, ma'am, i haven't done anything wrong?" asked clarence. "oh, no!" quickly replied she; "you're a dear, good boy, and have never given me a moment's pain since you came to the school." and she hurried out into the hall to avoid farther questioning. she could not restrain the tears as she dressed little em, whose eyes were large with astonishment at being sent home from school at so early an hour. "teacher, is school out?" asked she. "no, dear, not quite; i wanted to send a note to your pa, and so i have let clary go home sooner than usual," replied miss jordan, kissing her repeatedly, whilst the tears were trickling down her cheek. "don't cry, teacher, i love you," said the little blue-eyed angel, whose lip began to quiver in sympathy; "don't cry, i'll come back again to-morrow." this was too much for the poor teacher, who clasped the child in her arms, and gave way to a burst of uncontrollable sorrow. at last, conquering herself with an effort, she led the children down stairs, kissed them both again, and then opening the door she turned them forth into the street--turned away from her school these two little children, such as god received into his arms and blessed, because they were the children of a "_nigger woman_." chapter xvi. mr. stevens makes a discovery. "well, jule, old aunt tabitha is gone at last, and i am not at all sorry for it, i assure you; she's been a complete tax upon me for the last eight years. i suppose you won't lament much, nor yet go into mourning for her," continued mr. stevens, looking at her jocularly. "i'm not sorry, that i admit," rejoined mrs. stevens; "the poor old soul is better off, no doubt; but then there's no necessity to speak of the matter in such an off-hand manner." "now, jule, i beg you won't attempt to put on the sanctified; that's too much from you, who have been wishing her dead almost every day for the last eight years. why, don't you remember you wished her gone when she had a little money to leave; and when she lost that, you wished her off our hands because she had none. don't pretend to be in the least depressed; that won't do with me." "well, never mind that," said mrs. stevens, a little confused; "what has become of her things--her clothing, and furniture?" "i've ordered the furniture to be sold; and all there is of it will not realize sufficient to pay her funeral expenses. brixton wrote me that she has left a bundle of letters directed to me, and i desired him to send them on." "i wonder what they can be," said mrs. stevens. "some trash, i suppose; an early love correspondence, of but little value to any one but herself. i do not expect that they will prove of any consequence whatever." "don't you think one or the other of us should go to the funeral?" asked mrs. stevens. "nonsense. no! i have no money to expend in that way--it is as much as i can do to provide comfortably for the living, without spending money to follow the dead," replied he; "and besides, i have a case coming on in the criminal court next week that will absorb all my attention." "what kind of a case is it?" she inquired. "a murder case. some irishmen were engaged in a row, when one of the party received a knock on his head that proved too much for him, and died in consequence. my client was one of the contending parties; and has been suspected, from some imprudent expressions of his, to have been the man who struck the fatal blow. his preliminary examination comes off to-morrow or next day, and i must be present as a matter of course." at an early hour of the morning succeeding this conversation, mr. stevens might have been seen in his dingy office, seated at a rickety desk which was covered with various little bundles, carefully tied with red tape. the room was gloomy and cheerless, and had a mouldy disagreeable atmosphere. a fire burned in the coal stove, which, however, seemed only to warm, but did not dry the apartment; and the windows were covered with a thin coating of vapour. mr. stevens was busily engaged in writing, when hearing footsteps behind him, he turned and saw mr. egan, a friend of his client, entering the room. "good morning, mr. egan," said he, extending his hand; "how is our friend mccloskey this morning?" "oh, it's far down in the mouth he is, be jabers--the life a'most scared out of him!" "tell him to keep up a good heart and not to be frightened at trifles," laughingly remarked mr. stevens. "can't your honour come and see him?" asked egan. "i can't do that; but i'll give you a note to constable berry, and he will bring mccloskey in here as he takes him to court;" and mr. stevens immediately wrote the note, which egan received and departed. after the lapse of a few hours, mccloskey was brought by the accommodating constable to the office of mr. stevens. "he'll be safe with you, i suppose, stevens;" said the constable, "but then there is no harm in seeing for one's self that all's secure;" and thus speaking, he raised the window and looked into the yard below. the height was too great for his prisoner to escape in that direction; then satisfying himself that the other door only opened into a closet, he retired, locking mr. stevens and his client in the room. mr. stevens arose as soon as the door closed behind the constable, and stuffed a piece of damp sponge into the keyhole; he then returned and took a seat by his client. "now, mccloskey," said he, in a low tone, as he drew his chair closely in front of the prisoner, and fixed his keen grey eyes on him--"i've seen whitticar. and i tell you what it is--you're in a very tight place. he's prepared to swear that he saw you with a slung shot in your hand--that he saw you drop it after the man fell; he picked it up, and whilst the man was lying dead at his tavern, awaiting the coroner's inquest, he examined the wound, and saw in the skull two little dents or holes, which were undoubtedly made by the little prongs that are on the leaden ball of the weapon, as they correspond in depth and distance apart; and, moreover, the ball is attached to a twisted brace which proves to be the fellow to the one found upon a pair of your trousers. what can you say to all this?" mccloskey here gave a smothered groan, and his usually red face grew deadly pale in contemplation of his danger. "now," said mr. stevens, after waiting long enough for his revelation to have its due effect upon him, "there is but one thing to be done. we must buy whitticar off. have you got any money? i don't mean fifty or a hundred dollars--that would be of no more use than as many pennies. we must have something of a lump--three or four hundred at the very least." the prisoner drew his breath very hard at this, and remained silent. "come, speak out," continued mr. stevens, "circumstances won't admit of our delaying--this man's friends will raise heaven and earth to secure your conviction; so you see, my good fellow, it's your money or your life. you can decide between the two--you know which is of the most importance to you." "god save us, squire! how am i to raise that much money? i haven't more nor a hunther dollars in the world." "you've got a house, and a good horse and dray," replied mr. stevens, who was well posted in the man's pecuniary resources. "if you expect me to get you out of this scrape, you must sell or mortgage your house, and dispose of your horse and dray. somehow or other four hundred dollars must be raised, or you will be dangling at a rope's end in less than six months." "i suppose it will have to go then," said mccloskey, reluctantly. "then give me authority," continued mr. stevens, "to arrange for the disposal of the property, and i will have your affairs all set straight in less than no time." the constable here cut short any further colloquy by rapping impatiently on the door, then opening it, and exclaiming, "come, now it is ten o'clock--time that you were in court;" and the two started out, followed by mr. stevens. after having, by some of those mysterious plans with which lawyers are familiar, been enabled to put off the examination for a few days, mr. stephens returned to his office, and found lying upon his table the packet of letters he was expecting from new york. upon breaking the seal, and tearing off the outer covering, he discovered a number of letters, time-worn and yellow with age; they were tied tightly together with a piece of cord; cutting this, they fell scattered over the desk. taking one of them up, he examined it attentively, turning it from side to side to endeavour to decipher the half-effaced post-mark. "what a ninny i am, to waste time in looking at the cover of this, when the contents will, no doubt, explain the whole matter?" thus soliloquising he opened the letter, and was soon deeply absorbed in its contents. he perused and re-perused it; then opened, one after another, the remainder that lay scattered before him. their contents seemed to agitate him exceedingly; as he walked up and down the room with hasty strides, muttering angrily to himself, and occasionally returning to the desk to re-peruse the letters which had so strangely excited him. whilst thus engaged, the door was opened by no less a personage than mr. morton, who walked in and seated himself in a familiar manner. "oh, how are you, morton. you entered with such a ghostly tread, that i scarcely heard you," said mr. stevens, with a start; "what has procured me the honour of a visit from you this morning?" "i was strolling by, and thought i would just step in and inquire how that matter respecting the tenth-street property has succeeded." "not at all--the old fellow is as obstinate as a mule; he won't sell except on his own terms, which are entirely out of all reason. i am afraid you will be compelled to abandon your building speculation in that quarter until his demise--he is old and feeble, and can't last many years; in the event of his death you may be able to effect some more favourable arrangement with his heirs." "and perhaps have ten or fifteen years to wait--no, that won't do. i'd better sell out myself. what would you, advise me to do, stevens?" mr. stevens was silent for a few moments; then having opened the door and looked into the entry, he closed it carefully, placed the piece of sponge in the key-hole, and returned to his seat at the desk, saying:-- "we've transacted enough business together to know one another pretty well. so i've no hesitation in confiding to you a little scheme i've conceived for getting into our hands a large proportion of property in one of the lower districts, at a very low figure; and 'tis probable, that the same plan, if it answers, will assist you materially in carrying out your designs. it will require the aid of two or three moneyed men like yourself; and, if successful, will without doubt be highly remunerative." "if successful," rejoined mr. morton; "yes, there is the rub. how are you to guarantee success?" "hear my plan, and then you can decide. in the first place, you know as well as i that a very strong feeling exists in the community against the abolitionists, and very properly too; this feeling requires to be guided into some proper current, and i think we can give it that necessary guidance, and at the same time render it subservient to our own purposes. you are probably aware that a large amount of property in the lower part of the city is owned by niggers; and if we can create a mob and direct it against them, they will be glad to leave that quarter, and remove further up into the city for security and protection. once get the mob thoroughly aroused, and have the leaders under our control, and we may direct its energies against any parties we desire; and we can render the district so unsafe, that property will be greatly lessened in value--the houses will rent poorly, and many proprietors will be happy to sell at very reduced prices. if you can furnish me the means to start with, i have men enough at my command to effect the rest. we will so control the elections in the district, through these men, as to place in office only such persons as will wink at the disturbances. when, through their agency, we have brought property down sufficiently low, we will purchase all that we can, re-establish order and quiet, and sell again at an immense advantage." "your scheme is a good one, i must confess, and i am ready to join you at any time. i will communicate with carson, who, i think, will be interested, as he desired to invest with me in those tenth-street improvements. i will call in to-morrow, and endeavour to persuade him to accompany me, and then we can discuss the matter more fully." "well, do; but one word before you go. you appear to know everybody--who is anybody--south of mason and dixon's line; can you give me any information respecting a family by the name of garie, who live or formerly did live in the vicinity of savannah?" "oh, yes--i know them, root and branch; although there is but little of the latter left; they are one of the oldest families in georgia--those of whom i have heard the most are of the last two generations. there now remain of the family but two persons--old john or jack garie as he is called, a bachelor--and who i have recently learned is at the point of death; and a crack-brained nephew of his, living in this city--said to be married to a nigger woman--actually married to her. dr. blackly informed me last week, that he sent for him to perform the ceremony, which he very properly refused to do. i have no doubt, however, that he has been successful in procuring the services of some one else. i am sorry to say, there are some clergymen in our city who would willingly assist in such a disgraceful proceeding. what ever could have induced a man with his prospects to throw himself away in that manner, i am at loss to determine--he has an independent fortune of about one hundred thousand dollars, besides expectations from his uncle, who is worth a considerable sum of money. i suppose these little darkies of his will inherit it," concluded mr. morton. "are there no other heirs?" asked mr. stevens, in a tone of deep interest. "there may be. he had an aunt, who married an exceedingly low fellow from the north, who treated her shamefully. the mercenary scoundrel no doubt expected to have acquired a fortune with her, as it was generally understood that she was sole heiress of her mother's property--but it turned out to be an entire mistake. the circumstance made considerable stir at the time. i remember having heard my elders discuss it some years after its occurrence. but why do you take such an interest in it? you charged me with coming upon you like a ghost. i could return the compliment. why, man, you look like a sheet. what ails you?" "me!--i--oh, nothing--nothing! i'm perfectly well--that is to say, i was up rather late last night, and am rather fatigued to day--nothing more." "you looked so strange, that i could not help being frightened--and you seemed so interested. you must have some personal motive for inquiring." "no more than a lawyer often has in the business of his clients. i have been commissioned to obtain some information respecting these people--a mere matter of business, nothing more, believe me. call in again soon, and endeavour to bring carson; but pray be discreet--be very careful to whom you mention the matter." "never fear," said mr. morton, as he closed the door behind him, and sauntered lazily out of the house. mr. morton speculated in stocks and town-lots in the same spirit that he had formerly betted at the racecourse and cockpit in his dear palmetto state. it was a pleasant sort of excitement to him, and without excitement of some kind, he would have found it impossible to exist. to have frequented gaming hells and race courses in the north would have greatly impaired his social position; and as he set a high value upon that he was compelled to forego his favourite pursuits, and associate himself with a set of men who conducted a system of gambling operations upon 'change, of a less questionable but equally exciting character. mr. stevens sat musing at his desk for some time after the departure of his visitor; then, taking up one of the letters that had so strongly excited him, he read and re-read it; then crushing it in his hand, arose, stamped his feet, and exclaimed, "i'll have it! if i--" here he stopped short, and, looking round, caught a view of his face in the glass; he sank back into the chair behind him, horrified at the lividness of his countenance. "good god!" he soliloquized, "i look like a murderer already," and he covered his face with his hands, and turned away from the glass. "but i am wrong to be excited thus; men who accomplish great things approach them coolly, so must i. i must plot, watch, and wait;" and thus speaking, he put on his hat and left the office. as mr. stevens approached his house, a handsome carriage drove up to the door of his neighbour, and mr. garie and his wife, who had been enjoying a drive along the bank of the river, alighted and entered their residence. the rustle of her rich silk dress grated harshly on his ear, and the soft perfume that wafted toward him as she glided by, was the very reverse of pleasant to him. mr. garie bowed stiffly to him as they stood on the steps of their respective residences, which were only divided by the low iron fence; but, beyond the slight inclination of the head, took no further notice of him. "the cursed haughty brute," muttered mr. stevens, as he jerked the bell with violence; "how i hate him! i hated him before i knew--but now i----;" as he spoke, the door was opened by a little servant that mrs. stevens had recently obtained from a charity institution. "you've kept me standing a pretty time," exclaimed he savagely, as he seized her ear and gave it a spiteful twist; "can't you manage to open the door quicker?" "i was up in the garret, and didn't hear the bell," she replied, timidly. "then i'll improve your hearing," he continued malignantly, as he pulled her by the ear; "take that, now, and see if you'll keep me standing at the door an hour again." striding forward into the back parlour, he found his wife holding a small rattan elevated over little lizzy in a threatening attitude. "will you never mind me? i've told you again and again not to go, and still you persist in disobeying me. i'll cut you to pieces if you don't mind. will you ever go again?" she almost screamed in the ears of the terrified child. "oh, no, mother, never; please don't whip me, i'll mind you;" and as she spoke, she shrank as far as possible into the corner of the room. "what's all this--what's the matter, jule? what on earth are you going to whip liz for?" "because she deserves it," was the sharp reply; "she don't mind a word i say. i've forbid her again and again to go next door to visit those little niggers, and she will do it in spite of me. she slipped off this afternoon, and has been in their house over an hour; and it was only this morning i detected her kissing their clarence through the fence." "faugh," said mr. stevens, with a look of disgust; "you kissed a nigger! i'm ashamed of you, you nasty little thing; your mother ought to have taken a scrubbing-brush and cleaned your mouth, never do such a thing again; come here to me." as he spoke, he extended his hand and grasped the delicately rounded arm of his little girl. "what induces you to go amongst those people; hasn't your mother again and again forbidden you to do so. why do you go, i say?" he continued, shaking her roughly by the arm, and frowning savagely. "why don't you answer?--speak!" the child, with the tears streaming down her lovely face, was only able to answer in her defence. "oh, pa, i do love them so." "you do, do you?" replied her exasperated father, stamping his foot, and pushing her from him; "go to bed, and if ever i hear of you going there again, you shall be well whipped." the tearful face lingered about the door in hope of a reprieve that did not come, and then disappeared for the night. "the children must not be suffered to go in there, jule; something i've learned to-day will----" here mr. stevens checked himself; and in answer to his wife's impatient "what have you learned?" replied, "oh, nothing of consequence--nothing that will interest you," and sat with his slipper in his hand, engaged in deep thought. now for mr. stevens to commence a communication to his wife, and then break off in the middle of it, was as novel as disagreeable, as he was generally very communicative, and would detail to her in the evening, with pleasing minuteness, all the rogueries he had accomplished during the day; and his unwillingness to confide something that evidently occupied his mind caused his spouse to be greatly irritated. mr. stevens drank his tea in silence, and during the evening continued absorbed in reflection; and, notwithstanding the various ill-natured remarks of his wife upon his strange conduct retired without giving her the slightest clue to its cause. chapter xvii. plotting. mr. stevens awoke at a very early hour the ensuing morning, and quite unceremoniously shook his wife to arouse her also. this he accomplished after considerable labour; for mrs. stevens was much more sleepy than usual, in consequence of her husband's restlessness the previous night. "i declare," said she, rubbing her eyes, "i don't get any peace of my life. you lie awake, kicking about, half the night, muttering and whispering about no one knows what, and then want me to rise before day. what are you in such, a hurry for this morning,--no more mysteries, i hope?" "oh, come, jule, get up!" said her husband, impatiently. "i must be off to my business very early; i am overburthened with different things this morning." mrs. stevens made a very hasty toilette, and descended to the kitchen, where the little charity-girl was bustling about with her eyes only half open. with her assistance, the breakfast was soon prepared, and mr. stevens called downstairs. he ate rapidly and silently, and at the conclusion of his meal, put on his hat, and wished his amiable spouse an abrupt good morning. after leaving his house, he did not take the usual course to his office, but turned his steps toward the lower part of the city. hastening onward, he soon left the improved parts of it in his rear, and entered upon a shabby district. the morning was very chilly, and as it was yet quite early, but few people were stirring: they were labourers hurrying to their work, milkmen, and trundlers of breadcarts. at length he stopped at the door of a tavern, over which was a large sign, bearing the name of whitticar. on entering, he found two or three forlorn-looking wretches clustering round the stove, endeavouring to receive some warmth upon their half-clothed bodies,--their red and pimpled noses being the only parts about them that did not look cold. they stared wonderingly at mr. stevens as he entered; for a person so respectable as himself in appearance was but seldom seen in that house. the boy who attended the bar inquired from behind the counter what he would take. "mr. whitticar, if you please," blandly replied mr. stevens. hearing this, the boy bolted from the shop, and quite alarmed the family, by stating that there was a man in the shop, who said he wanted to take mr. whitticar, and he suspected that he was a policeman. whitticar, who was seldom entirely free from some scrape, went through another door to take a survey of the new comer, and on ascertaining who it was, entered the room. "you've quite upset the family; we all took you for a constable," said he, approaching mr. stevens, who shook hands with him heartily, and then, laying his arm familiarly on his shoulder, rejoined,-- "i say, whitticar, i want about five minutes' conversation with you. haven't you some room where we can be quite private for a little while?" "yes; come this way," replied he. and, leading his visitor through the bar, they entered a small back room, the door of which they locked behind them. "now, whitticar," said mr. stevens, "i want you to act the part of a friend by the fellow who got in that awkward scrape at this house. as you did not give the evidence you informed me you were possessed of, at the coroner's inquest, it is unnecessary for you to do so before the magistrate at examination. there is no use in hanging the fellow--it cannot result in any benefit to yourself; it will only attract disagreeable notice to your establishment, and possibly may occasion a loss of your licence. we will be willing to make it worth your while to absent yourself, for a short time at least, until the trial is over; it will put money in your purse, and save this poor devil's life besides. what do you say to receiving a hundred and fifty, and going off for a month or two?" "couldn't think of it, mr. stevens, no how. see how my business would suffer; everything would be at loose ends. i should be obliged to hire a man to take my place; and, in that case, i must calculate upon his stealing at least twenty-five per cent. of the receipts: and then there is his wages. no, no that won't do. besides, i'm trying to obtain the nomination for the office of alderman--to secure it, i must be on the spot; nothing like looking out for oneself. i am afraid i can't accommodate you, squire, unless you can offer something better than one hundred and fifty." "you've got no conscience," rejoined mr. stevens, "not a bit." "well, the less of that the better for me; it's a thing of very little use in the rum-selling business; it interferes with trade--so i can't afford to keep a conscience. if you really want me to go, make me a better offer; say two fifty, and i'll begin to think of it. the trial will be over in a month or six weeks, i suppose, and a spree of that length would be very pleasant." "no, i won't do that, whitticar,--that's flat; but i'll tell you what i will do. i'll make it two hundred, and what is more, i'll see to your nomination. i'm all right down here, you know; i own the boys in this district; and if you'll say you'll put some little matters through for me after you are elected, i'll call it a bargain." "then i'm your man," said whitticar, extending his hand. "well, then," added stevens, "come to my office this morning, and you shall have the money; after that i shall expect you to get out of town as quick as possible. goodbye." "so far all right," muttered mr. stevens, with an air of intense satisfaction, as he left the house; "he'll be of great use to me. when it becomes necessary to blind the public by a sham investigation, he will be the man to conduct it; when i want a man released from prison, or a little job of that kind done, he will do it--this act will put him in my power; and i am much mistaken if he won't prove of the utmost service in our riot scheme. now, then, we will have an examination of mccloskey as soon as they like." a few weeks subsequent to the events we have just written, we find mr. stevens seated in his dingy office in company with the mccloskey, who had recently been discharged from custody in default of sufficient evidence being found to warrant his committal for trial. he was sitting with his feet upon the stove, and was smoking a cigar in the most free-and-easy manner imaginable. "so far, so good," said mr. stevens, as he laid down the letter he was perusing; "that simplifies the matter greatly; and whatever is to be done towards his removal, must be done quickly--now that the old man is dead there is but one to deal with." during the interval that had elapsed between the interview of mr. stevens with whitticar and the period to which we now refer, mr. stevens had been actively engaged in promoting his riot scheme; and already several disturbances had occurred, in which a number of inoffensive coloured people had been injured in their persons and property. but this was only a faint indication of what was to follow; and as he had, through the agency of mr. morton and others, been able to prevent any but the most garbled statements of these affairs from getting abroad, there was but little danger of their operations being interfered with. leading articles daily appeared in the public journals (particularly those that circulated amongst the lowest classes), in which the negroes were denounced, in the strongest terms. it was averred that their insolence, since the commencement of the abolition agitation, had become unbearable; and from many quarters was suggested the absolute necessity for inflicting some general chastisement, to convince them that they were still negroes, and to teach them to remain in their proper place in the body politic. many of these articles were written by mr. stevens, and their insertion as editorials procured through the instrumentality of mr. morton and his friends. mr. stevens turned to his visitor, and inquired, "what was done last night--much of anything?" "a great deal, yer honour," replied mccloskey; "a nagur or two half killed, and one house set on fire and nearly burned up." "_is that all_?" said mr. stevens, with a well-assumed look of disappointment. "is that all? why, you are a miserable set: you should have beaten every darky out of the district by this time." "they're not so aisily bate out--they fight like sevin divils. one o' 'em, night before last, split mikey dolan's head clane open, and it's a small chance of his life he's got to comfort himself wid." "chances of war--chances of war!" rejoined mr. stevens,--"mere trifles when you get used to 'em: you mustn't let that stop you--you have a great deal yet to do. what you have already accomplished is a very small matter compared with what is expected, and what i intend you to do: your work has only just begun, man." "jist begun!" replied the astonished mccloskey; "haven't we bin raising the very divil every night for the last week--running a near chance of being kilt all the time--and all for nothing! it's gettin' tiresome; one don't like to be fighting the nagurs all the time for the mere fun of the thing--it don't pay, for divil a cent have i got for all my trouble; and ye said ye would pay well, ye remimber." "so i shall," said mr. stevens, "when you do something worth paying for--the quarter is not accomplished yet. i want the place made so hot down there that the niggers can't stay. go a-head, don't give them any rest--i'll protect you from the consequences, whatever they be: i've great things in store for you," continued he, moving nearer and speaking in a confidential tone; "how should you like to return to ireland a moneyed man?" "i should like it well enough, to be sure; but where's the money to come from, squire?" "oh, there's money enough to be had if you have the courage to earn it." "i'm willin' enough to earn an honest penny, but i don't like risking me neck for it, squire. it's clear ye'll not be afther givin' me a dale of money widout being sure of havin' the worth of it out o' me; and it's dirty work enough i've done, widout the doin' of any more: me conscience is a sore throuble to me about the other job. be the powers i'm out o' that, and divil a like scrape will i get in agin wid my own consint." "your conscience has become troublesome very suddenly," rejoined mr. stevens, with a look of angry scorn; "it's strange it don't appear to have troubled you in the least during the last few weeks, whilst you have been knocking niggers on the head so freely." "well, i'm tired o' that work," interrupted mccloskey; "and what's more, i'll soon be lavin' of it off." "we'll see about that," said mr. stevens. "you're a pretty fellow, now, ain't you--grateful, too--very! here i've been successful in getting you out of a hanging scrape, and require a trifling service in return, and you retire. you'll find this trifling won't do with me," continued mr. stevens, with great sternness of manner. "you shall do as i wish: you are in my power! i need your services, and i will have them--make up your mind to that." mccloskey was somewhat staggered at this bold declaration from mr. stevens; but he soon assumed his former assured manner, and replied, "i'd like to know how i'm in your power: as far as this riot business is concerned, you're as deep in the mud as i'm in the mire; as for the other, be st. patrick, i'm clane out o' that!--they don't try a man twice for the same thing." "don't halloo so loud, my fine fellow," sneeringly rejoined mr. stevens, "you are not entirely out of the wood yet; you are by no means as safe as you imagine--you haven't been _tried_ yet, you have only been examined before a magistrate! they lacked sufficient evidence to commit you for trial--that evidence i can produce at any time; so remember, if you please, you have not been tried yet: when you have been, and acquitted, be kind enough to let me know, will you?" mr. stevens stood for a few moments silently regarding the change his language had brought over the now crestfallen mccloskey; he then continued--"don't think you can escape me--i'll have a thousand eyes upon you; no one ever escapes me that i wish to retain. do as i require, and i'll promote your interest in every possible way, and protect you; but waver, or hold back, and i'll hang you as unhesitatingly as if you were a dog." this threat was given in a tone that left no doubt on the mind of the hearer but that mr. stevens would carry out his expressed intention; and the reflections thereby engendered by no means added to the comfort or sense of security that mccloskey had flattered himself he was in future to enjoy; he, therefore, began to discover the bad policy of offending one who might prove so formidable an enemy--of incensing one who had it in his power to retaliate by such terrible measures. he therefore turned to mr. stevens, with a somewhat humbled manner, and said: "you needn't get so mad, squire--sure it's but natural that a man shouldn't want to get any deeper in the mire than he can help; and i've enough on my hands now to make them too red to look at wid comfort--sure it's not a shade deeper you'd have 'em?" he asked, looking inquiringly at mr. stevens, who was compelled to turn away his face for a moment to hide his agitation. at last he mastered his countenance, and, in as cool a tone as he could assume, replied: "oh, a little more on them will be scarcely a perceptible addition. you know the old adage, 'in for a penny, in for a pound.' you need have no fear," said he, lowering his voice almost to a whisper; "it can be done in a crowd--and at night--no one will notice it." "i don't know about that, squire--in a crowd some one will be sure to notice it. it's, too dangerous--i can't do it." "tut, tut, man; don't talk like a fool. i tell you there is no danger. you, in company with a mob of others, are to attack this man's house. when he makes his appearance, as he will be sure to do, shoot him down." "good god! squire," said mccloskey, his face growing pale at the prospect of what was required of him, "you talk of murder as if it was mere play!" "and still, _i never murdered any one_," rejoined mr. stevens, significantly; "come, come--put your scruples in your pocket, and make up your mind to go through with it like a man. when the thing is done, you shall have five thousand dollars in hard cash, and you can go with it where you please. now, what do you think of that?" "ah, squire, the money's a great timptation! but it's an awful job." "no worse than you did for nothing," replied mr. stevens. "but that was in a fair fight, and in hot blood; it isn't like planning to kill a man, squire." "do you call it a fair fight when you steal up behind a man, and break his skull with a slung shot?" asked mr. stevens. mccloskey was unable to answer this, and sat moodily regarding his tempter. "come, make up your mind to it--you might as well," resumed mr. stevens, in a coaxing tone. "ye seem bent on not giving it up, and i suppose i'll have to do it," replied mccloskey, reluctantly; "but what has the man done to ye's, squire, that you're so down upon him?" "oh, he is one of those infernal abolitionists, and one of the very worst kind; he lives with a nigger woman--and, what is more, he is married to her!" "married to a nigger!" exclaimed mccloskey--"it's a quare taste the animal has--but you're not afther killing him for that; there's something more behind: it's not for having a black wife instead of a white one you'd be afther murthering him--ye'll get no stuff like that down me." "no, it is not for that alone, i acknowledge," rejoined mr. stevens, with considerable embarrassment. "he insulted me some time ago, and i want to be revenged upon him." "it's a dear job to insult you, at that rate, squire; but where does he live?" "in my neighbourhood--in fact, next door to me," replied mr. stevens, with an averted face. "howly mother! not away up there--sure it's crazy ye are. what, away up there in the city limits!--why, they would have the police and the sogers at our heels in less than no time. sure, you're out o' your sinses, to have me go up there with a mob. no, no--there's too much risk--i can't try that." "i tell you there shall be no risk," impatiently replied mr. stevens. "it's not to be done to-night, nor to-morrow night; and, when i say do it, you _shall_ do it, and as safely there as anywhere. only come to the conclusion that a thing _must_ be done, and it is half finished already. you have only to make up your mind that you will accomplish a design in spite of obstacles, and what you once thought to be insurmountable difficulties will prove mere straws in your path. but we are wasting time; i've determined you shall do it, and i hope you now know me well enough to be convinced that it is your best policy to be as obliging as possible. you had better go now, and be prepared to meet me to-night at whitticar's." after the door closed upon the retreating form of mccloskey, the careless expression that mr. stevens's countenance had worn during the conversation, gave place to one full of anxiety and apprehension, and he shuddered as he contemplated the fearful length to which he was proceeding. "if i fail," said he--"pshaw! i'll not fail--i must not fail--for failure is worse than ruin; but cool--cool," he continued, sitting down to his desk--"those who work nervously do nothing right." he sat writing uninterruptedly until quite late in the afternoon, when the fading sunlight compelled him to relinquish his pen, and prepare for home. thrusting the papers into his pocket, he hurried toward the newspaper office from which were to emanate, as editorials, the carefully concocted appeals to the passions of the rabble which he had been all the afternoon so busily engaged in preparing. chapter xviii. mr. stevens falls into bad hands. the amiable partner of mr. stevens sat in high dudgeon, at being so long restrained from her favourite beverage by the unusually deferred absence of her husband. at length she was rejoiced by hearing his well-known step as he came through the garden, and the rattle of his latch-key as he opened the door was quite musical in her ears. "i thought you was never coming," said she, querulously, as he entered the room; "i have been waiting tea until i am almost starved." "you needn't have waited a moment, for you will be obliged to eat alone after all; i'm going out. pour me out a cup of tea--i'll drink it whilst i'm dressing; and," continued mr. stevens, "i want you to get me that old brown over-coat and those striped trowsers i used to wear occasionally." "why, you told me," rejoined mrs. stevens, "that you did not require them again, and so i exchanged them for this pair of vases to-day." "the devil you did!" said mr. stevens, angrily; "you let them lie about the house for nearly a year--and now, just as they were likely to be of some service to me, you've sold them. it's just like you--always doing something at the wrong time." "how on earth, stevens, was i to know you wanted them?" "well, there, jule, they're gone; don't let's have any more talk about it. get me another cup of tea; i must go out immediately." after hastily swallowing the second cup, mr. stevens left his home, and walked to an omnibus-station, from whence he was quickly transported to a street in the lower part of the city, in which were a number of second-hand clothing stores. these places were supported principally by the country people who attended the market in the same street, and who fancied that the clothing they purchased at these shops must be cheap, because it was at second-hand. mr. stevens stopped at the door of one of these establishments, and paused to take a slight survey of the premises before entering. the doorway was hung with coats of every fashion of the last twenty years, and all in various stages of decay. some of them looked quite respectable, from much cleaning and patching; and others presented a reckless and forlorn aspect, as their worn and ragged sleeves swung about in the evening air. old hats, some of which were, in all probability, worn at a period anterior to the revolution, kept company with the well-blacked shoes that were ranged on shelves beside the doorway, where they served in the capacity of signs, and fairly indicated the style of goods to be purchased within. seeing that there were no buyers in the store, mr. stevens opened the door, and entered. the sounds of his footsteps drew from behind the counter no less a personage than our redoubtable friend kinch, who, in the absence of his father, was presiding over the establishment. "well, snowball," said mr. stevens, "do you keep this curiosity-shop?" "my name is not snowball, and this ain't a curiosity-shop," replied kinch. "do you want to buy anything?" "i believe i do," answered mr. stevens. "let me look at some coats--one that i can get on--i won't say fit me, i'm indifferent about that--let me see some of the worst you've got." kinch looked surprised at this request from a gentleman of mr. stevens's appearance, and handed out, quite mechanically, a coat that was but slightly worn. "oh, that won't do--i want something like this," said mr. stevens, taking down from a peg a very dilapidated coat, of drab colour, and peculiar cut. what do you ask for this?" "that's not fit for, a gentleman like you, sir," said kinch. "i'm the best judge of that matter," rejoined mr. stevens. "what is the price of it?" "oh, that coat you can have for a dollar," replied kinch. "then i'll take it. now hand out some trowsers." the trowsers were brought; and from a large number mr. stevens selected a pair that suited him. then adding an old hat to his list of purchases, he declared his fit-out complete. "can't you accommodate me with some place where i can put these on?" he asked of kinch; "i'm going to have a little sport with some friends of mine, and i want to wear them." kinch led the way into a back room, where he assisted mr. stevens to array himself in his newly-purchased garments. by the change in his attire he seemed completely robbed of all appearance of respectability; the most disagreeable points of his physique seemed to be brought more prominently forward by the habiliments he had assumed, they being quite in harmony with his villanous countenance. kinch, who looked at him with wonder, was forced to remark, "why, you don't look a bit like a gentleman now, sir." mr. stevens stepped forward, and surveyed himself in the looking-glass. the transformation was complete--surprising even to himself. "i never knew before," said he, mentally, "how far a suit of clothes goes towards giving one the appearance of a gentleman." he now emptied the pockets of the suit he had on;--in so doing, he dropped upon the floor, without observing it, one of the papers. "fold these up," said he, handing to kinch the suit he had just taken off, "and to-morrow bring them to this address." as he spoke, he laid his card upon the counter, and, after paying for his new purchases, walked out of the shop, and bent his steps in the direction of whitticar's tavern. on arriving there, he found the bar-room crowded with half-drunken men, the majority of whom were irishmen, armed with bludgeons of all sizes and shapes. his appearance amongst them excited but little attention, and he remained there some time before he was recognized by the master of the establishment. "by the howly st. patherick i didn't know you, squire; what have you been doing to yourself?" "hist!" cried mr. stevens, putting his fingers to his lips; "i thought it was best to see how matters were progressing, so i've run down for a little while. how are you getting on?" "fine, fine, squire," replied whitticar; "the boys are ripe for anything. they talk of burning down a nigger church." "not to-night--they must not do such a thing to-night--we are not ready for that yet. i've made out a little list--some of the places on it they might have a dash at to-night, just to keep their hands in." as mr. stevens spoke, he fumbled in his pocket for the list in question, and was quite surprised to be unable to discover it. "can't you find it, squire?" asked whitticar. "i must have lost; it on the way," replied mr. stevens. "i am sure i put it in this pocket," and he made another search. "no use--i'll have to give it up," said he, at length; "but where is mccloskey? i haven't seen him since i came in." "he came here this afternoon, very far gone; he had been crooking his elbow pretty frequently, and was so very drunk that i advised him to go home and go to bed; so he took another dram and went away, and i haven't seen him since." "that's bad, very bad--everything goes wrong this evening--i wanted him to-night particularly." "wouldn't the boys go out with you?" suggested whitticar. "no, no; that wouldn't do at all. i mustn't appear in these things. if i'm hauled up for participation, who is to be your lawyer--eh?" "true for you," rejoined whitticar; "and i'll just disperse the crowd as soon as i can, and there will be one peaceable night in the district at any rate." not liking to give directions to the mob personally, and his useful coadjutor mccloskey not being at hand, mr. stevens came to the conclusion he would return to his home, and on the next evening a descent should be made upon the places marked on the list. taking out his watch, he found it would be too late to return to the store where he had purchased his present adornments, so he determined to start for home. the coat that temporarily adorned the person of mr. stevens was of peculiar cut and colour--it was, in fact, rather in the rowdy style, and had, in its pristine state, bedecked the person of a member of a notorious fire company. these gentry had for a long time been the terror of the district in which they roamed, and had rendered themselves highly obnoxious to some of the rival factions on the borders of their own territory; they had the unpleasant habit of pitching into and maltreating, without the slightest provocation, any one whom their practised eyes discovered to be a rival; and by such outrages they had excited in the bosoms of their victims a desire for revenge that only awaited the occasion to manifest itself. mr. stevens, in happy unconsciousness, that, owing to his habiliments, he represented one of the well-known and hated faction, walked on quite leisurely; but, unfortunately for him, his way home lay directly through the camp of their bitterest and most active enemies. standing in front of a tavern-window, through which a bright light shone, were a group of young men, who bestowed upon mr. stevens more than passing attention. "i'm blest," exclaimed one of them, if there ain't a ranger! now that it a saucy piece of business, ain't it! that fellow has come up here to be able to go back and play brag-game." "let's wallop him, then," suggested another, "and teach him better than to come parading himself in our parts. i owe 'em something for the way they served me when i was down in their district." "well, come on," said the first speaker, "or he will get away whilst we are jawing about what we shall do." advancing to mr. stevens, he tapped that gentleman on the shoulder, and said, with mock civility, and in as bland a tone as he could assume, "it's really very obliging of you, mister, to come up here to be flogged--saves us the trouble of coming down to you. we would like to settle with you for that drubbing you gave one of our boys last week." "you must be mistaken," replied mr. stevens: "i don't know anything of the affair to which you allude." "you don't, eh! well, take that, then, to freshen your memory," exclaimed one of the party, at the same time dealing him a heavy blow on the cheek, which made the lamplights around appear to dance about in the most fantastic style. the first impulse of mr. stevens was to cry out for the watchman; but a moment's reflection suggested the impolicy of that project, as he would inevitably be arrested with the rest; and to be brought before a magistrate in his present guise, would have entailed upon him very embarrassing explanations; he therefore thought it best to beg off--to throw himself, as it were, upon their sympathies. "stop, gentlemen--stop--for god's sake, stop," he cried, as soon as he could regain the breath that had been almost knocked out of him by the tremendous blow he had just received--"don't kill an innocent man; upon my honour i never saw you before, nor ever assaulted any of you in my life. my dear friends," he continued, in a dolorous tone, "please let me go--you are quite mistaken: i assure you i am not the man." "no, we ain't mistaken, either: you're one of the rangers; i know you by your coat," replied one of the assaulters. it now flashed upon mr. stevens that he had brought himself into these difficulties, by the assumption of the dress he then wore; he therefore quickly rejoined--"oh, it is not my coat--i only put it on for a joke!" "that's a likely tale," responded one of the party, who looked very incredulous; "i don't believe a word of it. that's some darned stuff you've trumped up, thinking to gammon us--it won't go down; we'll just give you a walloping, if it's only to teach you to wear your own clothes,"--and suiting the action to the word, he commenced pommelling him unmercifully. "help! help!" screamed mr. stevens. "don't kill me, gentlemen,--don't kill me!" "oh! we won't kill you--we'll only come as near it as we can, without quite finishing you," cried one of his relentless tormenters. on hearing this, their victim made a frantic effort to break away, and not succeeding in it, he commenced yelling at the top of his voice. as is usual in such cases, the watchman was nowhere to be seen; and his cries only exasperated his persecutors the more. "hit him in the bread-crusher, and stop his noise," suggested one of the party farthest off from mr. stevens. this piece of advice was carried into immediate effect, and the unfortunate wearer of the obnoxious coat received a heavy blow in the mouth, which cut his lips and knocked out one of his front teeth. his cries now became so loud as to render it necessary to gag him, which was done by one of the party in the most thorough and expeditious manner. they then dragged him into a wheelwright's shop near by, where they obtained some tar, with which they coated his face completely. "oh! don't he look like a nigger!" said one of the party, when they had finished embellishing their victim. "rub some on his hands, and then let him go," suggested another. "when he gets home i guess he'll surprise his mammy: i don't believe his own dog will know him!" a shout of laughter followed this remark, in the midst of which they ungagged mr. stevens and turned him from the door. "now run for it--cut the quickest kind of time," exclaimed one of them, as he gave him a kick to add impetus to his forward movement. this aid was, however, entirely unnecessary, for mr. stevens shot away from the premises like an arrow from a bow; and that, too, without any observation upon the direction in which he was going. as soon as he felt himself out of the reach of his tormentors, he sat down upon the steps of a mansion, to consider what was best to be done. all the shops, and even the taverns, were closed--not a place was open where he could procure the least assistance; he had not even an acquaintance in the neighbourhood to whom he might apply. he was, indeed, a pitiable object to look upon the hat he had so recently purchased, bad as it was when it came into his possession, was now infinitely less presentable. in the severe trials it had undergone, in company with its unfortunate owner, it had lost its tip and half the brim. the countenance beneath it would, however, have absorbed the gazer's whole attention. his lips were swelled to a size that would have been regarded as large even on the face of a congo negro, and one eye was puffed out to an alarming extent; whilst the coating of tar he had received rendered him such an object as the reader can but faintly picture to himself. the door of the mansion was suddenly opened, and there issued forth a party of young men, evidently in an advanced state of intoxication. "hallo! here's a darkey!" exclaimed one of them, as the light from the hall fell upon the upturned face of mr. stevens. "ha, ha! here's a darkey--now for some fun!" mr. stevens was immediately surrounded by half a dozen well-dressed young men, who had evidently been enjoying an entertainment not conducted upon temperance principles. "spirit of--hic--hic--night, whence co-co-comest thou?" stammered one; "sp-p-peak--art thou a creature of the mag-mag-na-tion-goblin-damned, or only a nigger?--speak!" mr. stevens, who at once recognized one or two of the parties as slight acquaintances, would not open his mouth, for fear that his voice might discover him, as to them, above all persons, he would have shrunk from making himself known, he therefore began to make signs as though he were dumb. "let him alone," said one of the more sober of the party; "he's a poor dumb fellow--let him go." his voice was disregarded, however, as the rest seemed bent on having some sport. a half-hogshead, nearly filled with water, which stood upon the edge of the pavement, for the convenience of the builders who were at work next door, caught the attention of one of them. "let's make him jump into this," he exclaimed, at the same time motioning to mr. stevens to that effect. by dint of great effort they made him understand what was required, and they then continued to make him jump in and out of the hogshead for several minutes; then, joining hands, they danced around him, whilst he stood knee-deep in the water, shivering, and making the most imploring motions to be set at liberty. whilst they were thus engaged, the door again opened, and the fashionable mr. morton (who had been one of the guests) descended the steps, and came to see what had been productive of so much mirth. "what have you got here?" he asked, pressing forward, until he saw the battered form of mr. stevens; "oh, let the poor darkey go," he continued, compassionately, for he had just drunk enough to make him feel humane; "let the poor fellow go, it's a shame to treat him in this manner." as he spoke, he endeavoured to take from the hands of one of the party a piece of chip, with which he was industriously engaged in streaking the face of mr. stevens with lime, "let me alone, morton--let me alone; i'm making a white man of him, i'm going to make him a glorious fellow-citizen, and have him run for congress. let me alone, i say." mr. morton was able, however, after some persuasion, to induce the young men to depart; and as his home lay in a direction opposite to theirs, he said to mr. stevens, "come on, old fellow, i'll protect you." as soon as they were out of hearing of the others, mr. stevens exclaimed, "don't you know me, morton?" mr. morton started back with surprise, and looked at his companion in a bewildered manner, then exclaimed, "no, i'll be hanged if i do. who the devil are you?" "i'm stevens; you know me." "indeed i don't. who's stevens?" "you don't know me! why, i'm george stevens, the lawyer." mr. morton thought that he now recognized the voice, and as they were passing under the lamp at the time, mr. stevens said to him, "put your finger on my face, and you will soon see it is only tar." mr. morton did as he was desired, and found his finger smeared with the sticky article. "what on earth have you been doing with yourself?" he asked, with great surprise; "what is all this masquerading for?" mr. stevens hereupon related his visit at whitticar's, and detailed the events that had subsequently occurred. mr. morton gave vent to shouts of laughter as he listened to the recital of his friend. "by george!" he exclaimed, "i'll have to tell that; it is too good to keep." "oh, no, don't," said mr. stevens; "that won't do--you forget what i came out for?" "true," rejoined mr. morton; "i suppose it will be best to keep mum about it. i'll go home with you, you might fall into the hands of the philistines again." "thank you--thank you," replied mr. stevens, who felt greatly relieved to have some company for his further protection; "and," continued he, "if i could only get some of this infernal stuff off my face, i should be so glad; let us try." accordingly they stopped at the nearest pump, and endeavoured to remove some of the obnoxious tar from his face; but, unfortunately, the only result obtained by their efforts was to rub it more thoroughly in, so they were compelled to give up in despair, and hasten onward. mr. stevens rang so loudly at the door, as to quite startle his wife and the charity-girl, both of whom had fallen into a sound sleep, as they sat together awaiting his return. mr. morton, who, as we have said before, was not entirely sober, was singing a popular melody, and keeping time upon the door with the head of his cane. now, in all her life, mrs. stevens had never heard her husband utter a note, and being greatly frightened at the unusual noise upon the door-step, held a hurried consultation with the charity-girl upon the best mode of proceeding. "call through the key-hole, ma'am," suggested she, which advice mrs. stevens immediately followed, and inquired, "who's there?" "open the door, jule, don't keep me out here with your darned nonsense; let me in quick." "yes, let him in," added mr. morton; "he's brought a gentleman from africa with him." mrs. stevens did not exactly catch the purport of the words uttered by mr. morton; and, therefore, when she opened the door, and her husband, with his well-blacked face, stalked into the entry, she could not repress a scream of fright at the hideous figure he presented. "hush, hush," he exclaimed, "don't arouse the neighbours--it's me; don't you know my voice." mrs. stevens stared at him in a bewildered manner, and after bidding mr. morton "good night," she closed and locked the door, and followed her husband into the back room. in a short time he recapitulated the events of the night to his astonished and indignant spouse, who greatly commiserated his misfortunes. a bottle of sweet oil was brought into requisition, and she made a lengthened effort to remove the tar from her husband's face, in which she only partially succeeded; and it was almost day when he crawled off to bed, with the skin half scraped off from his swollen face. chapter xix. the alarm. immediately after the departure of mr. stevens, master kinch began to consider the propriety of closing the establishment for the night. sliding down from the counter, where he had been seated, reflecting upon the strange conduct of his recent customer, he said, "i feels rather queer round about here," laying his hand upon his stomach; "and i'm inclined to think that some of them 'ere jersey sausages and buckwheat cakes that the old man has been stuffing himself with, wouldn't go down slow. rather shabby in him not to come back, and let me go home, and have a slap at the wittles. i expect nothing else, but that he has eat so much, that he's fell asleep at the supper-table, and won't wake up till bedtime. he's always serving me that same trick." the old man thus alluded to was no other than master kinch's father, who had departed from the shop two or three hours previously, promising to return immediately after tea. this promise appeared to have entirely faded from his recollection, as he was at that moment, as kinch had supposed, fast asleep, and totally oblivious of the fact that such a person as his hungry descendant was in existence. having fully come to the conclusion to suspend operations for the evening, kinch made two or three excursions into the street, returning each time laden with old hats, coats, and shoes. these he deposited on the counter without order or arrangement, muttering, as he did so, that the old man could sort 'em out in the morning to suit himself. the things being all brought from the street, he had only to close the shutters, which operation was soon effected, and our hungry friend on his way home. the next morning mr. de younge (for the father of kinch rejoiced in that aristocratic cognomen) was early at his receptacle for old clothes, and it being market-day, he anticipated doing a good business. the old man leisurely took down the shutters, assorted and hung out the old clothes, and was busily engaged in sweeping out the store, when his eye fell upon the paper dropped by mr. stevens the evening previous. "what's dis 'ere," said he, stooping to pick it up; "bill or suthin' like it, i s'pose. what a trial 'tis not to be able to read writin'; don't know whether 'tis worth keeping or not; best save it though till dat ar boy of mine comes, _he_ can read it--he's a scholar. ah, de children now-a-days has greater 'vantages than deir poor fathers had." whilst he was thus soliloquizing, his attention was arrested by the noise of footsteps in the other part of the shop, and looking up, he discerned the tall form of mr. walters. "why, bless me," said the old man, "dis is an early visit; where you come from, honey, dis time o' day?" "oh, i take a walk every morning, to breathe a little of the fresh air; it gives one an appetite for breakfast, you know. you'll let me take the liberty of sitting on your counter, won't you?" he continued; "i want to read a little article in a newspaper i have just purchased." assent being readily given, mr. walters was soon perusing the journal with great attention; at last he tossed it from him in an impatient manner, and exclaimed, "of all lying rascals, i think the reporters for this paper are the greatest. now, for instance, three or four nights since, a gang of villains assaulted one of my tenants--a coloured man--upon his own doorstep, and nearly killed him, and that, too, without the slightest provocation; they then set fire to the house, which was half consumed before it could be extinguished; and it is here stated that the coloured people were the aggressors, and whilst they were engaged in the _melee_, the house caught fire accidentally." "yes," rejoined mr. de younge; "things are gitting mighty critical even in dese 'ere parts; and i wouldn't live furder down town if you was to give me a house rent-free. why, it's raly dangerous to go home nights down dere." "and there is no knowing how long we may be any better off up here," continued mr. walters; "the authorities don't seem to take the least notice of them, and the rioters appear to be having it all their own way." they continued conversing upon the topic for some time, mr. de younge being meanwhile engaged in sponging and cleaning some coats he had purchased the day before; in so doing, he was obliged to remove the paper he had picked up from the floor, and it occurred to him to ask mr. walters to read it; he therefore handed it to him, saying-- "jist read dat, honey, won't you? i want to know if it's worth savin'. i've burnt up two or three receipts in my life, and had de bills to pay over; and i'se got rale careful, you know. 'taint pleasant to pay money twice over for de same thing." mr. walters took the paper extended to him, and, after glancing over it, remarked, "this handwriting is very familiar to me, very; but whose it is, i can't say; it appears to be a list of addresses, or something of that kind." and he read over various names of streets, and numbers of houses. "why," he exclaimed, with a start of surprise, "here is my own house upon the list, , easton-street; then here is , christian-street; here also are numbers in baker-street, bedford-street, sixth, seventh, and eighth streets; in some of which houses i know coloured people live, for one or two of them are my own. this is a strange affair." as he spoke, he turned over the paper, and read on the other side,--"places to be attacked." "why, this looks serious," he continued, with some excitement of manner. "'places to be attacked,'--don't that seem to you as if it might be a list of places for these rioters to set upon? i really must look into this. who could have left it here?" "i raly don't know," replied the old man. "kinch told me suthin' last night about some gemman comin' here and changing his clothes; p'raps 'twas him. i'd like to know who 'twas myself. well, wait awhile, my boy will come in directly; maybe he can explain it." he had scarcely finished speaking, when master kinch made his appearance, with his hat, as usual, placed upon nine hairs, and his mouth smeared with the eggs and bacon with which he had been "staying and comforting" himself. he took off his hat on perceiving mr. walters, and, with great humility, "hoped that gentleman was well." "yes, very well, kinch," replied mr. walters. "we were waiting for you. can you tell where this came from?" he asked, handing him the mysterious paper. "never seen it before, that i know of," replied kinch, after a short inspection. "well, who was here last night?" asked his father; "you said you sold suthin'?" "so i did," replied kinch; "sold a whole suit; and the gentleman who put it on said he was going out for a lark. he was changing some papers from his pocket: perhaps he dropped it. i'm to take this suit back to him to-day. here is his card." "by heavens!" exclaimed mr. walters, after looking at the card, "i know the fellow,--george stevens, 'slippery george,'--every one knows him, and can speak no good of him either. now i recognize the handwriting of the list; i begin to suspect something wrong by seeing his name in connection with this." hereupon kinch was subjected to a severe cross-examination, which had the effect of deepening mr. walters's impression, that some plot was being concocted that would result to the detriment of the coloured people; for he was confident that no good could be indicated by the mysterious conduct of mr. stevens. after some deliberation, kinch received instructions to take home the clothes as directed, and to have his eyes about him; and if he saw or heard anything, he was to report it. in accordance with his instructions, master kinch made several journeys to mr. stevens's office, but did not succeed in finding that gentleman within; the last trip he made there fatigued him to such a degree, that he determined to wait his arrival, as he judged, from the lateness of the hour, that, if it was his intention to come at all that day, he would soon be there. "i'll sit down here," said kinch, who espied an old box in the back part of the entry, "and give myself a little time to blow." he had not sat long before he heard footsteps on the stairs, and presently the sound of voices became quite audible. "that's him," ejaculated kinch, as mr. stevens was heard saying, in an angry tone,--"yes; and a devil of a scrape i got into by your want of sobriety. had you followed my directions, and met me at whitticar's, instead of getting drunk as a beast, and being obliged to go home to bed, it wouldn't have happened." "well, squire," replied mccloskey, for he was the person addressed by mr. stevens, "a man can't be expected always to keep sober." "he ought to when he has business before him," rejoined mr. stevens, sharply; "how the devil am i to trust you to do anything of importance, when i can't depend on your keeping sober a day at a time? come up to this top landing," continued he, "and listen to me, if you think you are sober enough to comprehend what i say to you." they now approached, and stood within a few feet of the place where kinch was sitting, and mr. stevens said, with a great deal of emphasis, "now, i want you to pay the strictest attention to what i say. i had a list of places made out for you last night, but, somehow or other, i lost it. but that is neither here nor there. this is what i want you to attend to particularly. don't attempt anything to-night; you can't get a sufficient number of the boys together; but, when you do go, you are to take, first, christian-street, between eleventh and twelfth,--there are several nigger families living in that block. smash in their windows, break their furniture, and, if possible, set one of the houses on fire, and that will draw attention to that locality whilst you are operating elsewhere. by that time, the boys will be ripe for anything. then you had better go to a house in easton-street, corner of shotwell: there is a rich nigger living there whose plunder is worth something. i owe him an old grudge, and i want you to pay it off for me." "you keep me pretty busy paying your debts. what's the name of this rich nigger?" "walters," replied mr. stevens; "everybody knows him. now about that other affair." here he whispered so low, that kinch could only learn they were planning an attack on the house of some one, but failed in discovering the name. mccloskey departed as soon as he had received full directions from mr. stevens, and his retreating steps might be still heard upon the stairs, when mr. stevens unlocked his office-door and entered. after giving him sufficient time to get quietly seated, kinch followed, and delivered the clothes left with him the evening previous. he was very much struck with mr. stevens's altered appearance, and, in fact, would not have recognized him, but for his voice. "you don't seem to be well?" remarked kinch, inquiringly. "no, i'm not," he replied, gruffly; "i've caught cold." as kinch was leaving the office, he called after him, "did you find a paper in your shop this morning?" "no, sir," replied kinch, "_i didn't_;" but mentally he observed, "my daddy did though;" and, fearful of some other troublesome question, he took leave immediately. fatigued and out of breath, kinch arrived at the house of mr. walters, where he considered it best to go and communicate what he had learned. mr. walters was at dinner when he received from the maid a summons to the parlour to see a lad, who said his business was a matter "of life or death." he was obliged to smile at the air of importance with which kinch commenced the relation of what he had overheard--but the smile gave place to a look of anxiety and indignation long ere he had finished, and at the conclusion of the communication he was highly excited and alarmed. "the infernal scoundrel!" exclaimed mr. walters. "are you sure it was my house?" "yes, sure," was kinch's reply. "you are the only coloured person living in the square--and he said plain enough for anybody to understand, 'easton-street, corner of shotwell.' i heard every word but what they said towards the last in a whisper." "you couldn't catch anything of it?" asked mr. walters. "no, i missed that; they talked too low for me to hear." after reflecting a few moments, mr. walters said: "not a word of this is to be lisped anywhere except with my permission, and by my direction. have you had your dinner?" "no, sir," was the prompt reply. "i want to despatch a note to mr. ellis, by you, if it won't trouble you too much. can you oblige me?" "oh, yes, sir, by all means," replied kinch, "i'll go there with pleasure." "then whilst i'm writing," continued mr. walters, "you can be eating your dinner, that will economize time, you know." kinch followed the servant who answered the bell into the dining-room which mr. walters had just left. on being supplied with a knife and fork, he helped himself bountifully to the roast duck, then pouring out a glass of wine, he drank with great enthusiasm, to "our honoured self," which proceeding caused infinite amusement to the two servants who were peeping at him through the dining-room door. "der-licious," exclaimed kinch, depositing his glass upon the table; "guess i'll try another;" and suiting the action to the word, he refilled his glass, and dispatched its contents in the wake of the other. having laboured upon the duck until his appetite was somewhat appeased, he leant back in his chair and suffered his plate to be changed for another, which being done, he made an attack upon a peach pie, and nearly demolished it outright. this last performance brought his meal to a conclusion, and with a look of weariness, he remarked, "i don't see how it is--but as soon as i have eat for a little while my appetite is sure to leave me--now i can't eat a bit more. but the worst thing is walking down to mr. ellis's. i don't feel a bit like it, but i suppose i must;" and reluctantly rising from the table, he returned to the parlour, where he found mr. walters folding the note he had promised to deliver. as soon as he had despatched kinch on his errand, mr. walters put on his hat and walked to the office of the mayor. "is his honour in?" he asked of one of the police, who was lounging in the anteroom. "yes, he is--what do you want with him?" asked the official, in a rude tone. "that, sir, is none of your business," replied mr. walters; "if the mayor is in, hand him this card, and say i wish to see him." somewhat awed by mr. walters's dignified and decided manner, the man went quickly to deliver his message, and returned with an answer that his honour would be obliged to mr. walters if he would step into his office. on following the officer, he was ushered into a small room--the private office of the chief magistrate of the city. "take a seat, sir," said the mayor, politely, "it is some time since we have met. i think i had the pleasure of transacting business with you quite frequently some years back if i am not mistaken." "you are quite correct," replied mr. walters, "and being so favourably impressed by your courtesy on the occasions to which you refer, i have ventured to intrude upon you with a matter of great importance, not only to myself, but i think i may say to the public generally. since this morning, circumstances have come under my notice that leave no doubt on my mind that a thoroughly-concerted plan is afoot for the destruction of the property of a large number of our coloured citizens--mine amongst the rest. you must be aware," he continued, "that many very serious disturbances have occurred lately in the lower part of the city." "yes, i've heard something respecting it," replied the mayor, "but i believe they were nothing more than trifling combats between the negroes and the whites in that vicinity." "oh, no, sir! i assure you," rejoined mr. walters, "they were and are anything but trifling. i regard them, however, as only faint indications of what we may expect if the thing is not promptly suppressed; there is an organized gang of villains, who are combined for the sole purpose of mobbing us coloured citizens; and, as we are inoffensive, we certainly deserve protection; and here," continued mr. walters, "is a copy of the list of places upon which it is rumoured an attack is to be made." "i really don't see how i'm to prevent it, mr. walters; with the exception of your own residence, all that are here enumerated are out of my jurisdiction. i can send two or three police for your protection if you think it necessary. but i really can't see my way clear to do anything further." "two or three police!" said mr. walters, with rising indignation at the apathy and indifference the mayor exhibited; "they would scarcely be of any more use than as many women. if that is the extent of the aid you can afford me, i must do what i can to protect myself." "i trust your fears lead you to exaggerate the danger," said the mayor, as mr. walters arose to depart; "perhaps it is _only_ rumour after all." "i might have flattered myself with the same idea, did i not feel convinced by what has so recently occurred but a short distance from my own house; at any rate, if i am attacked, they will find i am not unprepared. good day," and bowing courteously to the mayor, mr. walters departed. chapter xx. the attack. mr. walters lost no time in sending messengers to the various parties threatened by the mob, warning them either to leave their houses or to make every exertion for a vigorous defence. few, however, adopted the latter extremity; the majority fled from their homes, leaving what effects they could not carry away at the mercy of the mob, and sought an asylum in the houses of such kindly-disposed whites as would give them shelter. although the authorities of the district had received the most positive information of the nefarious schemes of the rioters, they had not made the slightest efforts to protect the poor creatures threatened in their persons and property, but let the tide of lawlessness flow on unchecked. throughout the day parties of coloured people might have been seen hurrying to the upper part of the city: women with terror written on their faces, some with babes in their arms and children at their side, hastening to some temporary place of refuge, in company with men who were bending beneath the weight of household goods. mr. walters had converted his house into a temporary fortress: the shutters of the upper windows had been loop-holed, double bars had been placed across the doors and windows on the ground floor, carpets had been taken up, superfluous furniture removed, and an air of thorough preparation imparted. a few of mr. walters's male friends had volunteered their aid in defence of his house, and their services had been accepted. mr. ellis, whose house was quite indefensible (it being situated in a neighbourhood swarming with the class of which the mob was composed), had decided on bringing his family to the house of mr. walters, and sharing with him the fortunes of the night, his wife and daughters having declared they would feel as safe there as elsewhere; and, accordingly, about five in the afternoon, mrs. ellis came up, accompanied by kinch and the girls. caddy and kinch, who brought up the rear, seemed very solicitous respecting the safety of a package that the latter bore in his arms. "what have you there?" asked mr. walters, with a smile; "it must be powder, or some other explosive matter, you take such wonderful pains for its preservation. come, caddy, tell us what it is; is it powder?" "no, mr. walters, it isn't powder," she replied; "it's nothing that will blow the house up or burn it down." "what is it, then? you tell us, kinch." "just do, if you think best," said caddy, giving him a threatening glance; whereupon, master kinch looked as much as to say, "if you were to put me on the rack you couldn't get a word out of me." "i suppose i shall have to give you up," said mr. walters at last; "but don't stand here in the entry; come up into the drawing-room." mrs. ellis and esther followed him upstairs, and stood at the door of the drawing-room surveying the preparations for defence that the appearance of the room so abundantly indicated. guns were stacked in the corner, a number of pistols lay upon the mantelpiece, and a pile of cartridges was heaped up beside a small keg of powder that stood upon the table opposite the fire-place. "dear me!" exclaimed mrs. ellis, "this looks dreadful; it almost frightens me out of my wits to see so many dangerous weapons scattered about." "and how does it affect our quiet esther?" asked mr. walters. "it makes me wish i were a man," she replied, with considerable vehemence of manner. all started at this language from one of her usually gentle demeanour. "why, esther, how you talk, girl: what's come over you?" "talk!" replied she. "i say nothing that i do not feel. as we came through the streets to-day, and i saw so many inoffensive creatures, who, like ourselves, have never done these white wretches the least injury,--to see them and us driven from our homes by a mob of wretches, who can accuse us of nothing but being darker than themselves,--it takes all the woman out of my bosom, and makes me feel like a----" here esther paused, and bit her lip to prevent the utterance of a fierce expression that hovered on the tip of her tongue. she then continued: "one poor woman in particular i noticed: she had a babe in her arms, poor thing, and was weeping bitterly because she knew of no place to go to seek for shelter or protection. a couple of white men stood by jeering and taunting her. i felt as though i could have strangled them: had i been a man, i would have attacked them on the spot, if i had been sure they would have killed me the next moment." "hush! esther, hush! my child; you must not talk so, it sounds unwomanly--unchristian. why, i never heard you talk so before." esther made no reply, but stood resting her forehead upon the mantelpiece. her face was flushed with excitement, and her dark eyes glistened like polished jet. mr. walters stood regarding her for a time with evident admiration, and then said, "you are a brave one, after my own heart." esther hung down her head, confused by the ardent look he cast upon her, as he continued, "you have taken me by surprise; but it's always the way with you quiet people; events like these bring you out--seem to change your very natures, as it were. we must look out," said he, with a smile, turning to one of the young men, "or miss ellis will excel us all in courage. i shall expect great things from her if we are attacked to-night." "don't make a jest of me, mr. walters," said esther, and as she spoke her eyes moistened and her lip quivered with vexation. "no, no, my dear girl, don't misunderstand me," replied he, quickly; "nothing was farther from my thoughts. i truly meant all that i said. i believe you to be a brave girl." "if you really think so," rejoined esther, "prove it by showing me how to load these." as she spoke she took from the mantel one of the pistols that were lying there, and turned it over to examine it. "oh! put that down, esther, put that down immediately," almost screamed mrs. ellis; "what with your speeches and your guns you'll quite set me crazy; do take it from her, walters; it will certainly go off." "there's not the least danger, ellen," he replied; "there's nothing in it." "well, i'm afraid of guns, loaded or unloaded; they are dangerous, all of them, whether they have anything in them or not. do you hear me, esther; do put that down and come out of here." "oh, no, mother," said she, "do let me remain; there, i'll lay the pistols down and won't touch them again whilst you are in the room." "you may safely leave her in my hands," interposed mr. walters. "if she wants to learn, let her; it won't injure her in the least, i'll take care of that." this assurance somewhat quieted mrs. ellis, who left the room and took up her quarters in another apartment. "now, mr. walters," said esther, taking off her bonnet, i'm quite in earnest about learning to load these pistols, and i wish you to instruct me. you may be hard pressed tonight, and unable to load for yourselves, and in such an emergency i could perhaps be of great use to you." "but, my child," replied he, "to be of use in the manner you propose, you would be compelled to remain in quite an exposed situation." "i am aware of that," calmly rejoined esther. "and still you are not afraid?" he asked, in surprise. "why should i be; i shall not be any more exposed than you or my father." "that's enough--i'll teach you. look here," said mr. walters, "observe how i load this." esther gave her undivided attention to the work before her, and when he had finished, she took up another pistol and loaded it with a precision and celerity that would have reflected honour on a more practised hand. "well done!--capital!" exclaimed mr. walters, as she laid down the weapon. "you'll do, my girl; as i said before, you are one after my own heart. now, whilst you are loading the rest, i will go downstairs, where i have some little matters to attend to." on the stair-way he was met by kinch and caddy, who were tugging up a large kettle of water. "is it possible, caddy," asked mr. walters, "that your propensity to dabble in soap and water has overcome you even at this critical time? you certainly can't be going to scrub?" "no, i'm not going to scrub," she replied, "nor do anything like it. we've got our plans, haven't we, kinch?" "let's hear what your plans are. i'd like to be enlightened a little, if convenient," said mr. walters. "well, it's _not_ convenient, mr. walters, so you need not expect to hear a word about them. you'd only laugh if we were to tell you, so we're going to keep it to ourselves, ain't we, kinch?" the latter, thus appealed to, put on an air of profound mystery, and intimated that if they were permitted to pursue the even tenor of their way, great results might be expected; but if they were balked in their designs, he could not answer for the consequences. "you and esther have your plans," resumed caddy, "and we have ours. we don't believe in powder and shot, and don't want anything to do with guns; for my part i'm afraid of them, so please let us go by--do, now, that's a good soul!" "you seem to forget that i'm the commander of this fortress," said mr. walters, "and that i have a right to know everything that transpires within it; but i see you look obstinate, and as i haven't time to settle the matter now, you may pass on. i wonder what they can be about," he remarked, as they hurried on. "i must steal up by-and-by and see for myself." one after another the various friends of mr. walters came in, each bringing some vague report of the designs of the mob. they all described the excitement as growing more intense; that the houses of various prominent abolitionists had been threatened; that an attempt had been made to fire one of the coloured churches; and that, notwithstanding the rioters made little scruple in declaring their intentions, the authorities were not using the slightest effort to restrain them, or to protect the parties threatened. day was fast waning, and the approaching night brought with it clouds and cold. whilst they had been engaged in their preparations for defence, none had time to reflect upon the danger of their situation; but now that all was prepared, and there was nothing to sustain the excitement of the last few hours, a chill crept over the circle who were gathered round the fire. there were no candles burning, and the uncertain glow from the grate gave a rather weird-like look to the group. the arms stacked in the corner of the room, and the occasional glitter of the pistol-barrels as the flames rose and fell, gave the whole a peculiarly strange effect. "we look belligerent enough, i should think," remarked mr. walters, looking around him. "i wish we were well out of this: it's terrible to be driven to these extremities--but we are not the aggressors, thank god! and the results, be they what they may, are not of our seeking. i have a right to defend my own: i have asked protection of the law, and it is too weak, or too indifferent, to give it; so i have no alternative but to protect myself. but who is here? it has grown so dark in the room that i can scarcely distinguish any one. where are all the ladies?" "none are here except myself," answered esther; "all the rest are below stairs." "and where are you? i hear, but can't see you; give me your hand," said he, extending his own in the direction from which her voice proceeded. "how cold your hand is," he continued; "are you frightened?" "frightened!" she replied; "i never felt calmer in my life--put your finger on my pulse." mr. walters did as he was desired, and exclaimed, "steady as a clock. i trust nothing may occur before morning to cause it to beat more hurriedly." "let us put some wood on these coals," suggested mr. ellis; "it will make a slight blaze, and give us a chance to see each other." as he spoke he took up a few small fagots and cast them upon the fire. the wood snapped and crackled, as the flames mounted the chimney and cast a cheerful glow upon the surrounding objects: suddenly a thoroughly ignited piece flew off from the rest and fell on the table in the midst of the cartridges. "run for your lives!" shrieked one of the party. "the powder! the powder!" simultaneously they nearly all rushed to the door. mr. walters stood as one petrified. esther alone, of the whole party, retained her presence of mind; springing forward, she grasped the blazing fragment and dashed it back again into the grate. all this passed in a few seconds, and in the end esther was so overcome with excitement and terror, that she fainted outright. hearing no report, those who had fled cautiously returned, and by their united efforts she was soon restored to consciousness. "what a narrow escape!" said she, trembling, and covering her face with her hands; "it makes me shudder to think of it." "we owe our lives to you, my brave girl," said mr. walters; "your presence of mind has quite put us all to the blush." "oh! move the powder some distance off, or the same thing may happen again. please do move it, mr. walters; i shall have no peace whilst it is there." whilst they were thus engaged, a loud commotion was heard below stairs, and with one accord all started in the direction from whence the noise proceeded. "bring a light! bring a light!" cried mrs. ellis; "something dreadful has happened." a light was soon procured, and the cause of this second alarm fully ascertained. master kinch, in his anxiety to give himself as warlike an appearance as possible, had added to his accoutrements an old sword that he had discovered in an out-of-the-way corner of the garret. not being accustomed to weapons of this nature, he had been constantly getting it between his legs, and had already been precipitated by it down a flight of steps, to the imminent risk of his neck. undaunted, however, by this mishap, he had clung to it with wonderful tenacity, until it had again caused a disaster the noise of which had brought all parties into the room where it had occurred. the light being brought, master kinch crawled out from under a table with his head and back covered with batter, a pan of which had been overturned upon him, in consequence of his having been tripped up by his sword and falling violently against the table on which it stood. "i said you had better take that skewer off," exclaimed caddy: "it's a wonder it hasn't broke your neck before now; but you are such a goose you would wear it," said she, surveying her aide-de-camp with derision, as he vainly endeavoured to scrape the batter from his face. "please give me some water," cried kinch, looking from one to the other of the laughing group: "help a feller to get it off, can't you--it's all in my eyes, and the yeast is blinding me." the only answer to this appeal was an additional shout of laughter, without the slightest effort for his relief. at last caddy, taking compassion upon his forlorn condition, procured a basin of water, and assisted him to wash from his woolly pate what had been intended for the next day's meal. "this is the farce after what was almost a tragedy," said mr. walters, as they ascended the stairs again; "i wonder what we shall have next!" they all returned to their chairs by the drawing-room fire after this occurrence, and remained in comparative silence for some time, until loud cries of "fire! fire!" startled them from their seats. "the whole of the lower part of the city appears to be in a blaze," exclaimed one of the party who had hastened to the window; "look at the flames--they are ascending from several places. they are at their work; we may expect them here soon." "well, they'll find us prepared when they do come," rejoined mr. walters. "what do you propose?" asked mr. ellis. "are we to fire on them at once, or wait for their attack?" "wait for their attack, by all means," said he, in reply;--"if they throw stones, you'll find plenty in that room with which to return the compliment; if they resort to fire-arms, then we will do the same; i want to be strictly on the defensive--but at the same time we must defend ourselves fully and energetically." in about an hour after this conversation a dull roar was heard in the distance, which grew louder and nearer every moment. "hist!" said esther; "do you hear that noise? listen! isn't that the mob coming?" mr. walters opened the shutter, and then the sound became more distinct. on they came, nearer and nearer, until the noise of their voices became almost deafening. there was something awful in the appearance of the motley crowd that, like a torrent, foamed and surged through the streets. some were bearing large pine torches that filled the air with thick smoke and partially lighted up the surrounding gloom. most of them were armed with clubs, and a few with guns and pistols. as they approached the house, there seemed to be a sort of consultation between the ringleaders, for soon after every light was extinguished, and the deafening yells of "kill the niggers!" "down with the abolitionists!" were almost entirely stilled. "i wonder what that means," said mr. walters, who had closed the shutter, and was surveying, through an aperture that had been cut, the turbulent mass below. "look out for something soon." he had scarcely finished speaking, when a voice in the street cried, "one--two--three!" and immediately there followed a volley of missiles, crushing in the windows of the chamber above, and rattling upon the shutters of the room in which the party of defenders were gathered. a yell then went up from the mob, followed by another shower of stones. "it is now our turn," said mr. walters, coolly. "four of you place yourselves at the windows of the adjoining room; the rest remain here. when you see a bright light reflected on the crowd below, throw open the shutters, and hurl down stones as long as the light is shining. now, take your places, and as soon as you are prepared stamp upon the floor." each of the men now armed themselves with two or more of the largest stones they could find, from the heap that had been provided for the occasion; and in a few seconds a loud stamping upon the floor informed mr. walters that all was ready. he now opened the aperture in the shutter, and placed therein a powerful reflecting light which brought the shouting crowd below clearly into view, and in an instant a shower of heavy stones came crashing down upon their upturned faces. yells of rage and agony ascended from the throng, who, not seeing any previous signs of life in the house, had no anticipation of so prompt and severe a response to their attack. for a time they swayed to and fro, bewildered by the intense light and crushing shower of stones that had so suddenly fallen upon them. those in the rear, however, pressing forward, did not permit the most exposed to retire out of reach of missiles from the house; on perceiving which, mr. walters again turned the light upon them, and immediately another stony shower came rattling down, which caused a precipitate retreat. "the house is full of niggers!--the house is full of niggers!" cried several voices--"shoot them! kill them!" and immediately several shots were fired at the window by the mob below. "don't fire yet," said mr. walters to one of the young men who had his hand upon a gun. "stop awhile. when we do fire, let it be to some purpose--let us make sure that some one is hit." whilst they were talking, two or three bullets pierced the shutters, and flattened themselves upon the ceiling above. "those are rifle bullets," remarked one of the young men--"do let us fire." "it is too great a risk to approach the windows at present; keep quiet for a little while; and, when the light is shown again, fire. but, hark!" continued he, "they are trying to burst open the door. we can't reach them there without exposing ourselves, and if they should get into the entry it would be hard work to dislodge them." "let us give them a round; probably it will disperse those farthest off--and those at the door will follow," suggested one of the young men. "we'll try it, at any rate," replied walters. "take your places, don't fire until i show the light--then pick your man, and let him have it. there is no use to fire, you know, unless you hit somebody. are you ready?" he asked. "yes," was the prompt reply. "then here goes," said he, turning the light upon the crowd below--who, having some experience in what would follow, did their best to get out of reach; but they were too late--for the appearance of the light was followed by the instantaneous report of several guns which did fearful execution amidst the throng of ruffians. two or three fell on the spot, and were carried off by their comrades with fearful execrations. the firing now became frequent on both sides, and esther's services came into constant requisition. it was in vain that her father endeavoured to persuade her to leave the room; notwithstanding the shutters had been thrown open to facilitate operations from within and the exposure thereby greatly increased, she resolutely refused to retire, and continued fearlessly to load the guns and hand them to the men. "they've got axes at work upon the door, if they are not dislodged, they'll cut their way in," exclaimed one of the young men--"the stones are exhausted, and i don't know what we shall do." just then the splash of water was heard, followed by shrieks of agony. "oh, god! i'm scalded! i'm scalded!" cried one of the men upon the steps. "take me away! take me away!" in the midst of his cries another volume of scalding water came pouring down upon the group at the door, which was followed by a rush from the premises. "what is that--who could have done that--where has that water come from?" asked mr. walters, as he saw the seething shower pass the window, and fall upon the heads below. "i must go and see." he ran upstairs, and found kinch and caddy busy putting on more water, they having exhausted one kettle-full--into which they had put two or three pounds of cayenne pepper--on the heads of the crowd below. "we gave 'em a settler, didn't we, mr. walters?" asked caddy, as he entered the room. "it takes us; we fight with hot water. this," said she, holding up a dipper, "is my gun. i guess we made 'em squeal." "you've done well, caddy," replied he--"first-rate, my girl. i believe you've driven them off entirely," he continued, peeping out of the window. "they are going off, at any rate," said he, drawing in his head; "whether they will return or not is more than i can say. keep plenty of hot water, ready, but don't expose yourselves, children. weren't you afraid to go to the window?" he asked. "we didn't go near it. look at this," replied caddy, fitting a broom handle into the end of a very large tin dipper. "kinch cut this to fit; so we have nothing to do but to stand back here, dip up the water, and let them have it; the length of the handle keeps us from being seen from the street. that was kinch's plan." "and a capital one it was too. your head, kinch, evidently has no batter within, if it has without; there is a great deal in that. keep a bright look out," continued mr. walters; "i'm going downstairs. if they come again, let them have plenty of your warm pepper-sauce." on returning to the drawing-room, mr. walters found mr. dennis, one of the company, preparing to go out. "i'm about to avail myself of the advantage afforded by my fair complexion, and play the spy," said he. "they can't discern at night what i am, and i may be able to learn some of their plans." "a most excellent idea," said mr. walters; "but pray be careful. you may meet some one who will recognise you." "never fear," replied mr. dennis. "i'll keep a bright look out for that." and, drawing his cap far down over his eyes, to screen his face as much as possible, he sallied out into the street. he had not been absent more than a quarter of an hour, when he returned limping into the house. "have they attacked you--are you hurt?" asked the anxious group by which he was surrounded. "i'm hurt-, but not by them. i got on very well, and gleaned a great deal of information, when i heard a sudden exclamation, and, on looking round, i found myself recognized by a white man of my acquaintance. i ran immediately; and whether i was pursued or not, i'm unable to say. i had almost reached here, when my foot caught in a grating and gave my ancle such a wrench that i'm unable to stand." as he spoke, his face grew pale from the suffering the limb was occasioning. "i'm sorry, very sorry," he continued, limping to the sofa; "i was going out again immediately. they intend making an attack on mr. garie's house: i didn't hear his name mentioned, but i heard one of the men, who appeared to be a ringleader, say, 'we're going up to winter-street, to give a coat of tar and feathers to a white man, who is married to a nigger woman.' they can allude to none but him. how annoying that this accident should have happened just now, of all times. they ought to be warned." "oh, poor emily!" cried esther, bursting into tears; "it will kill her, i know it will; she is so ill. some one must go and warn them. let me try; the mob, even if i met them, surely would not assault a woman." "you mustn't think of such a thing, esther," exclaimed mr. walters; "the idea isn't to be entertained for a moment. you don't know what ruthless wretches they are. your colour discovered you would find your sex but a trifling protection. i'd go, but it would be certain death to me: my black face would quickly obtain for me a passport to another world if i were discovered in the street just now." "i'll go," calmly spoke mr. ellis. "i can't rest here and think of what they are exposed to. by skulking through bye-streets and keeping under the shadows of houses i may escape observation--at any rate, i must run the risk." and he began to button up his coat. "don't let your mother know i'm gone; stick by her, my girl," said he, kissing esther; "trust in god,--he'll protect me." esther hung sobbing on her father's neck. "oh, father, father," said she, "i couldn't bear to see you go for any one but emily and the children." "i know it, dear," he replied; "it's my duty. garie would do the same for me, i know, even at greater risk. good-bye! good-bye!" and, disengaging himself from the weeping girl, he started on his errand of mercy. walking swiftly forwards, he passed over more than two-thirds of the way without the slightest interruption, the streets through which he passed being almost entirely deserted. he had arrived within a couple of squares of the garies, when suddenly, on turning a corner, he found himself in the midst of a gang of ruffians. "here's a nigger! here's a nigger!" shouted two or three of them, almost simultaneously, making at the same time a rush at mr. ellis, who turned and ran, followed by the whole gang. fear lent him wings, and he fast outstripped his pursuers, and would have entirely escaped, had he not turned into a street which unfortunately was closed at the other end. this he did not discover until it was too late to retrace his steps, his pursuers having already entered the street. looking for some retreat, he perceived he was standing near an unfinished building. tearing off the boards that were nailed across the window, he vaulted into the room, knocking off his hat, which fell upon the pavement behind him. scarcely had he groped his way to the staircase of the dwelling when he heard the footsteps of his pursuers. "he can't have got through," exclaimed one of them, "the street is closed up at the end; he must be up here somewhere." lighting one of their torches, they began to look around them, and soon discovered the hat lying beneath the window. "he's in here, boys; we've tree'd the 'coon," laughingly exclaimed one of the ruffians. "let's after him." tearing off the remainder of the boards, one or two entered, opened the door from the inside, and gave admission to the rest. mr. ellis mounted to the second story, followed by his pursuers; on he went, until he reached the attic, from which a ladder led to the roof. ascending this, he drew it up after him, and found himself on the roof of a house that was entirely isolated. the whole extent of the danger flashed upon him at once. here he was completely hemmed in, without the smallest chance for escape. he approached the edge and looked over, but could discover nothing near enough to reach by a leap. "i must sell my life dearly," he said. "god be my helper now--he is all i have to rely upon." and as he spoke, the great drops of sweat fell from his forehead. espying a sheet of lead upon the roof, he rolled it into a club of tolerable thickness, and waited the approach of his pursuers. "he's gone on the roof," he heard one of them exclaim, "and pulled the ladder up after him." just then, a head emerged from the trap-door, the owner of which, perceiving mr. ellis, set up a shout of triumph. "we've got him! we've got him!--here he is!" which cries were answered by the exultant voices of his comrades below. an attempt was now made by one of them to gain the roof; but he immediately received a blow from mr. ellis that knocked him senseless into the arms of his companions. another attempted the same feat, and met a similar fate. this caused a parley as to the best mode of proceeding, which resulted in the simultaneous appearance of three of the rioters at the opening. nothing daunted, mr. ellis attacked them with such fierceness and energy that they were forced to descend, muttering the direst curses. in a few moments another head appeared, at which mr. ellis aimed a blow of great force; and the club descended upon a hat placed upon a stick. not meeting the resistance expected, it flew from his hand, and he was thrown forward, nearly falling down the doorway. with a shout of triumph, they seized his arm, and held him firmly, until one or two of them mounted the roof. "throw him over! throw him over!" exclaimed some of the fiercest of the crowd. one or two of the more merciful endeavoured to interfere against killing him outright; but the frenzy of the majority triumphed, and they determined to cast him into the street below. mr. ellis clung to the chimney, shrieking,--"save me! save me!--help! help! will no one save me!" his cries were unheeded by the ruffians, and the people at the surrounding windows were unable to afford him any assistance, even if they were disposed to do so. despite his cries and resistance, they forced him to the edge of the roof; he clinging to them the while, and shrieking in agonized terror. forcing off his hold, they thrust him forward and got him partially over the edge, where he clung calling frantically for aid. one of the villains, to make him loose his hold, struck on his fingers with the handle of a hatchet found on the roof; not succeeding in breaking his hold by these means, with, an oath he struck with the blade, severing two of the fingers from one hand and deeply mangling the other. with a yell of agony, mr. ellis let go his hold, and fell upon a pile of rubbish below, whilst a cry of triumphant malignity went up from the crowd on the roof. a gentleman and some of his friends kindly carried the insensible man into his house. "poor fellow!" said he, "he is killed, i believe. what a gang of wretches. these things are dreadful; that such a thing can be permitted in a christian city is perfectly appalling." the half-dressed family gathered around the mangled form of mr. ellis, and gave vent to loud expressions of sympathy. a doctor was quickly sent for, who stanched the blood that was flowing from his hands and head. "i don't think he can live," said he, "the fall was too great. as far as i can judge, his legs and two of his ribs are broken. the best thing we can do, is to get him conveyed to the hospital; look in his pockets, perhaps we can find out who he is." there was nothing found, however, that afforded the least clue to his name and residence; and he was, therefore, as soon as persons could be procured to assist, borne to the hospital, where his wounds were dressed, and the broken limbs set. chapter xxi. more horrors. unaware of the impending danger, mr. garie sat watching by the bedside of his wife. she had been quite ill; but on the evening of which we write, although nervous and wakeful, was much better. the bleak winds of the fast approaching winter dealt unkindly with her delicate frame, accustomed as she was to the soft breezes of her southern home. mr. garie had been sitting up looking at the fires in the lower part of the city. not having been out all that day or the one previous, he knew nothing of the fearful state into which matters had fallen. "those lights are dying away, my dear," said he to his wife; "there must have been quite an extensive conflagration." taking out his watch, he continued, "almost two o'clock; why, how late i've been sitting up. i really don't know whether it's worth while to go to bed or not, i should be obliged to get up again at five o'clock; i go to new york to-morrow, or rather to-day; there are some matters connected with uncle john's will that require my personal attention. dear old man, how suddenly he died." "i wish, dear, you could put off your journey until i am better," said mrs. garie, faintly; "i do hate you to go just now." "i would if i could, emily; but it is impossible. i shall be back to-morrow, or the next day, at farthest. whilst i'm there, i'll----" "hush!" interrupted mrs. garie, "stop a moment. don't you hear a noise like the shouting of a great many people." "oh, it's only the firemen," replied he; "as i was about to observe--" "hush!" cried she again. "listen now, that don't sound like the firemen in the least." mr. garie paused as the sound of a number of voices became more distinct. wrapping his dressing-gown more closely about him, he walked into the front room, which overlooked the street. opening the window, he saw a number of men--some bearing torches--coming rapidly in the direction of his dwelling. "i wonder what all this is for; what can it mean," he exclaimed. they had now approached sufficiently near for him to understand their cries. "down with the abolitionist--down with the amalgamationist! give them tar and feathers!" "it's a mob--and that word amalgamationist--can it be pointed at me? it hardly seems possible; and yet i have a fear that there is something wrong." "what is it, garie? what is the matter?" asked his wife, who, with a shawl hastily thrown across her shoulders, was standing pale and trembling by the window. "go in, emily, my dear, for heaven's sake; you'll get your death of cold in this bleak night air--go in; as soon as i discover the occasion of the disturbance, i'll come and tell you. pray go in." mrs. garie retired a few feet from the window, and stood listening to the shouts in the street. the rioters, led on evidently by some one who knew what he was about, pressed forward to mr. garie's house; and soon the garden in front was filled with the shouting crowd. "what do you all want--why are you on my premises, creating this disturbance?" cried mr. garie. "come down and you'll soon find out. you white livered abolitionist, come out, damn you! we are going to give you a coat of tar and feathers, and your black wench nine-and-thirty. yes, come down--come down!" shouted several, "or we will come up after you." "i warn you," replied mr. garie, "against any attempt at violence upon my person, family, or property. i forbid you to advance another foot upon the premises. if any man of you enters my house, i'll shoot him down as quick as i would a mad dog." "shut up your gap; none of your cussed speeches," said a voice in the crowd; "if you don't come down and give yourself up, we'll come in and take you--that's the talk, ain't it, boys?" a general shout of approval answered this speech, and several stones were thrown at mr. garie, one of which struck him on the breast. seeing the utter futility of attempting to parley with the infuriated wretches below, he ran into the room, exclaiming, "put on some clothes, emily! shoes first--quick--quick, wife!--your life depends upon it. i'll bring down the children and wake the servants. we must escape from the house--we are attacked by a mob of demons. hurry, emily! do, for god sake!" mr. garie aroused the sleeping children, and threw some clothes upon them, over which he wrapped shawls or blankets, or whatever came to hand. rushing into the next room, he snatched a pair of loaded pistols from the drawer of his dressing-stand, and then hurried his terrified wife and children down the stairs. "this way, dear--this way!" he cried, leading on toward the back door; "out that way through the gate with the children, and into some of the neighbour's houses. i'll stand here to keep the way." "no, no, garie," she replied, frantically; "i won't go without you." "you must!" he cried, stamping his foot impatiently; "this is no time to parley--go, or we shall all be murdered. listen, they've broken in the door. quick--quick! go on;" and as he spoke, he pressed her and the children out of the door, and closed it behind them. mrs. garie ran down the garden, followed by the children; to her horror, she found the gate locked, and the key nowhere to be found. "what shall we do?" she cried. "oh, we shall all be killed!" and her limbs trembled beneath her with cold and terror. "let us hide in here, mother," suggested clarence, running toward the wood-house; "we'll be safe in there." seeing that nothing better could be done, mrs. garie availed herself of the suggestion; and when she was fairly inside the place, fell fainting upon the ground. as she escaped through the back door, the mob broke in at the front, and were confronting mr. garie, as he stood with his pistol pointed at them, prepared to fire. "come another step forward and i fire!" exclaimed he, resolutely; but those in the rear urged the advance of those in front, who approached cautiously nearer and nearer their victim. fearful of opening the door behind him, lest he should show the way taken by his retreating wife, he stood uncertain how to act; a severe blow from a stone, however, made him lose all reflection, and he immediately fired. a loud shriek followed the report of his pistol, and a shower of stones was immediately hurled upon him. he quickly fired again, and was endeavouring to open the door to effect his escape, when a pistol was discharged close to his head and he fell forward on the entry floor lifeless. all this transpired in a few moments, and in the semi-darkness of the entry. rushing forward over his lifeless form, the villains hastened upstairs in search of mrs. garie. they ran shouting through the house, stealing everything valuable that they could lay their hands upon, and wantonly destroying the furniture; they would have fired the house, but were prevented by mccloskey, who acted as leader of the gang. for two long hours they ransacked the house, breaking all they could not carry off, drinking the wine in mr. garie's cellar, and shouting and screaming like so many fiends. mrs. garie and the children lay crouching with terror in the wood-house, listening to the ruffians as they went through the yard cursing her and her husband and uttering the direst threats of what they would do should she fall into their hands. once she almost fainted on hearing one of them propose opening the wood-house, to see if there was anything of value in it--but breathed again when they abandoned it as not worth their attention. the children crouched down beside her--scarcely daring to whisper, lest they should attract the attention of their persecutors. shivering with cold they drew closer around them the blanket with which they had been providentially provided. "brother, my feet are _so_ cold," sobbed little em. "i can't feel my toes. oh, i'm so cold!" "put your feet closer to me, sissy," answered her brother, baring himself to enwrap her more thoroughly; "put my stockings on over yours;" and, as well as they were able in the dark, he drew his stockings on over her benumbed feet. "there, sis, that's better," he whispered, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "now you'll be warmer." just then clarence heard a groan from his mother, so loud indeed that it would have been heard without but for the noise and excitement around the house--and feeling for her in the dark, he asked, "mother, are you worse? are you sick?" a groan was her only answer. "mother, mother," he whispered, "do speak, please do!" and he endeavoured to put his arm around her. "don't, dear--don't," said she, faintly, "just take care of your sister--you can't do me any good--don't speak, dear, the men will hear you." reluctantly the frightened child turned his attention again to his little sister; ever and anon suppressed groans from his mother would reach his ears--at last he heard a groan even fierce in its intensity; and then the sounds grew fainter and fainter until they entirely ceased. the night to the poor shivering creatures in their hiding place seemed interminably long, and the sound of voices in the house had not long ceased when the faint light of day pierced their cheerless shelter. hearing the voices of some neighbours in the yard, clarence hastened out, and seizing one of the ladies by the dress, cried imploringly, "do come to my mother, she's sick." "why, where did you come from, chil?" said the lady, with a start of astonishment. "where have you been?" "in there," he answered, pointing to the wood-house. "mother and sister are in there." the lady, accompanied by one or two others, hastened to the wood-house. "where is she?" asked the foremost, for in the gloom of the place she could not perceive anything. "here," replied clarence, "she's lying here." on opening a small window, they saw mrs. garie lying in a corner stretched upon the boards, her head supported by some blocks. "she's asleep," said clarence. "mother--mother," but there came no answer. "mother," said he, still louder, but yet there was no response. stepping forward, one of the females opened the shawl, which was held firmly in the clenched hands of mrs. garie--and there in her lap partially covered by her scanty nightdress, was discovered a new-born babe, who with its mother had journeyed in the darkness, cold, and night, to the better land, that they might pour out their woes upon the bosom of their creator. the women gazed in mournful silence on the touching scene before them. clarence was on his knees, regarding with fear and wonder the unnatural stillness of his mother--the child had never before looked on death, and could not recognize its presence. laying his hand on her cold cheek, he cried, with faltering voice, "mother, _can't_ you speak?" but there was no answering light in the fixed stare of those glassy eyes, and the lips of the dead could not move. "why don't she speak?" he asked. "she can't, my dear; you must come away and leave her. she's better off, my darling--she's _dead_." then there was a cry of grief sprung up from the heart of that orphan boy, that rang in those women's ears for long years after; it was the first outbreak of a loving childish heart pierced with life's bitterest grief--a mother's loss. the two children were kindly taken into the house of some benevolent neighbour, as the servants had all fled none knew whither. little em was in a profound stupor--the result of cold and terror, and it was found necessary to place her under the care of a physician. after they had all gone, an inquest was held by the coroner, and a very unsatisfactory and untruthful verdict pronounced--one that did not at all coincide with the circumstances of the case, but such a one as might have been expected where there was a great desire to screen the affair from public scrutiny. chapter xxii. an anxious day. esther ellis, devoured with anxiety respecting the safety of her father and the garies, paced with impatient step up and down the drawing-room. opening the window, she looked to see if she could discover any signs of day. "it's pitchy dark," she exclaimed, "and yet almost five o'clock. father has run a fearful risk. i hope nothing has happened to him." "i trust not. i think he's safe enough somewhere," said mr. walters. "he's no doubt been very cautious, and avoided meeting any one--don't worry yourself, my child, 'tis most likely he remained with them wherever they went; probably they are at the house of some of their neighbours." "i can't help feeling dreadfully oppressed and anxious," continued she. "i wish he would come." whilst she was speaking, her mother entered the room. "any news of your father?" she asked, in a tone of anxiety. esther endeavoured to conceal her own apprehensions, and rejoined, in as cheerful tone as she could assume--"not yet, mother--it's too dark for us to expect him yet--he'll remain most likely until daylight." "he shouldn't have gone had i been here--he's no business to expose himself in this way." "but, mother," interrupted esther, "only think of it--the safety of emily and the children were depending on it--we mustn't be selfish." "i know we oughtn't to be, my child," rejoined her mother, "but it's natural to the best of us--sometimes we can't help it." five--six--seven o'clock came and passed, and still there were no tidings of mr. ellis. "i can bear this suspense no longer," exclaimed esther. "if father don't come soon, i shall go and look for him. i've tried to flatter myself that he's safe; but i'm almost convinced now that something has happened to him, or he'd have come back long before this--he knows how anxious we would all be about him. i've tried to quiet mother and caddy by suggesting various reasons for his delay, but, at the same time, i cannot but cherish the most dismal forebodings. i must go and look for him." "no, no, esther--stay where you are at present--leave that to me. i'll order a carriage and go up to garie's immediately." "well, do, mr. walters, and hurry back: won't you?" she rejoined, as he left the apartment. in a few moments he returned, prepared to start, and was speedily driven to winter-street. he found a group of people gathered before the gate, gazing into the house. "the place has been attacked," said he, as he walked towards the front door--picking his way amidst fragments of furniture, straw, and broken glass. at the entrance of the house he was met by mr. balch, mr. garie's lawyer. "this is a shocking affair, walters," said he, extending his hand--he was an old friend of mr. walters. "very shocking, indeed," he replied, looking around. "but where is garie? we sent to warn them of this. i hope they are all safe." "safe!" repeated mr. balch, with an air of astonishment. "why, man, haven't you heard?" "heard what?" asked mr. walters, looking alarmed. "that mr. and mrs. garie are dead--both were killed last night." the shock of this sudden and totally unexpected disclosure was such that mr. walters leaned against the doorway for support. "it can't be possible," he exclaimed at last, "not dead!" "yes, _dead_, i regret to say--he was shot through the head--and she died in the wood-house, of premature confinement, brought on by fright and exposure." "and the children?" gasped walters. "they are safe, with some neighbours--it's heart-breaking to hear them weeping for their mother." here a tear glistened in the eye of mr. balch, and ran down his cheek. brushing it off, he continued: "the coroner has just held an inquest, and they gave a most truthless verdict: nothing whatever is said of the cause of the murder, or of the murderers; they simply rendered a verdict--death caused by a wound from a pistol-shot, and hers--death from exposure. there seemed the greatest anxiety on the part of the coroner to get the matter over as quickly as possible, and few or no witnesses were examined. but i'm determined to sift the matter to the bottom; if the perpetrators of the murder can be discovered, i'll leave no means untried to find them." "do you know any one who sat on the inquest?" asked walters. "yes, one," was the reply, "slippery george, the lawyer; you are acquainted with him--george stevens. i find he resides next door." "do you know," here interrupted mr. walters, "that i've my suspicions that that villain is at the bottom of these disturbances or at least has a large share in them. i have a paper in my possession, in his handwriting--it is in fact a list of the places destroyed by the mob last night--it fell into the hands of a friend of mine by accident--he gave it to me--it put me on my guard; and when the villains attacked my house last night they got rather a warmer reception than they bargained for." "you astonish me! is it possible your place was assaulted also?" asked mr. balch. "indeed, it was--and a hot battle we had of it for a short space of time. but how did you hear of this affair?" "i was sent for by i can't tell whom. when i came and saw what had happened, i immediately set about searching for a will that i made for mr. garie a few weeks since; it was witnessed and signed at my office, and he brought it away with him. i can't discover it anywhere. i've ransacked every cranny. it must have been carried off by some one. you are named in it conjointly with myself as executor. all the property is left to her, poor thing, and his children. we must endeavour to find it somewhere--at any rate the children are secure; they are the only heirs--he had not, to my knowledge, a single white relative. but let us go in and see the bodies." they walked together into the back room where the bodies were lying. mrs. garie was stretched upon the sofa, covered with a piano cloth; and her husband was laid upon a long table, with a silk window-curtain thrown across his face. the two gazed in silence on the face of mr. garie--the brow was still knit, the eyes staring vacantly, and the marble whiteness of the face unbroken, save by a few gouts of blood near a small blue spot over the eye where the bullet had entered. "he was the best-hearted creature in the world," said walters, as he re-covered the face. "won't you look at her?" asked mr. balch. "no, no--i can't," continued walters; "i've seen horrors enough for one morning. i've another thing on my mind! a friend who assisted in the defence of my house started up here last night, to warn them of their danger, and when i left home he had not returned: it's evident he hasn't been here, and i greatly fear some misfortune has befallen him. where are the children? poor little orphans, i must see them before i go." accompanied by mr. balch, he called at the house where clarence and em had found temporary shelter. the children ran to him as soon as he entered the room. "oh! mr. walters," sobbed clarence, "my mother's dead--my mother's dead!" "hush, dears--hush!" he replied, endeavouring to restrain his own tears, as he took little em in his arms. "don't cry, my darling," said he, as she gave rent to a fresh outburst of tears. "oh, mr. walters!" said she, still sobbing, "she was all the mother i had." mr. balch here endeavoured to assist in pacifying the two little mourners. "why don't father come?" asked clarence. "have you seen him, mr. walters?" mr. walters was quite taken aback by this inquiry, which clearly showed that the children were still unaware of the extent of their misfortunes. "i've seen him, my child," said he, evasively; "you'll see him before long." and fearful of further questioning, he left the house, promising soon to return. unable longer to endure her anxiety respecting her father, esther determined not to await the return of mr. walters, which had already been greatly delayed, but to go herself in search of him. it had occurred to her that, instead of returning from the garies direct to them, he had probably gone to his own home to see if it had been disturbed during the night. encouraged by this idea, without consulting any one, she hastily put on her cloak and bonnet, and took the direction of her home. numbers of people were wending their way to the lower part of the city, to gratify their curiosity by gazing upon the havoc made by the rioters during the past night. esther found her home a heap of smoking ruins; some of the neighbours who recognized her gathered round, expressing their sympathy and regret. but she seemed comparatively careless respecting the loss of their property; and in answer to their kind expressions, could only ask, "have you seen my father?--do you know where my father is?" none, however, had seen him; and after gazing for a short time upon the ruins of what was once a happy home, she turned mournfully away, and walked back to mr. walters's. "has father come?" she inquired, as soon as the door was opened. "not yet!" was the discouraging reply: "and mr. walters, he hasn't come back, either, miss!" esther stood for some moments hesitating whether to go in, or to proceed in her search. the voice of her mother calling her from the stairway decided her, and she went in. mrs. ellis and caddy wept freely on learning from esther the destruction of their home. this cause of grief, added to the anxiety produced by the prolonged absence of mr. ellis, rendered them truly miserable. whilst they were condoling with one another, mr. walters returned. he was unable to conceal his fears that something had happened to mr. ellis, and frankly told them so; he also gave a detailed account of what had befallen the garies, to the great horror and grief of all. as soon as arrangements could be made, mr. walters and esther set out in search of her father. all day long they went from place to place, but gained no tidings of him; and weary and disheartened they returned at night, bringing with them the distressing intelligence of their utter failure to procure any information respecting him. chapter xxiii. the lost one found. on the day succeeding the events described in our last chapter, mr. walters called upon mr. balch, for the purpose of making the necessary preparations for the interment of mr. and mrs. garie. "i think," said mr. balch, "we had better bury them in the ash-grove cemetery; it's a lovely spot--all my people are buried there." "the place is fine enough, i acknowledge," rejoined mr. walters; "but i much doubt if you can procure the necessary ground." "oh, yes, you can!" said mr. balch; "there are a number of lots still unappropriated." "that may very likely be so; but are you sure we can get one if we apply?" "of course we can--what is to prevent?" asked mr. balch. "you forget," replied mr. walters, "that mrs. garie was a coloured woman." "if it wasn't such a solemn subject i really should be obliged to laugh at you, walters," rejoined mr. balch, with a smile--"you talk ridiculously. what can her complexion have to do with her being buried there, i should like to know?" "it has everything to do with it! can it be possible you are not aware that they won't even permit a coloured person to walk through the ground, much less to be buried there!" "you astonish me, walters! are you sure of it?" "i give you my word of honour it is so! but why should you be astonished at such treatment of the dead, when you see how they conduct themselves towards the living? i have a friend," continued mr. walters, "who purchased a pew for himself and family in a white-church, and the deacons actually removed the floor from under it, to prevent his sitting there. they refuse us permission to kneel by the side of the white communicants at the lord's supper, and give us separate pews in obscure corners of their churches. all this you know--why, then, be surprised that they carry their prejudices into their graveyards?--the conduct is all of a piece." "well, walters, i know the way things are conducted in our churches is exceedingly reprehensible; but i really did not know they stretched their prejudices to such an extent." "i assure you they do, then," resumed mr. walters; "and in this very matter you'll find i'm correct. ask stormley, the undertaker, and hear what he'll tell you. oh! a case in point.--about six months ago, one of our wealthiest citizens lost by death an old family servant, a coloured woman, a sort of half-housekeeper--half-friend. she resembled him so much, that it was generally believed she was his sister. well, he tried to have her laid in their family vault, and it was refused; the directors thought it would be creating a bad precedent--they said, as they would not sell lots to coloured persons, they couldn't consistently permit them to be buried in those of the whites." "then ash-grove must be abandoned; and in lieu of that what can you propose?" asked mr. balch. "i should say we can't do better than lay them in the graveyard of the coloured episcopal church." "let it be there, then. you will see to the arrangements, walters. i shall have enough on my hands for the present, searching for that will: i have already offered a large reward for it--i trust it may turn up yet." "perhaps it may," rejoined mr. walters; "we must hope so, at least. i've brought the children to my house, where they are under the care of a young lady who was a great friend of their mother's; though it seems like putting too much upon the poor young creature, to throw them upon her for consolation, when she is almost distracted with her own griefs. i think i mentioned to you yesterday, that her father is missing; and, to add to their anxieties, their property has been all destroyed by the rioters. they have a home with me for the present, and may remain there as long as they please." "oh! i remember you told me something of them yesterday; and now i come to think of it, i saw in the journal this morning, that a coloured man was lying at the hospital very much injured, whose name they could not ascertain. can it be possible that he is the man you are in search of?" "let me see the article," asked mr. walters. mr. balch handed him the paper, and pointed out the paragraph in question. "i'll go immediately to the hospital," said he, as he finished reading, "and see if it is my poor friend; i have great fears that it is. you'll excuse my leaving so abruptly--i must be off immediately." on hastening to the hospital, mr. walters arrived just in time to be admitted to the wards; and on being shown the person whose name they had been unable to discover, he immediately recognized his friend. "ellis, my poor fellow," he exclaimed, springing forward. "stop, stop," cried the attendant, laying his hand upon mr. walters's shoulder; "he is hovering between life and death, the least agitation might be fatal to him. the doctor says, if he survives the night, he may probably get better; but he has small chance of life. i hardly think he will last twelve hours more, he's been dreadfully beaten; there are two or three gashes on his head, his leg is broken, and his hands have been so much cut, that the surgeon thinks they'll never be of any use to him, even if he recovers." "what awful intelligence for his family," said mr. walters; "they are already half distracted about him." mr. ellis lay perfectly unconscious of what was passing around him, and his moans were deeply affecting to hear, unable to move but one limb--he was the picture of helplessness and misery. "it's time to close; we don't permit visitors to remain after this hour," said the attendant; "come to-morrow, you can see your friend, and remain longer with him;" and bidding mr. walters good morning, he ushered him from the ward. "how shall i ever find means to break this to the girls and their mother?" said he, as he left the gates of the hospital; "it will almost kill them; really i don't know what i shall say to them." he walked homeward with hesitating steps, and on arriving at his house, he paused awhile before the door, mustering up courage to enter; at last he opened it with the air of a man who had a disagreeable duty to perform, and had made up his mind to go through with it. "tell miss ellis to come to the drawing-room," said he to the servant; "merely say she's wanted--don't say i've returned." he waited but a few moments before esther made her appearance, looking sad and anxious. "oh, it's you," she said, with some surprise. "you have news of father?" "yes, esther, i have news; but i am sorry to say not of a pleasant character." "oh, mr. walters, nothing serious i hope has happened to him?" she asked, in an agitated tone. "i'm sorry to say there has, esther; he has met with an accident--a sad and severe one--he's been badly wounded." esther turned deadly pale at this announcement, and leaned upon the table for support. "i sent for you, esther," continued mr. walters, "in preference to your mother, because i knew you to be courageous in danger, and i trusted you would be equally so in misfortune. your father's case is a very critical one--very. it appears that after leaving here, he fell into the hands of the rioters, by whom he was shockingly beaten. he was taken to the hospital, where he now remains." "oh, let me go to him at once, do, mr. walters! "my dear child, it is impossible for you to see him to-day, it is long past the visiting hour; moreover, i don't think him in a state that would permit the least agitation. to-morrow you can go with me." esther did not weep, her heart was too full for tears. with a pale face, and trembling lips, she said to mr. walters, "god give us strength to bear up under these misfortunes; we are homeless--almost beggars--our friends have been murdered, and my father is now trembling on the brink of the grave; such troubles as these," said she, sinking into a chair, "are enough to crush any one." "i know it, esther; i know it, my child. i sympathize with you deeply. all that i have is at your disposal. you may command me in anything. give yourself no uneasiness respecting the future of your mother and family, let the result to your father be what it may: always bear in mind that, next to god, i am your best friend. i speak thus frankly to you, esther, because i would not have you cherish any hopes of your father's recovery; from his appearance, i should say there is but little, if any. i leave to you, my good girl, the task of breaking this sad news to your mother and sister; i would tell them, but i must confess, esther, i'm not equal to it, the events of the last day or two have almost overpowered me." esther's lips quivered again, as she repeated the words, "little hope; did the doctor say that?" she asked. "i did not see the doctor," replied he; "perhaps there may be a favourable change during the night. i'd have you prepare for the worst, whilst you hope for the best. go now and try to break it as gently as possible to your mother." esther left the room with heavy step, and walked to the chamber where her mother was sitting. caddy also was there, rocking backwards and forwards in a chair, in an earnest endeavour to soothe to sleep little em, who was sitting in her lap. "who was it, esther?" asked, her mother. "mr. walters," she hesitatingly answered. "was it? well, has he heard anything of your father?" she asked, anxiously. esther turned away her head, and remained silent. "why don't you answer?" asked her mother, with an alarmed look; "if you know anything of him, for god's sake tell me. whatever it may be, it can't be worse than i expect; is he dead?" she asked. "no--no, mother, he's not dead; but he's sick, very sick, mother. mr. walters found him in the hospital." "in the hospital! how came he there? don't deceive me, esther, there's something behind all this; are you telling me the truth? is he still alive?" "mother, believe me, he is still alive, but how long he may remain so, god only knows." mrs. ellis, at this communication, leant her head upon the table, and wept uncontrollably. caddy put down her little charge, and stood beside her mother, endeavouring to soothe her, whilst unable to restrain her own grief. "let us go to him, esther," said her mother, rising; "i must see him--let us go at once." "we can't, mother; mr. walters says it's impossible for us to see him to-day; they don't admit visitors after a certain hour in the morning." "they _must_ admit me: i'll tell them i'm his wife; when they know that, they _can't_ refuse me." quickly dressing themselves, esther, caddy, and their mother were about to start for the hospital, when mr. walters entered. "where are you all going?" he asked. "to the hospital," answered mrs. ellis; "i must see my husband." "i have just sent there, ellen, to make arrangements to hear of him every hour. you will only have the grief of being refused admission if you go; they're exceedingly strict--no one is admitted to visit a patient after a certain hour; try and compose yourselves; sit down, i want to talk to you for a little while." mrs. ellis mechanically obeyed; and on sitting down, little em crept into her lap, and nestled in her arms. "ellen," said mr. walters, taking a seat by her; "it's useless to disguise the fact that ellis is in a precarious situation--how long he may be sick it is impossible to say; as soon as it is practicable, should he get better, we will bring him here. you remember, ellen, that years ago, when i was young and poor, ellis often befriended me--now 'tis my turn. you must all make up your minds to remain with me--for ever, if you like--for the present, whether you like it or not. i'm going to be dreadfully obstinate, and have my own way completely about the matter. here i've a large house, furnished from top to bottom with every comfort. often i've wandered through it, and thought myself a selfish old fellow to be surrounded with so much luxury, and keep it entirely to myself. god has blessed me with abundance, and to what better use can it be appropriated than the relief of my friends? now, ellen, you shall superintend the whole of the establishment, esther shall nurse her father, caddy shall stir up the servants, and i'll look on and find my happiness in seeing you all happy. now, what objection can you urge against that arrangement?" concluded he, triumphantly. "why, we shall put you to great inconvenience, and place ourselves under an obligation we can never repay," answered mrs. ellis. "don't despair of that--never mind the obligation; try and be as cheerful as you can; to-morrow we shall see ellis, and perhaps find him better; let us at least hope for the best." esther looked with grateful admiration at mr. walters, as he left the room. "what a good heart he has, mother," said she, as he closed the door behind him; "just such a great tender heart as one should expect to find in so fine a form." mrs. ellis and her daughters were the first who were found next day, at the office of the doorkeeper of the hospital waiting an opportunity to see their sick friends. "you're early, ma'am," said a little bald-headed official, who sat at his desk fronting the door; "take a chair near the fire--it's dreadful cold this morning." "very cold," replied esther, taking a seat beside her mother; "how long will it be before we can go in?" "oh, you've good an hour to wait--the doctor hasn't come yet," replied the door-keeper. "how is my husband?" tremblingly inquired mrs. ellis. "who is your husband?--you don't know his number, do you? never know names here--go by numbers." "we don't know the number," rejoined esther; "my father's name is ellis; he was brought here two or three nights since--he was beaten by the mob." "oh, yes; i know now who you mean--number sixty--bad case that, shocking bad case--hands chopped--head smashed--leg broke; he'll have to cross over, i guess--make a die of it, i'm afraid." mrs. ellis shuddered, and turned pale, as the man coolly discussed her husband's injuries, and their probable fatal termination. caddy, observing her agitation, said, "please, sir, don't talk of it; mother can't bear it." the man looked at them compassionately for a few moments--then continued: "you mustn't think me hard-hearted--i see so much of these things, that i can't feel them as others do. this is a dreadful thing to you, no doubt, but it's an every-day song to me--people are always coming here mangled in all sorts of ways--so, you see, i've got used to it--in fact, i'd rather miss 'em now if they didn't come. i've sat in this seat every day for almost twenty years;" and he looked on the girls and their mother as he gave them this piece of information as if he thought they ought to regard him henceforth with great reverence. not finding them disposed to converse, the doorkeeper resumed the newspaper he was reading when they entered, and was soon deeply engrossed in a horrible steam-boat accident. the sound of wheels in the courtyard attracting his attention, he looked up, and remarked: "here's the doctor--as soon as he has walked the wards you'll be admitted." mrs. ellis and her daughters turned round as the door opened, and, to their great joy, recognized doctor burdett. "how d'ye do?" said he, extending his hand to mrs. ellis--"what's the matter? crying!" he continued, looking at their tearful faces; "what has happened?" "oh, doctor," said esther, "father's lying here, very much injured; and they think he'll die," said she, giving way to a fresh burst of grief. "very much injured--die--how is this?--i knew nothing of it--i haven't been here before this week." esther hereupon briefly related the misfortunes that had befallen her father. "dear me--dear me," repeated the kind old doctor. "there, my dear; don't fret--he'll get better, my child--i'll take him in hand at once. my dear mrs. ellis, weeping won't do the least good, and only make you sick yourself. stop, do now--i'll go and see him immediately, and as soon as possible you shall be admitted." they had not long to wait before a message came from doctor burdett, informing them that they could now be permitted to see the sufferer. "you must control yourselves," said the doctor to the sobbing women, as he met them at the door; "you mustn't do anything to agitate him--his situation is extremely critical." the girls and their mother followed him to the bedside of mr. ellis, who, ghastly pale, lay before them, apparently unconscious. mrs. ellis gave but one look at her husband, and, with a faint cry, sank fainting upon the floor. the noise partially aroused him; he turned his head, and, after an apparent effort, recognized his daughters standing beside him: he made a feeble attempt to raise his mutilated hands, and murmured faintly, "you've come at last!" then closing his eyes, he dropped his arms, as if exhausted by the effort. esther knelt beside him, and pressed a kiss on his pale face. "father!--father!" said she, softly. he opened his eyes again, and a smile of pleasure broke over his wan face, and lighted up his eyes, as he feebly said, "god bless you, darlings! i thought you'd never come. where's mother and caddy?" "here," answered esther, "here, by me; your looks frightened her so, that she's fainted." doctor burdett here interposed, and said: "you must all go now; he's too weak to bear more at present." "let me stay with him a little longer," pleaded esther. "no, my child, it's impossible," he continued; "besides, your mother will need your attention;" and, whilst he spoke, he led her into an adjoining room, where the others had preceded her. chapter xxiv. charlie distinguishes himself. charlie had now been many weeks under the hospitable roof of mrs. bird, improving in health and appearance. indeed, it would have been a wonder if he had not, as the kind mistress of the mansion seemed to do nought else, from day to day, but study plans for his comfort and pleasure. there was one sad drawback upon the contentment of the dear old lady, and that was her inability to procure charlie's admission to the academy. one morning mr. whately called upon her, and, throwing himself into a chair, exclaimed: "it's all to no purpose; their laws are as unalterable as those of the medes and persians--arguments and entreaty are equally thrown away upon them; i've been closeted at least half a dozen times with each director; and as all i can say won't make your _protege_ a shade whiter, i'm afraid his admission to the academy must be given up." "it's too bad," rejoined mrs. bird. "and who, may i ask, were the principal opposers?" "they all opposed it, except mr. weeks and mr. bentham." "indeed!--why they are the very ones that i anticipated would go against it tooth and nail. and mr. glentworth--surely he was on our side?" "he!--why, my dear madam, he was the most rabid of the lot. with his sanctified face and canting tongue!" "i'm almost ashamed to own it--but it's the truth, and i shouldn't hesitate to tell it--i found the most pious of the directors the least accessible; as to old glentworth, he actually talked to me as if i was recommending the committal of some horrid sin. i'm afraid i shall be set down by him as a rabid abolitionist, i got so warm on the subject. i've cherished as strong prejudices against coloured people as any one; but i tell you, seeing how contemptible it makes others appear, has gone a great way towards eradicating it in me. i found myself obliged to use the same arguments against it that are used by the abolitionists, and in endeavouring to convince others of the absurdity of their prejudices, i convinced myself." "i'd set my heart upon it," said mrs. bird, in a tone of regret; "but i suppose i'll have to give it up. charlie don't know i've made application for his admission, and has been asking me to let him go. a great many of the boys who attend there have become acquainted with him, and it was only yesterday that mr. glentworth's sons were teasing me to consent to his beginning there the next term. the boys," concluded she, "have better hearts than their parents." "oh, i begin to believe it's all sham, this prejudice; i'm getting quite disgusted with myself for having had it--or rather thinking i had it. as for saying it is innate, or that there is any natural antipathy to that class, it's all perfect folly; children are not born with it, or why shouldn't they shrink from a black nurse or playmate? it's all bosh," concluded he, indignantly, as he brought his cane down with a rap. "charlie's been quite a means of grace to you," laughingly rejoined mrs. bird, amused at his vehemence of manner. "well, i'm going to send him to sabbath-school next sunday; and, if there is a rebellion against his admission there, i shall be quite in despair." it is frequently the case, that we are urged by circumstances to the advocacy of a measure in which we take but little interest, and of the propriety of which we are often very sceptical; but so surely as it is just in itself, in our endeavours to convert others we convince ourselves; and, from lukewarm apologists, we become earnest advocates. this was just mr. whately's case: he had begun to canvass for the admission of charlie with a doubtful sense of its propriety, and in attempting to overcome the groundless prejudices of others, he was convicted of his own. happily, in his case, conviction was followed by conversion, and as he walked home from mrs. bird's, he made up his mind that, if they attempted to exclude charlie from the sabbath-school, he would give them a piece of his mind, and then resign his superintendency of it. on arriving at home, he found waiting for him a young lady, who was formerly a member of his class in the sabbath-school. "i've come," said she, "to consult you about forming an adult class in our school for coloured persons. we have a girl living with us, who would be very glad to attend, and she knows two or three others. i'll willingly take the class myself. i've consulted the pastor and several others, and no one seems to anticipate any objections from the scholars, if we keep them on a separate bench, and do not mix them up with the white children." "i'm delighted to hear you propose it," answered mr. whately, quite overjoyed at the opening it presented, "the plan meets my warmest approval. i decidedly agree with you in the propriety of our making some effort for the elevation and instruction of this hitherto neglected class--any aid i can render----" "you astonish me," interrupted miss cass, "though i must say very agreeably. you were the last person from whom i thought of obtaining any countenance. i did not come to you until armed with the consent of almost all the parties interested, because from you i anticipated considerable opposition," and in her delight, the young girl grasped mr. whately's hand, and shook it very heartily. "oh, my opinions relative to coloured people have lately undergone considerable modification; in fact," said he, with some little confusion, "quite a thorough revolution. i don't, think we have quite done our duty by these people. well, well, we must make the future atone for the past." miss cass had entered upon her project with all the enthusiasm of youth, and being anxious that her class, "in point of numbers," should make a presentable appearance, had drafted into it no less a person than aunt comfort. aunt comfort was a personage of great importance in the little village of warmouth, and one whose services were called into requisition on almost every great domestic occasion. at births she frequently officiated, and few young mothers thought themselves entirely safe if the black good-humoured face of aunt comfort was not to be seen at their bedside. she had a hand in the compounding of almost every bridecake, and had been known to often leave houses of feasting, to prepare weary earth-worn travellers for their final place of rest. every one knew, and all liked her, and no one was more welcome at the houses of the good people of warmouth than aunt comfort. but whilst rendering her all due praise for her domestic acquirements, justice compels us to remark that aunt comfort was not a literary character. she could get up a shirt to perfection, and made irreproachable chowder, but she was not a woman of letters. in fact, she had arrived at maturity at a time when negroes and books seldom came in familiar contact; and if the truth must be told, she cared very little about the latter. "but jist to 'blege miss cass," she consented to attend her class, averring as she did so, "that she didn't 'spect she was gwine to larn nothin' when she got thar." miss cass, however, was of the contrary opinion, and anticipated that after a few sabbaths, aunt comfort would prove to be quite a literary phenomenon. the first time their class assembled the white children well-nigh dislocated their necks, in their endeavours to catch glimpses of the coloured scholars, who were seated on a backless bench, in an obscure corner of the room. prominent amongst them shone aunt comfort, who in honour of this extraordinary occasion, had retrimmed her cap, which was resplendent with bows of red ribbon as large as peonies. she had a sunday-school primer in her hand, and was repeating the letters with the utmost regularity, as miss cass pronounced them. they got on charmingly until after crossing over the letter o, as a matter of course they came to p and q. "look here," said aunt comfort, with a look of profound erudition, "here's anoder o. what's de use of having two of 'em?" "no, no, aunt comfort--that's q--the letter q." "umph," grunted the old woman, incredulously, "what's de use of saying dat's a q, when you jest said not a minute ago 'twas o?" "this is not the same," rejoined the teacher, "don't you see the little tail at the bottom of it?" aunt comfort took off her silver spectacles, and gave the glasses of them a furious rub, then after essaying another look, exclaimed, "what, you don't mean dat 'ere little speck down at the bottom of it, does yer?" "yes, aunt comfort, that little speck, as you call it, makes all the difference--it makes o into q." "oh, go 'way, child," said she, indignantly, "you isn't gwine to fool me dat ar way. i knows you of old, honey--you's up to dese 'ere things--you know you allus was mighty 'chevious, and i isn't gwine to b'lieve dat dat ar little speck makes all the difference--no such thing, case it don't--deys either both o's or both q's. i'm clar o' dat--deys either one or tother." knowing by long experience the utter futility of attempting to convince aunt comfort that she was in the wrong, by anything short of a miracle, the teacher wisely skipped over the obnoxious letter, then all went smoothly on to the conclusion of the alphabet. the lesson having terminated, miss cass looked up and discovered standing near her a coloured boy, who she correctly surmised was sent as an addition to her class. "come here, and sit down," said she, pointing to a seat next aunt comfort. "what is your name?" charlie gave his name and residence, which were entered in due form on the teacher's book. "now, charles," she continued, "do you know your letters?" "yes, ma'am," was the answer. "can you spell?" she inquired. to this also charlie gave an affirmative, highly amused at the same time at being asked such a question. miss cass inquired no further into the extent of his acquirements, it never having entered her head that he could do more than spell. so handing him one of the primers, she pointed out a line on which to begin. the spirit of mischief entered our little friend, and he stumbled through b-l-a bla--b-l-i bli--b-l-o blo--b-l-u blu, with great gravity and slowness. "you spell quite nicely, particularly for a little coloured boy," said miss cass, encouragingly, as he concluded the line; "take this next," she continued, pointing to another, "and when you have learned it, i will hear you again." it was the custom of the superintendent to question the scholars upon a portion of bible history, given out the sabbath previous for study during the week. it chanced that upon the day of which we write, the subject for examination was one with which charlie was quite familiar. accordingly, when the questions were put to the school, he answered boldly and quickly to many of them, and with an accuracy that astonished his fellow scholars. "how did you learn the answers to those questions--you can't read?" said miss cass. "yes, but i can read," answered charlie, with a merry twinkle in his eye. "why didn't you tell me so before?" she asked. "because you didn't ask me," he replied, suppressing a grin. this was true enough, so miss cass, having nothing farther to say, sat and listened, whilst he answered the numerous and sometimes difficult questions addressed to the scholars. not so, aunt comfort. she could not restrain her admiration of this display of talent on the part of one of her despised race; she was continually breaking out with expressions of wonder and applause. "jis' hear dat--massy on us--only jis' listen to de chile," said she, "talks jis' de same as if he was white. why, boy, where you learn all dat?" "across the red sea," cried charlie, in answer to a question from the desk of the superintendent. "'cross de red sea! umph, chile, you been dere?" asked aunt comfort, with a face full of wonder. "what did you say?" asked charlie, whose attention had been arrested by the last question. "why i asked where you learned all dat 'bout de children of israel." "oh, i learned that at philadelphia," was his reply; "i learned it at school with the rest of the boys." "you did!" exclaimed she, raising her hands with astonishment. "is dere many more of 'em like you?" charlie did not hear this last question of aunt comfort's, therefore she was rather startled by his replying in a loud tone, "_immense hosts_." "did i ever--jis' hear dat, dere's ''mense hostes' of 'em jest like him! only think of it. is dey all dere yet, honey?" "they were all drowned." "oh, lordy, lordy," rejoined she, aghast with horror; for charlie's reply to a question regarding the fate of pharaoh's army, had been by her interpreted as an answer to her question respecting his coloured schoolmates at philadelphia. "and how did you 'scape, honey," continued she, "from drowning 'long wid the rest of 'em?" "why i wasn't there, it was thousands of years ago." "look here. what do you mean?" she whispered; "didn't you say jest now dat you went to school wid 'em?" this was too much for charlie, who shook all over with suppressed laughter; nor was miss cass proof against the contagion--she was obliged to almost suffocate herself with her handkerchief to avoid a serious explosion. "aunt comfort, you are mistaking him," said she, as soon as she could recover her composure; "he is answering the questions of the superintendent--not yours, and very well he has answered them, too," continued she. "i like to see little boys aspiring: i am glad to see you so intelligent--you must persevere, charlie." "yes, you must, honey," chimed in aunt comfort. "i'se very much like miss cass; i likes to see children--'specially children of colour--have _expiring_ minds." charlie went quite off at this, and it was only by repeated hush--hushes, from miss cass, and a pinch in the back from aunt comfort, that he was restored to a proper sense of his position. the questioning being now finished, mr. whately came to charlie, praised him highly for his aptness, and made some inquiries respecting his knowledge of the catechism; also whether he would be willing to join the class that was to be catechised in the church during the afternoon. to this, charlie readily assented, and, at the close of the school, was placed at the foot of the class, preparatory to going into the church. the public catechizing of the scholars was always an event in the village; but now a novelty was given it, by the addition of a black lamb to the flock, and, as a matter of course, a much greater interest was manifested. had a lion entered the doors of st. stephen's church, he might have created greater consternation, but he could not have attracted more attention than did our little friend on passing beneath its sacred portals. the length of the aisle seemed interminable to him, and on his way to the altar he felt oppressed by the scrutiny of eyes through which he was compelled to pass. mr. dural, the pastor, looked kindly at him, as he stood in front of the chancel, and charlie took heart from his cheering smile. now, to aunt comfort (who was the only coloured person who regularly attended the church) a seat had been assigned beside the organ; which elevated position had been given her that the congregation might indulge in their devotions without having their prejudices shocked by a too close contemplation of her ebony countenance. but aunt comfort, on this occasion, determined to get near enough to hear all that passed, and, leaving her accustomed seat, she planted herself in one of the aisles of the gallery overlooking the altar, where she remained almost speechless with wonder and astonishment at the unprecedented sight of a woolly head at the foot of the altar. charlie got on very successfully until called upon to repeat the lord's prayer; and, strange to say, at this critical juncture, his memory forsook him, and he was unable to utter a word of it: for the life of him he could not think of anything but "now i lay me down to sleep"--and confused and annoyed he stood unable to proceed. at this stage of affairs, aunt comfort's interest in charlie's success had reached such a pitch that her customary awe of the place she was in entirely departed, and she exclaimed, "i'll give yer a start--'our farrer,'"--then overwhelmed by the consciousness that she had spoken out in meeting, she sank down behind a pew-door, completely extinguished. at this there was an audible titter, that was immediately suppressed; after which, charlie recovered his memory, and, started by the opportune prompting of aunt comfort, he recited it correctly. a few questions more terminated the examination, and the children sat down in front of the altar until the conclusion of the service. mrs. bird, highly delighted with the _debut_ of her _protege_, bestowed no end of praises upon him, and even made the coachman walk home, that charlie might have a seat in the carriage, as she alleged she was sure he must be much fatigued and overcome with the excitement of the day; then taking the reins into her own hands, she drove them safely home. chapter xxv. the heir. we must now return to philadelphia, and pay a visit to the office of mr. balch. we shall find that gentleman in company with mr. walters: both look anxious, and are poring over a letter which is outspread before them. "it was like a thunder-clap to me," said mr. balch: "the idea of there being another heir never entered my brain--i didn't even know he had a living relative." "when did you get the letter?" asked walters. "only this morning, and i sent for you immediately! let us read it again--we'll make another attempt to decipher this incomprehensible name. confound the fellow! why couldn't he write so that some one besides himself could read it! we must stumble through it," said he, as he again began the letter as follows:-- "dear sir,--immediately on receipt of your favour, i called upon mr. thurston, to take the necessary steps for securing the property of your late client. to my great surprise, i found that another claimant had started up, and already taken the preliminary measures to entering upon possession. this gentleman, mr.---- "now, what would you call that name, walters?--to me it looks like stimmens, or stunners, or something of the kind!" "never mind the name," exclaimed walters--"skip that--let me hear the rest of the letter; we shall find out who he is soon enough, in all conscience." "well, then," resumed mr. balch--"this gentleman, mr.----, is a resident in your city; and he will, no doubt, take an early opportunity of calling on you, in reference to the matter. it is my opinion, that without a will in their favour, these children cannot oppose his claim successfully, if he can prove his consanguinity to mr. garie. his lawyer here showed me a copy of the letters and papers which are to be used as evidence, and, i must say, they _are entirely_ without flaw. he proves himself, undoubtedly, to be the first cousin of mr. garie. you are, no doubt, aware that these children being the offspring of a slave-woman, cannot inherit, in this state (except under certain circumstances), the property of a white father. i am, therefore, very much afraid that they are entirely at his mercy." "well, then," said walters, when mr. balch finished reading the letter, "it is clear there is an heir, and his claim _must_ be well sustained, if such a man as beckley, the first lawyer in the state, does not hesitate to endorse it; and as all the property (with the exception of a few thousands in my hands) lies in georgia, i'm afraid the poor children will come off badly, unless this new heir prove to be a man of generosity--at all events, it seems we are completely at his mercy." "we must hope for the best," rejoined mr. balch. "if he has any heart, he certainly will make some provision for them. the disappearance of that will is to me most unaccountable! i am confident it was at his house. it seemed so singular that none of his papers should be missing, except that--there were a great many others, deeds, mortgages, &c. scattered over the floor, but no will!" the gentlemen were thus conversing, when they heard a tap at the door. "come in!" cried mr. balch; and, in answer to the request, in walked mr. george stevens. mr. walters and mr. balch bowed very stiffly, and the latter inquired what had procured him the honour of a visit. "i have called upon you in reference to the property of the late mr. garie." "oh! you are acting in behalf of this new claimant, i suppose?" rejoined mr. balch. "sir!" said mr. stevens, looking as though he did not thoroughly understand him. "i said," repeated mr. balch, "that i presumed you called in behalf of this new-found heir to mr. garie's property." mr. stevens looked at him for a moment, then drawing himself up, exclaimed, "i am the heir!" "you!--_you_ the heir!" cried both the gentlemen, almost simultaneously. "yes, i am the heir!" coolly repeated mr. stevens, with an assured look. "i am the first cousin of mr. garie!" "you his first cousin?--it is impossible!" said walters. "you'll discover it is not only possible, but true--i am, as i said, mr. garie's first cousin!" "if you are that, you are more," said walters, fiercely--"you're his murderer!" at this charge mr. stevens turned deathly pale. "yes," continued walters; "you either murdered him, or instigated others to do so! it was you who directed the rioters against both him and me--i have proof of what i say and can produce it. now your motive is clear as day--you wanted his money, and destroyed him to obtain it! his blood is on your hands!" hissed walters through his clenched teeth. in the excitement consequent upon such a charge, mr. stevens, unnoticed by himself, had overturned a bottle of red ink, and its contents had slightly stained his hands. when walters charged him with having mr. garie's blood upon them, he involuntarily looked down and saw his hands stained with red. an expression of intense horror flitted over his face when he observed it; but quickly regaining his composure, he replied, "it's only a little ink." "yes, i know _that_ is ink," rejoined walters, scornfully; "look at him, balch," he continued, "he doesn't dare to look either of us in the face." "it's false," exclaimed stevens, with an effort to appear courageous; "it's as false as hell, and any man that charges me with it is a liar." the words had scarcely passed his lips, when walters sprang upon him with the ferocity of a tiger, and seizing him by the throat, shook and whirled him about as though he were a plaything. "stop, stop! walters," cried mr. balch, endeavouring to loose his hold upon the throat of mr. stevens, who was already purple in the face; "let him go, this violence can benefit neither party. loose your hold." at this remonstrance, walters dashed stevens from him into the farthest corner of the room, exclaiming, "now, go and prosecute me if you dare, and i'll tell for what i chastised you; prosecute me for an assault, if you think you can risk the consequences." mr. balch assisted him from the floor and placed him in a chair, where he sat holding his side, and panting for breath. when he was able to speak, he exclaimed, with a look of concentrated malignity, "remember, we'll be even some day; i never received a blow and forgot it afterwards, bear that in mind." "this will never do, gentlemen," said mr. balch, soothingly: "this conduct is unworthy of you. you are unreasonable both of you. when you have cooled down we will discuss the matter as we should." "you'll discuss it alone then," said stevens, rising, and walking to the door: "and when you have any further communication to make, you must come to me." "stop, stop, don't go," cried mr. balch, following him out at the door, which they closed behind them; "don't go away in a passion, mr. stevens. you and walters are both too hasty. come in here and sit down," said he, opening the door of a small adjoining room, "wait here one moment, i'll come back to you." "this will never do, walters," said he, as he re-entered his office; "the fellow has the upper hand of us, and we must humour him; we should suppress our own feelings for the children's sake. you are as well aware as i am of the necessity of some compromise--we are in his power for the present, and must act as circumstances compel us to." "i can't discuss the matter with him," interrupted walters, "he's an unmitigated scoundrel. i couldn't command my temper in his presence for five minutes. if you can arrange anything with him at all advantageous to the children, i shall be satisfied, it will be more than i expect; only bear in mind, that what i have in my hands belonging to garie we must retain, he knows nothing of that." "very well," rejoined mr. balch, "depend upon it i'll do my best;" and closing the door, he went back to mr. stevens. "now, mr. stevens," said he, drawing up a chair, "we will talk over this matter dispassionately, and try and arrive at some amicable arrangement: be kind enough to inform me what your claims are." "mr. balch, _you_ are a gentleman," began mr. stevens, "and therefore i'm willing to discuss the matter thoroughly with you. you'll find me disposed to do a great deal for these children: but i wish it distinctly understood at the beginning, that whatever i may give them, i bestow as a favour. i concede nothing to them as a right, legally they have not the slightest claim upon me; of that you, who are an excellent lawyer, must be well aware." "we won't discuss that point at present, mr. stevens. i believe you intimated you would be kind enough to say upon what evidence you purposed sustaining your claims?" "well, to come to the point, then," said stevens; "the deceased mr. garie was, as i before said, my first cousin. his father and my mother were brother and sister. my mother married in opposition to her parents' desires; they cut her off from the family, and for years there was no communication between them. at my father's death, my mother made overtures for a reconciliation, which were contemptuously rejected, at length she died. i was brought up in ignorance of who my grandparents were; and only a few months since, on the death of my father's sister, did i make the discovery. here," said he, extending the packet of letters which, the reader will remember once agitated, him so strangely, "here are the letters that passed between my mother and her father." mr. balch took up one and read:-- "_savannah_, -- "madam,--permit me to return this letter (wherein you declare yourself the loving and repentant daughter of bernard garie) and at the same time inform you, that by your own. acts you have deprived yourself of all claim to that relation. in opposition to my wishes, and in open defiance of my express commands, you chose to unite your fortune with one in every respect your inferior. if that union has not resulted as happily as you expected, you must sustain yourself by the reflection that you are the author of your own misfortunes and alone to blame for your present miserable condition.--respectfully yours, "bernard garie." mr. balch read, one after another, letters of a similar purport--in fact, a long correspondence between bernard garie and the mother of mr. stevens. when he had finished, the latter remarked, "in addition to those, i can produce my mother's certificate of baptism, her marriage certificate, and every necessary proof of my being her son. if that does not suffice to make a strong case, i am at a loss to imagine what will." mr. balch pondered a few moments, and then inquired, looking steadily at mr. stevens, "how long have you known of this relationship?" "oh, i've known it these three years." "three years! why, my dear sir, only a few moments ago you said a few months." "oh, did i?" said mr. stevens, very much confused; "i meant, or should have said, three years." "then, of course you were aware that mr. garie was your cousin when he took the house beside you?" "oh, yes--that is--yes--yes; i _was_ aware of it." "and did you make any overtures of a social character?" asked mr. balch. "well, yes--that is to say, my wife did." "_where were you the night of the murder?_" mr. stevens turned pale at this question, and replied, hesitatingly, "why, at home, of course." "you were at home, and saw the house of your cousins assaulted, and made no effort to succour them or their children. the next morning you are one of the coroner's inquest, and hurry through the proceedings, never once saying a word of your relationship to them, nor yet making any inquiry respecting the fate of the children. _it is very singular_." "i don't see what this cross-questioning is to amount to; it has nothing to do with my claim as heir." "we are coming to that," rejoined mr. balch. "this, as i said, is very singular; and when i couple it with some other circumstances that have come to my knowledge, it is more than singular--_it is suspicious_. here are a number of houses assaulted by a mob. two or three days before the assault takes place, a list in your handwriting, and which is headed, '_places to be attacked_,' is found, under circumstances that leave no doubt that it came directly from you. well, the same mob that attacks these places--_marked out by you_--traverse a long distance to reach the house of your next-door neighbour. they break into it, and kill him; and you, who are aware at the time that he is your own cousin, do not attempt to interpose to prevent it, although it can be proved that you were all-powerful with the marauders. no! you allow him to be destroyed without an effort to save him, and immediately claim his property. now, mr. stevens, people disposed to be suspicions--seeing how much you were to be the gainer by his removal, and knowing you had some connection with this mob--might not scruple to say that _you_ instigated the attack by which he lost his life; and i put it to you--now don't you think that, if it was any one else, you would say that the thing looked suspicious?" mr. stevens winced at this, but made no effort to reply. mr. balch continued, "what i was going to remark is simply this. as we are in possession of these facts, and able to prove them by competent witnesses, we should not be willing to remain perfectly silent respecting it, unless you made what _we_ regarded as a suitable provision for the children." "i'm willing, as i said before, to do something; but don't flatter yourself i'll do any more than i originally intended from any fear of disclosures from you. i'm not to be frightened," said mr. stevens. "i'm not at all disposed to attempt to frighten you: however, you know how far a mere statement of these facts would go towards rendering your position in society more agreeable. a person who has been arrested on suspicion of murder is apt to be shunned and distrusted. it can't be helped; people are so very squeamish--they _will_ draw back, you know, under such circumstances." "i don't see how such a suspicion can attach itself to me," rejoined stevens, sharply. "oh, well, we won't discuss that any further: let me hear what you will do for the children." mr. balch saw, from the nervous and embarrassed manner of mr. stevens, that the indirect threat of exposing him had had considerable effect; and his downcast looks and agitation rather strengthened in his mind the suspicions that had been excited by the disclosures of mr. walters. after a few moments' silence, mr. stevens said, "i'll settle three thousand dollars on each of the children. now i think that is treating them liberally." "liberally!" exclaimed balch, in a tone of contempt--"liberally! you acquire by the death of their father property worth one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and you offer these children, who are the rightful heirs, three thousand dollars! that, sir, won't suffice." "i think it should, then," rejoined stevens. "by the laws of georgia these children, instead of being his heirs, are my slaves. their mother was a slave before them, and they were born slaves; and if they were in savannah, i could sell them both to-morrow. on the whole, i think i've made you a very fair offer, and i'd advise you to think of it." "no, mr. stevens; i shall accept no such paltry sum. if you wish a quick and peaceful possession of what you are pleased to regard as your rights, you must tender something more advantageous, or i shall feel compelled to bring this thing into court, even at the risk of loss; and there, you know, we should be obliged to make a clear statement of _everything_ connected with this business. it might be advantageous to _us_ to bring the thing fully before the court and public--but i'm exceedingly doubtful whether it would advance _your_ interest." stevens winced at this, and asked, "what would you consider a fair offer?" "i should consider _all_ a just offer, half a fair one, and a quarter as little as you could have the conscience to expect us to take." "i don't see any use in this chaffering, mr. balch," said stephens; "you can't expect me to give you any such sums as you propose. name a sum that you can reasonably expect to get." "well," said mr. balch, rising, "you must give us fifteen thousand dollars, and you should think yourself well off then. we could commence a suit, and put you to nearly that expense to defend it; to say nothing of the notoriety that the circumstance would occasion you. both walters and i are willing to spend both money and time in defence of these children's rights; i assure you they are not friendless." "i'll give twelve thousand, and not a cent more, if i'm hung for it," said mr. stevens, almost involuntarily. "who spoke of hanging?" asked mr. balch. "oh!" rejoined stevens, "that is only my emphatic way of speaking." "of course, you meant figuratively," said mr. balch, in a tone of irony; mentally adding, "as i hope you may be one day literally." mr. stevens looked flushed and angry, but mr. balch continued, without appearing to notice him, and said: "i'll speak to walters. should he acquiesce in your proposal, i am willing to accept it; however, i cannot definitely decide without consulting him. to-morrow i will inform you of the result." chapter xxvi. home again. to charlie the summer had been an exceedingly short one--time had flown so pleasantly away. everything that could be done to make the place agreeable mrs. bird had effected. amongst the number of her acquaintances who had conceived a regard for her young _protege_ was a promising artist to whom she had been a friend and patroness. charlie paid him frequent visits, and would sit hour after hour in his studio, watching the progress of his work. having nothing else at the time to amuse him, he one day asked the artist's permission to try his hand at a sketch. being supplied with the necessary materials, he commenced a copy of a small drawing, and was working assiduously, when the artist came and looked over his shoulder. "did you ever draw before?" he asked, with a start of surprise. "never," replied charlie, "except on my slate at school. i sometimes used to sketch the boys' faces." "and you have never received any instructions?" "never--not even a hint," was the answer. "and this is the first time you have attempted a sketch upon paper?" "yes; the very first." "then you are a little prodigy," said the artist, slapping him upon the shoulder. "i must take you in hand. you have nothing else to do; come here regularly every day, and i'll teach you. will you come?" "certainly, if you wish it. but now, tell me, do you really think that drawing good?" "well, charlie, if i had done it, it would be pronounced very bad for me; but, coming from your hands, it's something astonishing." "really, now--you're not joking me?" "no, charlie, i'm in earnest--i assure you i am; it is drawn with great spirit, and the boy that you have put in by the pump is exceedingly well done." this praise served as a great incentive to our little friend, who, day after day thenceforth, was found at the studio busily engaged with his crayons, and making rapid progress in his new art. he had been thus occupied some weeks, and one morning was hurrying to the breakfast-table, to get through his meal, that he might be early at the studio, when he found mrs. bird in her accustomed seat looking very sad. "why, what is the matter?" he asked, on observing the unusually grave face of his friend. "oh, charlie, my dear! i've received very distressing intelligence from philadelphia. your father is quite ill." "my father ill!" cried he, with a look of alarm. "yes, my dear! quite sick--so says my letter. here are two for you." charlie hastily broke the seal of one, and read as follows:-- "my dear little brother,--we are all in deep distress in consequence of the misfortunes brought upon us by the mob. our home has been destroyed; and, worse than all, our poor father was caught, and so severely beaten by the rioters that for some days his life was entirely despaired of. thank god! he is now improving, and we have every reasonable hope of his ultimate recovery. mother, caddy, and i, as you may well suppose, are almost prostrated by this accumulation of misfortunes, and but for the kindness of mr. walters, with whom we are living, i do not know what would have become of us. dear mr. and mrs. garie--[here followed a passage that was so scored and crossed as to be illegible. after a short endeavour to decipher it, he continued:] we would like to see you very much, and mother grows every day more anxious for your return. i forgot to add, in connection with the mob, that mr. walters's house was also attacked, but unsuccessfully, the rioters having met a signal repulse. mother and caddy send a world of love to you. so does kinch, who comes every day to see us and is, often extremely useful. give our united kind regards to mrs. bird, and thank her in our behalf for her great kindness to you.--ever yours, "esther. "p.s.--do try and manage to come home soon." the tears trickled down charlie's cheek as he perused the letter, which, when he had finished reading, he handed to mrs. bird, and then commenced the other. this proved to be from kinch, who had spent all the spare time at his disposal since the occurrence of the mob in preparing it. "to mr. charles ellis, esq., at mrs. bird's. "_philadelphia_. "dear sir and honnored friend.--i take this chance to write to you to tell you that i am well, and that we are all well except your father, who is sick; and i hope you are enjoying the same blessin. we had an awful fight, and i was there, and i was one of the captings. i had a sord on; and the next mornin we had a grate brekfast. but nobody eat anything but me, and i was obliged to eat, or the wittles would have spoiled. the mob had guns as big as cannun; and they shot them off, and the holes are in the shutter yet; and when you come back, i will show them to you. your father is very bad; and i have gone back to school, and i am licked every day because i don't know my lesson. a great big boy, with white woolly hair and pinkish grey eyes, has got your seat. i put a pin under him one day, and he told on me; and we are to have a fight tomorrow. the boys call him 'short and dirty,' because he ain't tall, and never washes his face. we have got a new teacher for the th division. he's a scorcher, and believes in rat tan. i am to wear my new cloths next sunday. excuse this long letter. your friend till death, "kinch sanders de younge. [illustration: skull and cross bones] "p.s. this it the best skull and cross-bones that i can make. come home soon, yours &c., "k. s. de younge, esq." charlie could not but smile through his tears, as he read this curious epistle, which was not more remarkable for its graceful composition than its wonderful chirography. some of the lines were written in blue ink, some in red, and others in that pale muddy black which is the peculiar colour of ink after passing through the various experiments of school-boys, who generally entertain the belief that all foreign substances, from molasses-candy to bread-crumbs, necessarily improve the colour and quality of that important liquid. "why every other word almost is commenced with a capital; and i declare he's even made some in german text," cried charlie, running his finger mirthfully along the lines, until he came to "your father is very bad." here the tears came welling up again--the shower had returned almost before the sun had departed; and, hiding his face in his hands, he leant sobbing on the table. "cheer up, charlie!--cheer up, my little man! all may go well yet." "mrs. bird," he sobbed, "you've been very kind to me; yet i want to go home. i must see mother and father. you see what esther writes,--they want me to come home; do let me go." "of course you shall go, if you wish. yet i should like you to remain with me, if you will." "no, no, mrs. bird, i mustn't stay; it wouldn't be right for me to remain here, idle and enjoying myself, and they so poor and unhappy at home. i couldn't stay," said he, rising from the table,--"i must go." "well, my dear, you can't go now. sit down and finish your breakfast, or you will have a head-ache." "i'm not hungry--i can't eat," he replied; "my appetite has all gone." and stealing away from the room, he went up into his chamber, threw himself on the bed, and wept bitterly. mrs. bird was greatly distressed at the idea of losing her little favourite. he had been so much with her that she had become strongly attached to him, and therefore looked forward to his departure with unfeigned regret. but charlie could not be persuaded to stay; and reluctantly mrs. bird made arrangements for his journey home. even the servants looked a little sorry when they heard of his intended departure; and reuben the coachman actually presented him with a jack-knife as a token of his regard. mrs. bird accompanied him to the steamer, and placed him under the special care of the captain; so that he was most comfortably provided for until his arrival in new york, where he took the cars direct for home. not having written to inform them on what day he might be expected, he anticipated giving them a joyful surprise, and, with this end in view, hastened in the direction of mr. walters's. as he passed along, his eye was attracted by a figure before him which he thought he recognized, and on closer inspection it proved to be his sister caddy. full of boyish fun, he crept up behind her, and clasped his hands over her eyes, exclaiming, in an assumed voice, "now, who am i?" "go away, you impudent, nasty thing!" cried caddy, plunging violently. charlie loosed his hold; she turned, and beheld her brother. "oh! charlie, charlie! is it you? why, bless you, you naughty fellow, how you frightened me!" said she, throwing her arms round his neck, and kissing him again and again. "when did you come? oh, how delighted mother and ess will be!" "i only arrived about half an hour ago. how are mother and father and esther?" "mother and ess are well, and father better. but i'm so glad to see you," she cried, with a fresh burst of tears and additional embraces. "why, cad," said he, endeavouring to suppress some watery sensations of his own, "i'm afraid you're not a bit pleased at my return--you're actually crying about it." "oh, i'm so glad to see you that i can't help it," she replied, as she fell to crying and kissing him more furiously than before. charlie became much confused at these repeated demonstrations of joyful affection in the crowded street, and, gently disengaging her, remarked, "see, caddy, everybody is looking at us; let us walk on." "i had almost forgot i was sent on an errand--however, it's not of much consequence--i'll go home again with you;" and taking his hand, they trudged on together. "how did you say father was?" he asked again. "oh, he's better bodily; that is, he has some appetite, sits up every day, and is gradually getting stronger; but he's all wrong here," said she, tapping her forehead. "sometimes he don't know any of us--and it makes us all feel so bad." here the tears came trickling down again, as she continued: "oh, charlie! what those white devils will have to answer for! when i think of how much injury they have done us, i _hate_ them! i know it's wrong to hate anybody--but i can't help it; and i believe god hates them as much as i do!" charlie looked gloomy; and, as he made no rejoinder, she continued, "we didn't save a thing, not even a change of clothes; they broke and burnt up everything; and then the way they beat poor father was horrible--horrible! just think--they chopped his fingers nearly all off, so that he has only the stumps left. charlie, charlie!" she cried, wringing her hands, "it's heart-rending to see him--he can't even feed himself, and he'll never be able to work again!" "don't grieve, cad," said charlie, with an effort to suppress his own tears; "i'm almost a man now," continued he, drawing himself up--"don't be afraid, i'll take care of you all!" thus conversing, they reached mr. walters's. caddy wanted charlie to stop and look at the damage effected by the mob upon the outside of the house, but he was anxious to go in, and ran up the steps and gave the bell a very sharp pull. the servant who opened the door was about to make some exclamation of surprise, and was only restrained by a warning look from charlie. hurrying past them, caddy led the way to the room where her mother and esther were sitting. with a cry of joy mrs. ellis caught him in her arms, and, before he was aware of their presence, he found himself half smothered by her and esther. they had never been separated before his trip to warmouth; and their reunion, under such circumstances, was particularly affecting. none of them could speak for a few moments, and charlie clung round his mother's neck as though he would never loose his hold. "mother, mother!" was all he could utter; yet in that word was comprised a world of joy and affection. esther soon came in for her share of caresses; then charlie inquired, "where's father?" "in here," said mrs. ellis, leading the way to an adjoining room. "i don't think he will know you--perhaps he may." in one corner of the apartment, propped up in a large easy chair by a number of pillows, sat poor mr. ellis, gazing vacantly about the room and muttering to himself. his hair had grown quite white, and his form was emaciated in the extreme; there was a broad scar across his forehead, and his dull, lustreless eyes were deeply sunken in his head. he took no notice of them as they approached, but continued muttering and looking at his hands. charlie was almost petrified at the change wrought in his father. a few months before he had left him in the prime of healthful manhood; now he was bent and spectrelike, and old in appearance as if the frosts of eighty winters had suddenly fallen on him. mrs. ellis laid her hand gently upon his shoulder, and said, "husband, here's charlie." he made no reply, but continued muttering and examining his mutilated hands. "it's charlie," she repeated. "oh, ay! nice little boy!" he replied, vacantly; "whose son is he?" mrs. ellis's voice quivered as she reiterated, "it's charlie--our charlie!--don't you know him?" "oh, yes! nice little boy--nice little boy. oh!" he continued, in a suppressed and hurried tone, as a look of alarm crossed his face; "run home quick, little boy! and tell your mother they're coming, thousands of them; they've guns, and swords, and clubs. hush! there they come--there they come!" and he buried his face in the shawl, and trembled in an agony of fright. "oh, mother, this is dreadful!" exclaimed charlie. "don't he know any of you?" "yes; sometimes his mind comes back--very seldom, though--only for a very little while. come away: talking to him sometimes makes him worse." and slowly and sorrowfully the two left the apartment. that evening, after mr. ellis had been safely bestowed in bed, the family gathered round the fire in the room of mrs. ellis, where charlie entertained them with a description of warmouth and of the manner in which he had passed the time whilst there. he was enthusiastic respecting mrs. bird and her kindness. "mother, she is such a _dear_ old lady: if i'd been as white as snow, and her own son, she couldn't have been kinder to me. she didn't want me to come away, and cried ever so much. let me show you what she gave me!" charlie thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a small wallet, from which he counted out four ten-dollar bills, two fives, and a two dollar and a half gold piece, "ain't i rich!" said he, as, with the air of a millionaire, he tossed the money upon a table. "now," he continued, "do you know what i'm about to do?" not receiving any answer from his wondering sisters or mother, he added, "why, just this!--here, mother, this is yours," said he, placing the four ten-dollar bills before her; "and here are five apiece for esther and cad; the balance is for your humble servant. now, then," he concluded, "what do you think of that?" mrs. ellis looked fondly at him, and, stroking his head, told him that he was a good son; and esther and caddy declared him to be the best brother in town. "now, girls," said he, with the air of a patriarch, "what do you intend to do with your money?" "mine will go towards buying me a dress, and esther will save hers for a particular purpose," said caddy. "i'll tell you something about her and mr. walters," continued she, with a mischievous look at her sister. "oh, caddy--don't! ain't you ashamed to plague me so?" asked esther, blushing to the roots of her hair. "mother, pray stop her," cried she, pleadingly. "hush, caddy!" interposed her mother, authoritatively; "you shall do no such thing." "well," resumed caddy, "mother says i mustn't tell; but i can say this much----" esther here put her hand over her sister's mouth and effectually prevented any communication she was disposed to make. "never mind her, ess!" cried charlie; "you'll tell me all in good time, especially if it's anything worth knowing." esther made no reply, but, releasing her sister, hurried out of the room, and went upstairs to charlie's chamber, where he found her on retiring for the night. "i'm glad you're here, ess," said he, "you'll indulge me. here is the key--open my trunk and get me out a nightcap; i'm too tired, or too lazy, to get it for myself." esther stooped down, opened the trunk, and commenced searching for the article of head-gear in question. "come, ess," said charles, coaxingly, "tell me what this is about you and mr. walters." she made no reply at first, but fumbled about in the bottom of the trunk, professedly in search of the nightcap which she at that moment held in her hand. "can't you tell me?" he again asked. "oh, there's nothing to tell, charlie!" she answered. "there must be something, ess, or you wouldn't have blushed up so when cad was about to speak of it. do," said he, approaching her, and putting his arm round her neck--"do tell me all about it--i am sure there is some secret!" "oh, no, charlie--there is no secret; it's only this----" here she stopped, and, blushing, turned her head away. "ess, this is nonsense," said charlie, impatiently: "if it's anything worth knowing, why can't you tell a fellow? come," said he, kissing her, "tell me, now, like a dear old ess as you are." "well, charlie," said she, jerking the words out with an effort, "mr.--mr. walters has asked me to marry him!" "phew--gemini! that is news!" exclaimed charlie. "and are you going to accept him ess?" "i don't know," she answered. "don't know!" repeated charlie, in a tone of surprise. "why, ess, i'm astonished at you--such a capital fellow as he is! half the girls of our acquaintance would give an eye for the chance." "but he is so rich!" responded esther. "well, now, that's a great objection, ain't it! i should say, all the better on that account," rejoined charlie. "the money is the great stumbling-block," continued she; "everybody would say i married him for that." "then _everybody_ would lie, _as_ everybody very often does! if i was you, ess, and loved him, i shouldn't let his fortune stand in the way. i wish," continued he, pulling up his shirt-collar, "that some amiable young girl with a fortune of a hundred thousand dollars, would make me an offer--i'd like to catch myself refusing her!" the idea of a youth of his tender years marrying any one, seemed so ludicrous to esther, that she burst into a hearty fit of laughter, to the great chagrin of our hero, who seemed decidedly of the opinion that his sister had not a proper appreciation of his years and inches. "don't laugh, ess; but tell me--do you really intend to refuse him?" "i can't decide yet, charlie," answered she seriously; "if we were situated as we were before--were not such absolute paupers--i wouldn't hesitate to accept him; but to bring a family of comparative beggars upon him--i can't make up my mind to do that." charlie looked grave as esther made this last objection; boy as he was, he felt its weight and justice. "well, ess," rejoined he, "i don't know what to say about it--of course i can't advise. what does mother say?" "she leaves it entirely to me," she answered. "she says i must act just as i feel is right." "i certainly wouldn't have him at all, ess, if i didn't love him; and if i did, i shouldn't let the money stand in the way--so, good night!" charlie slept very late the next morning, and was scarcely dressed when esther knocked at his door, with the cheerful tidings that her father had a lucid interval and was waiting to see him. dressing himself hastily, he followed her into their father's room. when he entered, the feeble sufferer stretched out his mutilated arms towards him and clasped him round the neck, "they tell me," said he, "that you came yesterday, and that i didn't recognize you. i thought, when i awoke this morning, that i had a dim recollection of having seen some dear face; but my head aches so, that i often forget--yes, often forget. my boy," he continued, "you are all your mother and sisters have to depend upon now; i'm--i'm----" here his voice faltered, as he elevated his stumps of hands--"i'm helpless; but you must take care of them. i'm an old man now," said he despondingly. "i will, father; i'll try _so_ hard" replied charlie. "it was cruel in them, wasn't it, son," he resumed. "see, they've made me helpless for ever!" charlie restrained the tears that were forcing themselves up, and rejoined, "never fear, father! i'll do my best; i trust i shall soon be able to take care of you." his father did not understand him--his mind was gone again, and he was staring vacantly about him. charlie endeavoured to recall his attention, but failed, for he began muttering about the mob and his hands; they were compelled to quit the room, and leave him to himself, as he always became quiet sooner by being left alone. chapter xxvii. sudbury. we must now admit our readers to a consultation that is progressing between mr. balch and mr. walters, respecting the future of the two garie children. they no doubt entered upon the conference with the warmest and most earnest desire of promoting the children's happiness; but, unfortunately, their decision failed to produce the wished-for result. "i scarcely thought you would have succeeded so well with him," said walters, "he is such an inveterate scoundrel; depend upon it nothing but the fear of the exposure resulting from a legal investigation would ever have induced that scamp to let twelve thousand dollars escape from his clutches. i am glad you have secured that much; when we add it to the eight thousand already in my possession it will place them in very comfortable circumstances, even if they never get any more." "i think we have done very well," rejoined mr. balch; "we were as much in his power as he was in ours--not in the same way, however; a legal investigation, no matter how damaging it might have been to his reputation, would not have placed us in possession of the property, or invalidated his claim as heir. i think, on the whole, we may as well be satisfied, and trust in providence for the future. so now, then, we will resume our discussion of that matter we had under consideration the other day. i cannot but think that my plan is best adapted to secure the boy's happiness." "i'm sorry i cannot agree with you, mr. balch. i have tried to view your plan in the most favourable light, yet i cannot rid myself of a presentiment that it will result in the ultimate discovery of his peculiar position, and that most probably at some time when his happiness is dependent upon its concealment. an undetected forger, who is in constant fear of being apprehended, is happy in comparison with that coloured man who attempts, in this country, to hold a place in the society of whites by concealing his origin. he must live in constant fear of exposure; this dread will embitter every enjoyment, and make him the most miserable of men." "you must admit," rejoined mr. balch, "that i have their welfare at heart. i have thought the matter over and over, and cannot, for the life of me, feel the weight of your objections. the children are peculiarly situated; everything seems to favour my views. their mother (the only relative they had whose african origin was distinguishable) is dead, and both of them are so exceedingly fair that it would never enter the brain of any one that they were connected with coloured people by ties of blood. clarence is old enough to know the importance of concealing the fact, and emily might be kept with us until her prudence also might be relied upon. you must acknowledge that as white persons they will be better off." "i admit," answered mr. walters, "that in our land of liberty it is of incalculable advantage to be white; that is beyond dispute, and no one is more painfully aware of it than i. often i have heard men of colour say they would not be white if they could--had no desire to change their complexions; i've written some down fools; others, liars. why," continued he, with a sneering expression of countenance, "it is everything to be white; one feels that at every turn in our boasted free country, where all men are upon an equality. when i look around me, and see what i have made myself in spite of circumstances, and think what i might have been with the same heart and brain beneath a fairer skin, i am almost tempted to curse the destiny that made me what i am. time after time, when scraping, toiling, saving, i have asked myself. to what purpose is it all?--perhaps that in the future white men may point at and call me, sneeringly, 'a nigger millionaire,' or condescend to borrow money of me. ah! often, when some negro-hating white man has been forced to ask a loan at my hands, i've thought of shylock and his pound of flesh, and ceased to wonder at him. there's no doubt, my dear sir, but what i fully appreciate the advantage of being white. yet, with all i have endured, and yet endure from day to day, i esteem myself happy in comparison with that man, who, mingling in the society of whites, is at the same time aware that he has african blood in his veins, and is liable at any moment to be ignominiously hurled from his position by the discovery of his origin. he is never safe. i have known instances where parties have gone on for years and years undetected; but some untoward circumstance brings them out at last, and down they fall for ever." "walters, my dear fellow, you will persist in looking upon his being discovered as a thing of course: i see no reason for the anticipation of any such result. i don't see how he is to be detected--it may never occur. and do you feel justified in consigning them to a position which you know by painful experience to be one of the most disagreeable that can be endured. ought we not to aid their escape from it if we can?" mr. walters stood reflectively for some moments, and then exclaimed, "i'll make no farther objection; i would not have the boy say to me hereafter, 'but for your persisting in identifying me with a degraded people, i might have been better and happier than i am.' however, i cannot but feel that concealments of this kind are productive of more misery than comfort." "we will agree to differ about that, walters; and now, having your consent, i shall not hesitate to proceed in the matter, with full reliance that the future will amply justify my choice." "well, well! as i said before, i will offer no further objection. now let me hear the details of your plan." "i have written," answered mr. balch, "to mr. eustis, a friend of mine living at sudbury, where there is a large preparatory school for boys. at his house i purpose placing clarence. mr. eustis is a most discreet man, and a person of liberal sentiments. i feel that i can confide everything to him without the least fear of his ever divulging a breath of it. he is a gentleman in the fullest sense of the term, and at his house the boy will have the advantage of good society, and will associate with the best people of the place." "has he a family?" asked mr. walters. "he is a widower," answered mr. balch; "a maiden sister of his wife's presides over his establishment; she will be kind to clarence, i am confident; she has a motherly soft heart, and is remarkably fond of children. i have not the least doubt but that he will be very happy and comfortable there. i think it very fortunate, walters," he continued, "that he has so few coloured acquaintances--no boyish intimacies to break up; and it will be as well to send him away before he has an opportunity of forming them. besides, being here, where everything will be so constantly reviving the remembrance of his recent loss, he may grow melancholy and stupid. i have several times noticed his reserve, so unusual in a child. his dreadful loss and the horrors that attended it have made, a deep impression--stupified him, to a certain extent, i think. well, well! we will get him off, and once away at school, and surrounded by lively boys, this dulness will soon wear off." the gentlemen having fully determined upon his being sent, it was proposed to bring him in immediately and talk to him relative to it. he was accordingly sent for, and came into the room, placing himself beside the chair of mr. walters. clarence had altered very much since the death of his parents. his face had grown thin and pale, and he was much taller than when he came to philadelphia: a shade of melancholy had overspread his face; there was now in his eyes that expression of intense sadness that characterized his mother's. "you sent for me?" he remarked, inquiringly, to mr. walters. "yes, my boy," he rejoined, "we sent for you to have a little talk about school. would you like to go to school again?" "oh, yes!" answered clarence, his face lighting up with pleasure; "i should like it of all things; it would be much better than staying at home all day, doing nothing; the days are so long," concluded he, with a sigh. "ah! we will soon remedy that," rejoined mr. balch, "when you go to sudbury." "sudbury!" repeated clarence, with surprise; "where is that? i thought you meant, to go to school here." "oh, no, my dear," said mr. balch, "i don't know of any good school here, such as you would like; we wish to send you to a place where you will enjoy yourself finely,--where you will have a number of boys for companions in your studies and pleasures." "and is em going with me?" he asked. "oh, no, that is not possible; it is a school for boys exclusively; you can't take your sister there," rejoined mr. walters. "then i don't want to go," said clarence, decidedly; "i don't want to go where i can't take em with me." mr. balch exchanged glances with mr. walters, and looked quite perplexed at this new opposition to his scheme. nothing daunted, however, by this difficulty, he, by dint of much talking and persuasion, brought clarence to look upon the plan with favour, and to consent reluctantly to go without his sister. but the most delicate part of the whole business was yet to come--they must impress upon the child the necessity of concealing the fact that he was of african origin. neither seemed to know how to approach the subject. clarence, however, involuntarily made an opening for them by inquiring if emily was to go to miss jordan's school again. "no, my dear," answered mr. balch, "miss jordan won't permit her to attend school there." "why?" asked clarence. "because she is a coloured child," rejoined mr. balch. "now, clarence," he continued, "you are old enough, i presume, to know the difference that exists between the privileges and advantages enjoyed by the whites, and those that are at the command of the coloured people. white boys can go to better schools, and they can enter college and become professional men, lawyers, doctors, &c, or they may be merchants--in fact, they can be anything they please. coloured people can enjoy none of these advantages; they are shut out from them entirely. now which of the two would you rather be--coloured or white?" "i should much rather be white, of course," answered clarence; "but i am coloured, and can't help myself," said he, innocently. "but, my child, we are going to send you where it is not known that you are coloured; and you must _never, never_ tell it, because if it became known, you would be expelled from the school, as you were from miss jordan's." "i didn't know we were expelled," rejoined clarence. "i know she sent us home, but i could not understand what it was for. i'm afraid they will send me from the other school. won't they know i am coloured?" "no, my child, i don't think they will discover it unless you should be foolish enough to tell it yourself, in which case both mr. walters and myself would be very much grieved." "but suppose some one should ask me," suggested clarence. "no one will ever ask you such a question," said mr. balch, impatiently; "all you have to do is to be silent yourself on the subject. should any of your schoolmates ever make inquiries respecting your parents, all you have to answer is, they were from georgia, and you are an orphan." clarence's eyes began to moisten as mr. balch spoke of his parents, and after a few moments he asked, with some hesitation, "am i never to speak of mother? i love to talk of mother." "yes, my dear, of course you can talk of your mother," answered mr. balch, with great embarrassment; "only, you know, my child, you need not enter into particulars as regards her appearance; that is, you--ah!--need not say she was a coloured woman. you _must not_ say that; you understand?" "yes, sir," answered clarence. "very well, then; bear that in mind. you must know, clarence," continued he, "that this concealment is necessary for your welfare, or we would not require it; and you must let me impress it upon you, that it is requisite that you attend strictly to our directions." mr. walters remained silent during most of this conversation. he felt a repugnance to force upon the child a concealment the beneficial results of which were the reverse of obvious, so he merely gave clarence some useful advice respecting his general conduct, and then permitted him to leave the room. the morning fixed upon for their departure for sudbury turned out to be cold and cheerless; and clarence felt very gloomy as he sat beside his sister at their early breakfast, of which he was not able to eat a morsel. "do eat something, clary," said she, coaxingly; "only look what nice buckwheat cakes these are; cook got up ever so early on purpose to bake them for you." "no, sis," he replied, "i can't eat. i feel so miserable, everything chokes me." "well, eat a biscuit, then," she continued, as she buttered it and laid it on his plate; "do eat it, now." more to please her than from a desire to eat, he forced down a few mouthfuls of it, and drank a little tea; then, laying his arm round her neck, he said, "em, you must try hard to learn to write soon, so that i may hear from you at least once a week." "oh! i shall soon know how, i'm in g's and h's now. aunt esther--she says i may call her aunt esther--teaches me every day. ain't i getting on nicely?" "oh, yes, you learn very fast," said esther, encouragingly, as she completed the pile of sandwiches she was preparing for the young traveller; then, turning to look at the timepiece on the mantel, she exclaimed, "quarter to seven--how time flies! mr. balch will soon be here. you must be all ready, clarence, so as not to keep him waiting a moment." clarence arose from his scarcely tasted meal, began slowly to put on his overcoat, and make himself ready for the journey. em tied on the warm woollen neck-comforter, kissing him on each cheek as she did so, and whilst they were thus engaged, mr. balch drove up to the door. charlie, who had come down to see him off, tried (with his mouth full of buckwheat cake) to say something consolatory, and gave it as his experience, "that a fellow soon got over that sort of thing; that separations must occur sometimes," &c.--and, on the whole, endeavoured to talk in a very manly and philosophical strain; but his precepts and practice proved to be at utter variance, for when the moment of separation really came and he saw the tearful embrace of em and her brother, he caught the infection of grief, and cried as heartily as the best of them. there was but little time, however, to spare for leave-takings, and the young traveller and his guardian were soon whirling over the road towards new york. by a singular chance, clarence found himself in the same car in which he had formerly rode when they were on their way to philadelphia: he recognized it by some peculiar paintings on the panel of the door, and the ornamental border of the ceiling. this brought back a tide of memories, and he began contrasting that journey with the present. opposite was the seat on which his parents had sat, in the bloom of health, and elate with; joyous anticipations; he remembered--oh! so well--his father's pleasant smile, his mother's soft and gentle voice. both now were gone. death had made rigid that smiling face--her soft voice was hushed for ever--and the cold snow was resting on their bosoms in the little churchyard miles away. truly the contrast between now and then was extremely saddening, and the child bowed his head upon the seat, and sobbed in bitter grief. "what is the matter?" asked mr. balch; "not crying again, i hope. i thought you were going to be a man, and that we were not to have any more tears. come!" continued he, patting him encouragingly on the back, "cheer up! you are going to a delightful place, where you will find a number of agreeable playmates, and have a deal of fun, and enjoy yourself amazingly." "but it won't be _home_," replied clarence. "true," replied mr. balch, a little touched, "it won't seem so at first; but you'll soon like it, i'll guarantee that." clarence was not permitted to indulge his grief to any great extent, for mr. balch soon succeeded in interesting him in the various objects that they passed on the way. on the evening of the next day they arrived at their destination, and clarence alighted from the cars, cold, fatigued, and spiritless. there had been a heavy fall of snow a few days previous, and the town of sudbury, which was built upon the hill-side, shone white and sparkling in the clear winter moonlight. it was the first time that clarence had ever seen the ground covered with snow, and he could not restrain his admiration at the novel spectacle it presented to him. "oh, look!--oh, do look! mr. balch," he exclaimed, "how beautifully white it looks; it seems as if the town was built of salt." it was indeed a pretty sight. near them stood a clump of fantastic-shaped trees, their gnarled limbs covered with snow, and brilliant with the countless icicles that glistened like precious stones in the bright light that was reflected upon them from the windows of the station. a little farther on, between them and the town, flowed a small stream, the waters of which were dimpling and sparkling in the moonlight. beside its banks arose stately cotton-mills, and from their many windows hundreds of lights were shining. behind them, tier above tier, were the houses of the town; and crowning the hill was the academy, with its great dome gleaming on its top like a silver cap upon a mountain of snow. the merry sleigh-bells and the crisp tramp of the horses upon the frozen ground were all calculated to make a striking impression on one beholding such a scene for the first time. clarence followed mr. balch into the sleigh, delighted and bewildered with the surrounding objects. the driver whipped up his horses, they clattered over the bridge, dashed swiftly through the town, and in a very short period arrived at the dwelling of mr. eustis. the horses had scarcely stopped, when the door flew open, and a stream of light from the hall shone down the pathway to the gate. mr. eustis came out on the step to welcome them. after greeting mr. balch warmly, he took clarence by the hand, and led him into the room where his sister was sitting. "here is our little friend," said he to her, as she arose and approached them; "try and get him warm, ada--his hands are like ice." miss ada bell welcomed clarence in the most affectionate manner, assisted him to remove his coat, unfastened his woollen neck-tie, and smoothed down his glossy black hair; then, warming a napkin, she wrapped it round his benumbed hands, and held them in her own until the circulation was restored and they were supple and comfortable again. miss ada bell appeared to be about thirty-five. she had good regular features, hazel eyes, and long chestnut curls: a mouth with the sweetest expression, and a voice so winning and affectionate in its tone that it went straight to the hearts of all that listened to its music. "had you a pleasant journey?" she asked. "it was rather cold," answered clarence, "and i am not accustomed to frosty weather." "and did you leave all your friends well?" she continued, as she chafed his hands. "quite well, i thank you," he replied. "i hear you have a little sister; were you not sorry to leave her behind?" this question called up the tearful face of little em and her last embrace. he could not answer; he only raised his mournful dark eyes to the face of miss ada, and as he looked at her they grew moist, and a tear sparkled on his long lashes. miss ada felt that she had touched a tender chord, so she stooped down and kissed his forehead, remarking, "you have a good face, clarence, and no doubt an equally good heart; we shall get on charmingly together, i know." those kind words won the orphan's heart, and from that day forth. clarence loved her. tea was soon brought upon the table, and they all earnestly engaged in the discussion of the various refreshments that miss ada's well-stocked larder afforded. everything was so fresh and nicely flavoured that both the travellers ate very heartily; then, being much fatigued with their two days' journey, they seized an early opportunity to retire. * * * * * here we leave clarence for many years; the boy will have become a man ere we re-introduce him, and, till then, we bid him adieu. chapter xxviii. charlie seeks employment. charlie had been at borne some weeks, comparatively idle; at least he so considered himself, as the little he did in the way of collecting rents and looking up small accounts for mr. walters he regarded as next to nothing, it not occupying half his time. a part of each day he spent in attendance on his father, who seemed better satisfied with his ministrations than with those of his wife and daughters. this proved to be very fortunate for all parties, as it enabled the girls to concentrate their attention on their sewing--of which they had a vast deal on hand. one day, when esther and charlie were walking out together, the latter remarked: "ess, i wish i could find some regular and profitable employment, or was apprenticed to some good trade that would enable me to assist mother a little; i'd even go to service if i could do no better--anything but being idle whilst you are all so hard at work. it makes me feel very uncomfortable." "i would be very glad if you could procure some suitable employment. i don't wish you to go to service again, that is out of the question. of whom have you made inquiry respecting a situation." "oh, of lots of people; they can tell me of any number of families who are in want of a footman, but no one appears to know of a 'person who is willing to receive a black boy as an apprentice to a respectable calling. it's too provoking; i really think, ess, that the majority of white folks imagine that we are only fit for servants, and incapable of being rendered useful in any other capacity. if that terrible misfortune had not befallen father, i should have learned his trade." "ah!" sighed esther, "but for that we should all have been happier. but, charlie," she added, "how do you know that you cannot obtain any other employment than that of a servant? have you ever applied personally to any one?" "no, esther, i haven't; but you know as well as i that white masters won't receive coloured apprentices." "i think a great deal of that is taken for granted," rejoined esther, "try some one yourself." "i only wish i knew of any one to try," responded charlie, "i'd hazard the experiment at any rate." "look over the newspaper in the morning," advised esther; "there are always a great many wants advertised--amongst them you may perhaps find something suitable." "well, i will ess--now then we won't talk about that any more--pray tell me, if i'm not too inquisitive, what do you purpose buying with your money--a wedding-dress, eh?" he asked, with a merry twinkle in his eye. esther blushed and sighed, as she answered: "no, charlie, that is all over for the present. i told him yesterday i could not think of marrying now, whilst we are all so unsettled. it grieved me to do it, charlie, but i felt that it was my duty. cad and i are going to add our savings to mother's; that, combined with what we shall receive for father's tools, good-will, &c, will be sufficient to furnish another house; and as soon as we can succeed in that, we will leave mr. walters, as it is embarrassing to remain under present circumstances." "and what is to become of little em?--she surely won't remain alone with him?" "mr. walters has proposed that when we procure a house she shall come and board with us. he wants us to take one of his houses, and offers some fabulous sum for the child's board, which it would be unreasonable in us to take. dear, good man, he is always complaining that we are too proud, and won't let him assist us when he might. if we find a suitable house i shall be delighted to have her. i love the child for her mother's sake and her own." "i wonder if they will ever send her away, as they did clarence?" asked charlie. "i do not know," she rejoined. "mr. balch told me that he should not insist upon it if the child was unwilling." the next day charlie purchased all the morning papers he could obtain, and sat down to look over the list of wants. there were hungry people in want of professed cooks; divers demands for chamber-maids, black or white; special inquiries for waiters and footmen, in which the same disregard of colour was observable; advertisements for partners in all sorts of businesses, and for journeymen in every department of mechanical operations; then there were milliners wanted, sempstresses, and even theatrical assistants, but nowhere in the long columns could he discover: "wanted, a boy." charlie searched them over and over, but the stubborn fact stared him in the face--there evidently were no boys wanted; and he at length concluded that he either belonged to a very useless class, or that there was an unaccountable prejudice existing in the city against the rising generation. charlie folded up the papers with a despairing sigh, and walked to the post-office to mail a letter to mrs. bird that he had written the previous evening. having noticed a number of young men examining some written notices that were posted up, he joined the group, and finding it was a list of wants he eagerly read them over. to his great delight he found there was one individual at least, who thought boys could be rendered useful to society, and who had written as follows: "wanted, a youth of about thirteen years of age who writes a good hand, and is willing to make himself useful in an office.--address, box no. , post-office." "i'm their man!" said charlie to himself, as he finished perusing it--"i'm just the person. i'll go home and write to them immediately;" and accordingly he hastened back to the house, sat down, and wrote a reply to the advertisement. he then privately showed it to esther, who praised the writing and composition, and pronounced the whole very neatly done. charlie then walked down to the post-office to deposit his precious reply; and after dropping it into the brass mouth of the mail-box, he gazed in after it, and saw it glide slowly down into the abyss below. how many more had stopped that day to add their contributions to the mass which charlie's letter now joined? merchants on the brink of ruin had deposited missives whose answer would make or break them; others had dropped upon the swelling heap tidings that would make poor men rich--rich men richer; maidens came with delicately written notes, perfumed and gilt-edged, eloquent with love--and cast them amidst invoices and bills of lading. letters of condolence and notes of congratulation jostled each other as they slid down the brass throat; widowed mothers' tender epistles to wandering sons; the letters of fond wives to absent husbands; erring daughters' last appeals to outraged parents; offers of marriage; invitations to funerals; hope and despair; joy and sorrow; misfortune and success--had glided in one almost unbroken stream down that ever-distended and insatiable brass throat. charlie gave one more look at the opening, then sauntered homeward, building by the way houses of fabulous dimensions, with the income he anticipated from the situation if he succeeded in procuring it. throughout the next day he was in a state of feverish anxiety and expectation, and mrs. ellis two or three times inquired the meaning of the mysterious whisperings and glances that were exchanged between him and esther. the day wore away, and yet no answer--the next came and passed, still no communication; and charlie had given up in despair, when he was agreeably surprised by the following:---- "messrs. twining, western, and twining will be much obliged to charles ellis, if he will call at their office, , water-street, to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock, as they would like to communicate further with him respecting a situation in their establishment." charlie flew up stairs to esther's room, and rushing in precipitately, exclaimed, "oh! ess--i've got it, i've got it--see here," he shouted, waving the note over his head; "hurrah! hurrah! just read it, ess, only just read it!" "how can i, charlie?" said she, with a smile, "if you hold it in your hand and dance about in that frantic style--give it me. there now--keep quiet a moment, and let me read it." after perusing it attentively, esther added, "don't be too sanguine, charlie. you see by the tenor of the note that the situation is not promised you; they only wish to see you respecting it. you may not secure it, after all--some obstacle may arise of which we are not at present aware." "go on, old raven--croak away!" said charlie, giving her at the same time a facetious poke. "there's many a slip between the cup and the lip," she added. "oh, ess!" he rejoined, "don't throw cold water on a fellow in that style--don't harbour so many doubts. do you think they would take the trouble to write if they did not intend to give me the situation? go away, old raven," concluded he, kissing her, "and don't let us have any more croaking." charlie was bounding from the room, when he was stopped by his sister, who begged him not to say anything to their mother respecting it, but wait until they knew the issue of the interview; and, if he secured the situation, it would be a very agreeable surprise to her. we will now visit, in company with the reader, the spacious offices of messrs. twining, western, and twining, where we shall find mr. western about consigning to the waste-paper basket a large pile of letters. this gentleman was very fashionably dressed, of dark complexion, with the languid air and drawling intonation of a southerner. at an adjoining desk sat an elderly sharp-faced gentleman, who was looking over his spectacles at the movements of his partner. "what a mass of letters you are about to destroy," he remarked. mr. western took from his month the cigar he was smoking, and after puffing from between his lips a thin wreath of smoke, replied: "some of the most atwocious scwawls that man ever attempted to pewuse,--weplies to the advertisement. out of the whole lot there wasn't more than a dozen amongst them that were weally pwesentable. here is one wemawkably well witten: i have desiwed the witer to call this morning at eleven. i hope he will make as favouwable an impwession as his witing has done. it is now almost eleven--i pwesume he will be here soon." scarcely had mr. western finished speaking, ere the door opened, and esther entered, followed by charlie. both the gentlemen rose, and mr. twining offered her a chair. esther accepted the proffered seat, threw up her veil, and said, in a slightly embarrassed tone, "my brother here, took the liberty of replying to an advertisement of yours, and you were kind enough to request him to call at eleven to-day." "we sent a note to _your_ brother?" said mr. twining, in a tone of surprise. "yes, sir, and here it is," said she, extending it to him. mr. twining glanced over it, and remarked, "this is your writing, western;" then taking charlie's letter from the desk of mr. western, he asked, in a doubting tone, "is this your own writing and composition?" "my own writing and composing," answered charlie. "and it is vewy cweditable to you, indeed," said mr. western. both the gentlemen looked at the note again, then at charlie, then at esther, and lastly at each other; but neither seemed able to say anything, and evident embarrassment existed on both sides. "and so you thought you would twy for the situation," at last remarked mr. western to charlie. "yes, sir," he answered. "i was and am very anxious to obtain some employment." "have you a father?" asked mr. twining. "yes, sir; but he was badly injured by the mob last summer, and will never be able to work again." "that's a pity," said western, sympathisingly; "and what have you been doing?" "nothing very recently. i broke my arm last spring, and was obliged to go into the country for my health. i have not long returned." "do your pawents keep house?" "not at present. we are staying with a friend. our house was burned down by the rioters." this conversation recalled so vividly their past trials, that esther's eyes grew watery, and she dropped her veil to conceal a tear that was trembling on the lid. "how vewy unfortunate!" said mr. western, sympathisingly; "vewy twying, indeed!" then burying his chin in his hand, he sat silently regarding them for a moment or two. "have you come to any decision about taking him?" esther at last ventured to ask of mr. twining. "taking him!--oh, dear me, i had almost forgot. charles, let me see you write something--here, take this seat." charlie sat down as directed, and dashed off a few lines, which he handed to mr. twining, who looked at it over and over; then rising, he beckoned to his partner to follow him into an adjoining room. "well, what do you say?" asked western, after they had closed the door behind them. "don't you think we had better engage him?" "engage _him_!" exclaimed twining--"why, you surprise me, western--the thing's absurd; engage a coloured boy as under clerk! i never heard of such a thing." "i have often," drawled western; "there are the gweatest number of them in new orleans." "ah, but new orleans is a different place; such a thing never occurred in philadelphia." "well, let us cweate a pwecedent, then. the boy wites wemarkably well, and will, no doubt, suit us exactly. it will be a chawity to take him. we need not care what others say--evewybody knows who we are and what we are?" "no, western; i know the north better than you do; it wouldn't answer at all here. we cannot take the boy--it is impossible; it would create a rumpus amongst the clerks, who would all feel dreadfully insulted by our placing a nigger child on an equality with them. i assure you the thing is out of the question." "well, i must say you northern people are perfectly incompwehensible. you pay taxes to have niggers educated, and made fit for such places--and then won't let them fill them when they are pwepared to do so. i shall leave you, then, to tell them we can't take him. i'm doosed sowwy for it--i like his looks." whilst mr. western and his partner were discussing in one room, charlie and esther were awaiting with some anxiety their decision in the other. "i think they are going to take me," said charlie; "you saw how struck they appeared to be with the writing." "they admired it, i know, my dear; but don't be too sanguine." "i feel _sure_ they are going to take me," repeated he with a hopeful countenance. esther made no reply, and they remained in silence until mr. twining returned to the room. after two or three preparatory ahems, he said to esther; "i should like to take your brother very much; but you see, in consequence of there being so much excitement just now, relative to abolitionism and kindred subjects, that my partner and myself--that is, i and mr. western--think--or rather feel--that just now it would be rather awkward for us to receive him. we should like to take him; but his _colour_, miss--his complexion is a _fatal_ objection. it grieves me to be obliged to tell you this; but i think, under the circumstances, it would be most prudent for us to decline to receive him. we are _very_ sorry--but our clerks are all young men, and have a great deal of prejudice, and i am sure he would be neither comfortable nor happy with them. if i can serve you in any other way--" "there is nothing that you can do that i am aware of," said esther, rising; "i thank you, and am sorry that we have occupied so much of your time." "oh, don't mention it," said mr. twining, evidently happy to get rid of them; and, opening the door, he bowed them out of the office. the two departed sadly, and they walked on for some distance in silence. at last esther pressed his hand, and, in a choking voice, exclaimed, "charlie, my dear boy, i'd give my life if it would change your complexion--if it would make you white! poor fellow! your battle of life will be a hard one to fight!" "i know it, ess; but i shouldn't care to be white if i knew i would not have a dear old ess like you for a sister," he answered, pressing her hand affectionately. "i don't intend to be conquered," he continued; "i'll fight it out to the last--this won't discourage me. i'll keep on trying," said he, determinedly--"if one won't, perhaps another will." for two or three days charlie could hear of nothing that would be at all suitable for him. at last, one morning he saw an advertisement for a youth to learn the engraver's business--one who had some knowledge of drawing preferred; to apply at thomas blatchford's, bank-note engraver. "thomas blatchford," repeated mr. walters, as charlie read it over--"why that is _the_ mr. blatchford, the abolitionist. i think you have some chance there most decidedly--i would advise you to take those sketches of yours and apply at once." charlie ran upstairs, and selecting the best-executed of his drawings, put them in a neat portfolio, and, without saying anything to esther or his mother, hastened away to mr. blatchford's. he was shown into a room where a gentleman was sitting at a table examining some engraved plates. "is this mr. blatchford's?" asked charlie. "that is my name, my little man--do you want to see me," he kindly inquired. "yes, sir. you advertised for a boy to learn the engraving business, i believe." "well; and what then?" "i have come to apply for the situation." "_you--you_ apply?" said he, in a tone of surprise. "yes, sir," faltered charlie; "mr. walters recommended me to do so." "ah, you know mr. walters, then," he rejoined. "yes, sir; he is a great friend of my father's--we are living with him at present." "what have you in your portfolio, there?" enquired mr. blatchford. charlie spread before him the sketches he had made during the summer, and also some ornamental designs suitable for the title-pages of books. "why, these are excellently well done," exclaimed he, after examining them attentively; "who taught you?" charlie hereupon briefly related his acquaintance with the artist, and his efforts to obtain employment, and their results, besides many other circumstances connected with himself and family. mr. blatchford became deeply interested, and, at the end of a long conversation, delighted charlie by informing him that if he and his mother could agree as to terms he should be glad to receive him as an apprentice. charlie could scarcely believe the evidence of his own ears, and leaving his portfolio on the table was hastening away. "stop! stop!" cried mr. blatchford, with a smile; "you have not heard all i wish to say. i would be much obliged to your mother if she would call at my house this evening, and then we can settle the matter definitely." charlie seemed to tread on air as he walked home. flying up to esther--his usual confidant--be related to her the whole affair, and gave at great length his conversation with mr. blatchford. "that looks something like," said she; "i am delighted with the prospect that is opening to you. let us go and tell mother,"--and, accordingly, off they both started, to carry the agreeable intelligence to mrs. ellis. that, evening charlie, his mother, and mr. walters went to the house of mr. blatchford. they were most, kindly received, and all the arrangements made for charlie's apprenticeship. he was to remain one month on trial; and if, at the end of that period, all parties were satisfied, he was to be formally indentured. charlie looked forward impatiently to the following monday, on which day he was to commence his apprenticeship. in the intervening time he held daily conferences with kinch, as he felt their intimacy would receive a slight check after he entered upon his new pursuit. "look here, old fellow," said charlie; "it won't do for you to be lounging on the door-steps of the office, nor be whistling for me under the windows. mr. blatchford spoke particularly against my having playmates around in work hours; evenings i shall always be at home, and then you can come and see me as often as you like." since his visit to warmouth, charlie had been much more particular respecting his personal appearance, dressed neater, and was much more careful of his clothes. he had also given up marbles, and tried to persuade kinch to do the same. "i'd cut marbles, kinch," said he to him one evening, when they were walking together, "if i were you; it makes one such a fright--covers one with chalk-marks and dirt from head to foot. and another thing, kinch; you have an abundance of good clothes--do wear them, and try and look more like a gentleman." "dear me!" said kinch, rolling up the white of his eyes--"just listen how we are going on! hadn't i better get an eye-glass and pair of light kid gloves?" "oh, kinch!" said charlie, gravely, "i'm not joking--i mean what i say. you don't know how far rough looks and an untidy person go against one. i do wish you would try and keep yourself decent." "well, there then--i will," answered kinch. "but, charlie, i'm afraid, with your travelling and one thing or other, you will forget your old playmate by-and-by, and get above him." charlie's eyes moistened; and, with a boy's impulsiveness, he threw his arm over kinch's shoulder, and exclaimed with emphasis, "never, old fellow, never--not as long as my name is charlie ellis! you mustn't be hurt at what i said, kinch--i think more of these things than i used to--i see the importance of them. i find that any one who wants to get on must be particular in little things as well great, and i must try and be a man now--for you know things don't glide on as smoothly with us as they used. i often think of our fun in the old house--ah, perhaps we'll have good times in another of our own yet!"--and with this charlie and his friend separated for the night. chapter xxix. clouds and sunshine. the important monday at length arrived, and charlie hastened to the office of mr. blatchford, which he reached before the hour for commencing labour. he found some dozen or more journeymen assembled in the work-room; and noticed that upon his entrance there was an interchange of significant glances, and once or twice he overheard the whisper of "nigger." mr. blatchford was engaged in discussing some business matter with a gentleman, and did not observe the agitation that charlie's entrance had occasioned. the conversation having terminated, the gentleman took up the morning paper, and mr. blatchford, noticing charlie, said, "ah! you have come, and in good time, too. wheeler," he continued, turning to one of the workmen, "i want you to take this boy under your especial charge: give him a seat at your window, and overlook his work." at this there was a general uprising of the workmen, who commenced throwing off their caps and aprons. "what is all this for?" asked mr. blatchford in astonishment--"why this commotion?" "we won't work with niggers!" cried one; "no nigger apprentices!" cried another; and "no niggers--no niggers!" was echoed from all parts of the room. "silence!" cried mr. blatchford, stamping violently--"silence, every one of you!" as soon as partial order was restored, he turned to wheeler, and demanded, "what is the occasion of all this tumult--what does it mean?" "why, sir, it means just this: the men and boys discovered that you intended to take a nigger apprentice, and have made up their minds if you do they will quit in a body." "it cannot be possible," exclaimed the employer, "that any man or boy in my establishment has room in his heart for such narrow contemptible prejudices. can it be that you have entered into a conspiracy to deprive an inoffensive child of an opportunity of earning his bread in a respectable manner? come, let me persuade you--the boy is well-behaved and educated!" "damn his behaviour and education!" responded a burly fellow; "let him be a barber or shoe-black--that is all niggers are good for. if he comes, we go--that's so, ain't it, boys?" there was a general response of approval to this appeal; and mr. blatchford, seeing the utter uselessness of further parleying, left the room, followed by charlie and the gentleman with whom he had been conversing. mr. blatchford was placed in a most disagreeable position by this revolt on the part of his workmen; he had just received large orders from some new banks which were commencing operations, and a general disruption of his establishment at that moment would have ruined him. to accede to his workmen's demands he must do violence to his own conscience; but he dared not sacrifice his business and bring ruin on himself and family, even though he was right. "what would you do, burrell?" he asked of the gentleman who had followed them out. "there is no question as to what you must do. you mustn't ruin yourself for the sake of your principles. you will have to abandon the lad; the other alternative is not to be thought of for a moment." "well, charles, you see how it is," said mr. blatchford, reluctantly. charlie had been standing intently regarding the conversation that concerned him so deeply. his face was pale and his lips quivering with agitation. "i'd like to keep you, my boy, but you see how i'm situated, i must either give up you or my business; the latter i cannot afford to do." with a great effort charlie repressed his tears, and bidding them good morning in a choking voice, hastened from the room. "it's an infernal shame!" said mr. blatchford, indignantly; "and i shall think meanly of myself for ever for submitting to it; but i can't help myself, and must make the best of it." charlie walked downstairs with lingering steps, and took the direction of home. "all because i'm coloured," said he, bitterly, to himself--"all because i'm coloured! what will mother and esther say? how it will distress them--they've so built upon it! i wish," said he, sadly, "that i was dead!" no longer able to repress the tears that were welling up, he walked towards the window of a print-store, where he pretended to be deeply interested in some pictures whilst he stealthily wiped his eyes. every time he turned to leave the window, there came a fresh flood of tears; and at last he was obliged to give way entirely, and sobbed as if his heart would break. he was thus standing when he felt a hand laid familiarly on his shoulder, and, on turning round, he beheld the gentleman he had left in mr. blatchford's office. "come, my little man," said he, "don't take it so much to heart. cheer up--you may find some other person willing to employ you. come, walk on with me--where do you live?" charlie dried his eyes and gave him his address as they walked on up the street together. mr. burrell talked encouragingly, and quite succeeded in soothing him ere they separated. "i shall keep a look out for you," said he, kindly; "and if i hear of anything likely to suit you, i shall let you know." charlie thanked him and sauntered slowly home. when he arrived, and they saw his agitated looks, and his eyes swollen from the effect of recent tears, there was a general inquiry of "what has happened? why are you home so early; are you sick?" charlie hereupon related all that had transpired at the office--his great disappointment and the occasion of it--to the intense indignation and grief of his mother and sisters. "i wish there were no white folks," said caddy, wrathfully; "they are all, i believe, a complete set of villains and everything else that is bad." "don't be so sweeping in your remarks, pray don't, caddy," interposed esther; "you have just heard what charlie said of mr. blatchford--his heart is kindly disposed, at any rate; you see he is trammelled by others." "oh! well, i don't like any of them--i hate them all!" she continued bitterly, driving her needle at the same time into the cloth she was sewing, as if it was a white person she had in her lap and she was sticking pins in him. "don't cry, charlie," she added; "the old white wretches, they shouldn't get a tear out of me for fifty trades!" but charlie could not be comforted; he buried his head in his mother's lap, and wept over his disappointment until he made himself sick. that day, after mr. burrell had finished his dinner, he remarked to his wife, "i saw something this morning, my dear, that made a deep impression on me. i haven't been able to get it out of my head for any length of time since; it touched me deeply, i assure you." "why, what could it have been? pray tell me what it was." thereupon, he gave his wife a graphic account of the events that had transpired at blatchford's in the morning; and in conclusion, said, "now, you know, my dear, that no one would call _me_ an _abolitionist_; and i suppose i have some little prejudice, as well as others, against coloured people; but i had no idea that sensible men would have carried it to that extent, to set themselves up, as they did, in opposition to a little boy anxious to earn his bread by learning a useful trade." mrs. burrell was a young woman of about twenty-two, with a round good-natured face and plump comfortable-looking figure; she had a heart overflowing with kindness, and was naturally much affected by what he related. "i declare it's perfectly outrageous," exclaimed she, indignantly; "and i wonder at blatchford for submitting to it. i wouldn't allow myself to be dictated to in that manner--and he such an abolitionist too! had i been him, i should have stuck to my principles at any risk. poor little fellow! i so wonder at blatchford; i really don't think he has acted manly." "not so fast, my little woman, if you please--that is the way with almost all of you, you let your hearts run away with your heads. you are unjust to blatchford; he could not help himself, he was completely in their power. it is almost impossible at present to procure workmen in our business, and he is under contract to finish a large amount of work within a specified time; and if he should fail to fulfil his agreement it would subject him to immense loss--in fact, it would entirely ruin him. you are aware, my dear, that i am thoroughly acquainted with the state of his affairs; he is greatly in debt from unfortunate speculations, and a false step just now would overset him completely; he could not have done otherwise than he has, and do justice to himself and his family. i felt that he could not; and in fact advised him to act as he did." "now, george burrell, you didn't," said she, reproachfully. "yes i did, my dear, because i thought of his family; i really believe though, had i encouraged him, he would have made the sacrifice." "and what became of the boy?" "oh; poor lad, he seemed very much cut down by it--i was quite touched by his grief. when i came out, i found him standing by a shop window crying bitterly. i tried to pacify him, and told him i would endeavour to obtain a situation for him somewhere--and i shall." "has he parents?" asked mrs. burrell. "yes; and, by the way, don't you remember whilst the mob was raging last summer, we read an account of a man running to the roof of a house to escape from the rioters? you remember they chopped his hands off and threw him over?" "oh, yes, dear, i recollect; don't--don't mention it," said she, with a shudder of horror. "i remember it perfectly." "well, this little fellow is his son," continued mr. burrell. "indeed! and what has become of his father--did he die?" "no, he partially recovered, but is helpless, and almost an idiot. i never saw a child, apparently so anxious to get work; he talked more like a man with a family dependent upon him for support, than a youth. i tell you what, i became quite interested in him; he was very communicative, and told me all their circumstances; their house was destroyed by the mob, and they are at present residing with a friend." just then the cry of a child was heard in the adjoining room, and mrs. burrell rushed precipitately away, and soon returned with a fat, healthy-looking boy in her arms, which, after kissing, she placed in her husband's lap. he was their first-born and only child, and, as a matter of course, a great pet, and regarded by them as a most wonderful boy; in consequence, papa sat quite still, and permitted him to pull the studs out of his shirt, untie his cravat, rumple his hair, and take all those little liberties to which babies are notoriously addicted. mrs. burrell sat down on a stool at her husband's feet, and gazed at him and the child in silence for some time. "what's the matter, jane; what has made you so grave?" "i was trying to imagine, burrell, how i should feel if you, i, and baby were coloured; i was trying to place myself in such a situation. now we know that our boy, if he is honest and upright--is blest with great talent or genius--may aspire to any station in society that he wishes to obtain. how different it would be if he were coloured!--there would be nothing bright in the prospective for him. we could hardly promise him a living at any respectable calling. i think, george, we treat coloured people with great injustice, don't you?" mr. burrell hemmed and ha'd at this direct query, and answered, "well, we don't act exactly right toward them, i must confess." mrs. burrell rose, and took the vacant knee of her husband, and toying with the baby, said, "now, george burrell, i want to ask a favour of you. why can't _you_ take this boy ?" "i take him! why, my dear, i don't want an apprentice." "yes, but you must _make_ a want. you said he was a bright boy, and sketched well. why, i should think that he's just what you ought to have. there is no one at your office that would oppose it. cummings and dalton were with your father before you, they would never object to anything reasonable that you proposed. come, dear! do now make the trial--won't you?" mr. burrell was a tender-hearted, yielding sort of an individual; and what was more, his wife was fully aware of it; and like a young witch as she was, she put on her sweetest looks, and begged so imploringly, that he was almost conquered. but when she took up the baby, and made him put his chubby arms round his father's neck, and say "pese pop-pop," he was completely vanquished, and surrendered at discretion. "i'll see what can be done," said he, at last. "and will you do it afterwards?" she asked, archly. "yes, i will, dear, i assure you," he rejoined. "then i know it will be done," said she, confidently; "and none of us will be the worse off for it, i am sure." after leaving home, mr. burrell went immediately to the office of mr. blatchford; and after having procured charlie's portfolio, he started in the direction of his own establishment. he did not by any means carry on so extensive a business as mr. blatchford, and employed only two elderly men as journeymen. after he had sat down to work, one of them remarked, "tucker has been here, and wants some rough cuts executed for a new book. i told him i did not think you would engage to do them; that you had given up that description of work." "i think we lose a great deal, cummings, by being obliged to give up those jobs," rejoined mr. burrell. "why don't you take an apprentice then," he suggested; "it's just the kind of work for them to learn upon." "well i've been thinking of that," replied he, rising and producing the drawings from charlie's portfolio. "look here," said he, "what do you think of these as the work of a lad of twelve or fourteen, who has never had more than half a dozen lessons?" "i should say they were remarkably well done," responded cummings. "shouldn't you say so, dalton?" the party addressed took the sketches, and examined them thoroughly, and gave an approving opinion of their merits. "well," said mr. burrell, "the boy that executed those is in want of a situation, and i should like to take him; but i thought i would consult you both about it first. i met with him under very singular circumstances, and i'll tell you all about it." and forthwith he repeated to them the occurrences of the morning, dwelling upon the most affecting parts, and concluding by putting the question to them direct, as to whether they had any objections to his taking him. "why no, none in the world," readily answered cummings. "laws me! colour is nothing after all; and black fingers can handle a graver as well as white ones, i expect." "i thought it best to ask you, to avoid any after difficulty. you have both been in the establishment so long, that i felt that you ought to be consulted." "you needn't have taken that trouble," said dalton. "you might have known that anything done by your father's son, would be satisfactory to us. i never had anything to do with coloured people, and haven't anything against them; and as long as you are contented i am." "well, we all have our little prejudices against various things; and as i did not know how you both would feel, i thought i wouldn't take any decided steps without consulting you; but now i shall consider it settled, and will let the lad know that i will take him." in the evening, he hastened home at an earlier hour than usual, and delighted his wife by saying--"i have succeeded to a charm, my dear--there wasn't the very slightest objection. i'm going to take the boy, if he wishes to come." "oh, i'm delighted," cried she, clapping her hands. "cry hurrah for papa!" said she to the baby; "cry hurrah for papa!" the scion of the house of burrell gave vent to some scarcely intelligible sounds, that resembled "hoo-rogler pop-pop!" which his mother averred was astonishingly plain, and deserving of a kiss; and, snatching him up, she gave him two or three hearty ones, and then planted him in his father's lap again." "my dear," said her husband, "i thought, as you proposed my taking this youth, you might like to have the pleasure of acquainting him with his good fortune. after tea, if you are disposed, we will go down there; the walk will do you good." "oh, george burrell," said she, her face radiant with pleasure, "you are certainly trying to outdo yourself. i have been languishing all day for a walk! what a charming husband you are! i really ought to do something for you. ah, i know what--i'll indulge you; you may smoke all the way there and back. i'll even go so far as to light the cigars for you myself." "that is a boon," rejoined her husband with a smile; "really 'virtue rewarded,' i declare." tea over, the baby kissed and put to bed, mrs. burrell tied on the most bewitching of bonnets, and donning her new fur-trimmed cloak, declared herself ready for the walk; and off they started. mr. burrell puffed away luxuriously as they walked along, stopping now and then at her command, to look into such shop-windows as contained articles adapted to the use of infants, from india-rubber rings and ivory rattles, to baby coats and shoes. at length they arrived at the door of mr. walters, and on, looking up at the house, he exclaimed, "this is , but it can't be the place; surely coloured people don't live in as fine an establishment as this." then, running up the steps, he examined the plate upon the door. "the name corresponds with the address given me," said he; "i'll ring. is there a lad living here by the name of charles ellis?" he asked of the servant who opened the door. "yes, sir," was the reply. "will you walk in?" when they were ushered into the drawing-room, mr. burrell said,--"be kind enough to say that a gentleman wishes to see him." the girl departed, closing the door behind her, leaving them staring about the room. "how elegantly it is furnished!" said she. "i hadn't an idea that there were any coloured people living in such style." "some of them are very rich," remarked her husband. "but you said this boy was poor." "so he is. i understand they are staying with the owner of this house." whilst they were thus conversing the door opened, and esther entered. "i am sorry," said she, "that my brother has retired. he has a very severe head-ache, and was unable to remain up longer. his mother is out: i am his sister, and shall be most happy to receive any communication for him." "i regret to hear of his indisposition," replied mr. burrell; "i hope it is not consequent upon his disappointment this morning?" "i fear it is. poor fellow! he took it very much to heart. it was a disappointment to us all. we were congratulating ourselves on having secured him an eligible situation." "i assure you the disappointment is not all on one side; he is a very promising boy, and the loss of his prospective services annoying. nothing but stern necessity caused the result." "oh, we entirely acquit you, mr. blatchford, of all blame in the matter. we are confident that what happened was not occasioned by any indisposition on your part to fulfil your agreement." "my dear," interrupted mrs. burrell, "she thinks you are mr. blatchford." "and are you not?" asked esther, with some surprise. "oh, no; i'm an intimate friend of his, and was present this morning when the affair happened." "oh, indeed," responded esther. "yes; and he came home and related it all to me,--the whole affair," interrupted mrs. burrell. "i was dreadfully provoked; i assure you, i sympathized with him very much. i became deeply interested in the whole affair; i was looking at my little boy,--for i have a little boy," said she, with matronly dignity,--"and i thought, suppose it was my little boy being treated so, how should i like it? so bringing the matter home to myself in that way made me feel all the more strongly about it; and i just told george burrell he must take him, as he is an engraver; and i and the baby gave him no rest until he consented to do so. he will take him on the same terms offered by mr. blatchford; and then we came down to tell you; and--and," said she, quite out of breath, "that is all about it." esther took the little woman's plump hand in both her own, and, for a moment, seemed incapable of even thanking her. at last she said, in a husky voice, "you can't think what a relief this is to us. my brother has taken his disappointment so much to heart--i can't tell you how much i thank you. god will reward you for your sympathy and kindness. you must excuse me," she continued, as her voice faltered; "we have latterly been so unaccustomed to receive such sympathy and kindness from persons of your complexion, that this has quite overcome me." "oh, now, don't! i'm sure it's no more than our duty, and i'm as much pleased as you can possibly be--it has given me heartfelt gratification, i assure you." esther repeated her thanks, and followed them to the door, where she shook hands with mrs. burrell, who gave her a pressing invitation to come and see her baby. "how easy it is, george burrell," said the happy little woman, "to make the hearts of others as light as our own-mine feels like a feather," she added, as she skipped along, clinging to his arm. "what a nice, lady-like girl his sister is--is her brother as handsome as she ?" "not quite," he answered; "still, he is very good-looking, i'll bring him home with me to-morrow at dinner, and then you can see him." chatting merrily, they soon arrived at home. mrs. burrell ran straightway upstairs to look at that "blessed baby;" she found him sleeping soundly, and looking as comfortable and happy as it is possible for a sleeping baby to look--so she bestowed upon him a perfect avalanche of kisses, and retired to her own peaceful pillow. and now, having thus satisfactorily arranged for our young friend charlie, we will leave him for a few years engaged in his new pursuits. chapter xxx. many years after. old father time is a stealthy worker. in youth we are scarcely able to appreciate his efforts, and oftentimes think him an exceedingly slow and limping old fellow. when we ripen into maturity, and are fighting our own way through the battle of life, we deem him swift enough of foot, and sometimes rather hurried; but when old age comes on, and death and the grave are foretold by trembling limbs and snowy locks, we wonder that our course has been so swiftly run, and chide old time for a somewhat hasty and precipitate individual. the reader must imagine that many years have passed away since the events narrated in the preceding chapters transpired, and permit us to re-introduce the characters formerly presented, without any attempt to describe how that long period has been occupied. first of all, let us resume our acquaintance with mr. stevens. to effect this, we must pay that gentleman a visit at his luxurious mansion in fifth avenue, the most fashionable street of new york--the place where the upper ten thousand of that vast, bustling city most do congregate. as he is an old acquaintance (we won't say friend), we will disregard ceremony, and walk boldly into the library where that gentleman is sitting. he is changed--yes, sadly changed. time has been hard at work with him, and, dissatisfied with what his unaided agency could produce, has called in conscience to his aid, and their united efforts have left their marks upon him. he looks old--aye, very old. the bald spot on his head has extended its limits until there is only a fringe of thin white hair above the ears. there are deep wrinkles upon his forehead; and the eyes, half obscured by the bushy grey eyebrows, are bloodshot and sunken; the jaws hollow and spectral, and his lower lip drooping and flaccid. he lifts his hand to pour out another glass of liquor from the decanter at his side, when his daughter lays her hand upon it, and looks appealingly in his face. she has grown to be a tall, elegant woman, slightly thin, and with a careworn and fatigued expression of countenance. there is, however, the same sweetness in her clear blue eyes, and as she moves her head, her fair flaxen curls float about her face as dreamily and deliciously as ever they did of yore. she is still in black, wearing mourning for her mother, who not many months before had been laid in a quiet nook on the estate at savanah. "pray, papa, don't drink any more," said she, persuasively--"it makes you nervous, and will bring on one of those frightful attacks again." "let me alone," he remonstrated harshly--"let me alone, and take your hand off the glass; the doctor has forbidden laudanum, so i will have brandy instead--take off your hand and let me drink, i say." lizzie still kept her hand upon the decanter, and continued gently: "no, no, dear pa--you promised me you would only drink two glasses, and you have already taken three--it is exceedingly injurious. the doctor insisted upon it that you should decrease the quantity--and you are adding to it instead." "devil take the doctor!" exclaimed he roughly, endeavouring to disengage her hold--"give me the liquor, i say." his daughter did not appear the least alarmed at this violence of manner, nor suffer her grasp upon the neck of the decanter to be relaxed; but all the while spoke soothing words to the angry old man, and endeavoured to persuade him to relinquish his intention of drinking any more. "you don't respect your old father," he cried, in a whining tone--"you take advantage of my helplessness, all of you--you ill-treat me and deny me the very comforts of life! i'll tell--i'll tell the doctor," he continued, as his voice subsided into an almost inaudible tone, and he sank back into the chair in a state of semi-stupor. removing the liquor from his reach, his daughter rang the bell, and then walked towards the door of the room. "who procured that liquor for my father?" she asked of the servant who entered. "i did, miss," answered the man, hesitatingly. "let this be the last time you do such a thing," she rejoined, eyeing him sternly, "unless you wish to be discharged. i thought you all fully understood that on no consideration was my father to have liquor, unless by the physician's or my order--it aggravates his disease and neutralizes all the doctor's efforts--and, unless you wish to be immediately discharged, never repeat the same offence. now, procure some assistance--it is time my father was prepared for bed." the man bowed and left the apartment; but soon returned, saying there was a person in the hall who had forced his way into the house, and who positively refused to stir until he saw mr. stevens. "he has been here two or three times," added the man, "and he is very rough and impudent." "this is most singular conduct," exclaimed miss stevens. "did he give his name?" "yes, miss; he calls himself mccloskey." at the utterance of this well-known name, mr. stevens raised his head, and stared at the speaker with a look of stupid fright, and inquired, "who here--what name is that?--speak louder--what name?" "mccloskey," answered the man, in a louder tone. "what! he--_he_!" cried mr. stevens, with a terrified look. "where--where is he?" he continued, endeavouring to rise--"where is he?" "stop, pa," interposed his daughter, alarmed at his appearance and manner. "do stop--let me go," "no--no!" said the old man wildly, seizing her by the dress to detain her--"_you_ must not go--that would never do! he might tell her," he muttered to himself--"no, no--i'll go!"--and thus speaking, he made another ineffectual attempt to reach the door. "dear father! do let me go!" she repeated, imploringly. "you are incapable of seeing any one--let me inquire what he wants!" she added, endeavouring to loose his hold upon her dress. "no--you shall not!" he replied, clutching her dress still tighter, and endeavouring to draw her towards him. "oh, father!" she asked distractedly, "what can this mean? here," said she, addressing the servant, who stood gazing in silent wonder on this singular scene, "help my father into his chair again, and then tell this strange man to wait awhile." the exhausted man, having been placed in his chair, motioned to his daughter to close the door behind the servant, who had just retired. "he wants money," said he, in a whisper--"he wants money! he'll make beggars of us all--and yet i'll have to give him some. quick! give me my cheque-book--let me give him something before he has a chance to talk to any one--quick! quick!" the distracted girl wrung her hands with grief at what she imagined was a return of her father's malady, and exclaimed, "oh! if george only would remain at home--it is too much for me to have the care of father whilst he is in such a state." then pretending to be in search of the cheque-book, she turned over the pamphlets and papers upon his desk, that she might gain time, and think how it was best to proceed. whilst she was thus hesitating, the door of the room was suddenly opened, and a shabbily dressed man, bearing a strong odour of rum about him, forced his way into the apartment, saying, "i will see him. d----n it, i don't care haporth how sick he is--let me go, or by the powers i'll murther some of yes." the old man's face was almost blanched with terror when he heard the voice and saw the abrupt entry of the intruder. he sprang from the chair with a great effort, and then, unable to sustain himself, sunk fainting on the floor. "oh, you have killed my father--you have killed my father! who are you, and what do you want, that you dare thrust yourself upon him in this manner?" said she, stooping to assist in raising him; "cannot you see he is entirely unfit for any business?" mr. stevens was replaced in his chair, and water thrown in his face to facilitate his recovery. meanwhile, mccloskey had poured himself out a glass of brandy and water, which he stood sipping as coolly as if everything in the apartment was in a state of the most perfect composure. the singular terror of her father, and the boldness and assurance of the intruder, were to miss stevens something inexplicable--she stood looking from one to the other, as though seeking an explanation, and on observing symptoms of a return to consciousness on the part of her parent, she turned to mccloskey, and said, appealingly: "you see how your presence has agitated my father. pray let me conjure you--go. be your errand what it may, i promise you it shall have the earliest attention. or," said she, "tell me what it is; perhaps i can see to it--i attend a great deal to father's business. pray tell me!" "no, no!" exclaimed the old man, who had caught the last few words of his daughter. "no, no--not a syllable! here, i'm well--i'm well enough. i'll attend to you. there, there--that will do," he continued, addressing the servant; "leave the room. and you," he added, turning to his daughter, "do you go too. i am much better now, and can talk to him. go! go!" he cried, impatiently, as he saw evidences of a disposition to linger, on her part; "if i want you i'll ring. go!--this person won't stay long." "not if i get what i came for, miss," said mccloskey, insolently; "otherwise, there is no knowing how long i may stay." with a look of apprehension, lizzie quitted the room, and the murderer and his accomplice were alone together. mr. stevens reached across the table, drew the liquor towards him, and recklessly pouring out a large quantity, drained the glass to the bottom--this seemed to nerve him up and give him courage, for he turned to mccloskey and said, with a much bolder air than he had yet shown in addressing him, "so, you're back again, villain! are you? i thought and hoped you were dead;" and he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as if to shut out some horrid spectre. "i've been divilish near it, squire, but providence has preserved me, ye see--jist to be a comfort to ye in yer old age. i've been shipwrecked, blown up in steamboats, and i've had favers and choleray and the divil alone knows what--but i've been marcifully presarved to ye, and hope ye'll see a good dale of me this many years to come." mr. stevens glared at him fiercely for a few seconds, and then rejoined, "you promised me solemnly, five years ago, that you would never trouble me again, and i gave you money enough to have kept you in comfort--ay, luxury--for the remainder of your life. where is it all now?" "that's more than i can tell you, squire. i only know how it comes. i don't trouble myself how it goes--that's your look out. if ye are anxious on that score you'd better hire a bookkeeper for me--he shall send yer honour a quarterly account, and then it won't come on ye so sudden when it's all out another time." "insolent!" muttered mr. stevens. mccloskey gave mr. stevens an impudent look, but beyond that took no farther notice of his remark, but proceeded with the utmost coolness to pour out another glass of brandy--after which he drew his chair closer to the grate, and placed his dirty feet upon the mantelpiece in close proximity to an alabaster clock. "you make yourself very much at home," said stevens, indignantly. "why shouldn't i?" answered his tormentor, in a tone of the most perfect good humour. "why shouldn't i--in the house of an ould acquaintance and particular friend--just the place to feel at home, eh, stevens?" then folding his arms and tilting back his chair, he asked, coolly: "you haven't a cigar, have ye?" "no," replied stevens, surlily; "and if i had, you should not have it. your insolence is unbearable; you appear," continued he, with some show of dignity, "to have forgotten who i am, and who you are." "ye're mistaken there, squire. divil a bit have i. i'm mccloskey, and you are slippery george--an animal that's known over the 'varsal world as a philadelphia lawyer--a man that's chated his hundreds, and if he lives long enough, he'll chate as many more, savin' his friend mr. mccloskey, and him he'll not be afther chating, because he won't be able to get a chance, although he'd like to if he could--divil a doubt of that." "it's false--i never tried to cheat you," rejoined stevens, courageously, for the liquor was beginning to have a very inspiriting effect. "it's a lie--i paid you all i agreed upon, and more besides; but you are like a leech--never satisfied. you have had from me altogether nearly twenty thousand dollars, and you'll not get much more--now, mind i tell you." "the divil i won't," rejoined he, angrily; "that is yet to be seen. how would you like to make yer appearance at court some fine morning, on the charge of murther, eh?" mr. stevens gave a perceptible shudder, and looked round, whereupon mccloskey said, with a malevolent grin, "ye see i don't stick at words, squire; i call things by their names." "so i perceive," answered stevens. "you were not so bold once." "ha, ha!" laughed mccloskey. "i know _that_ as well as you--then _i_ was under the thumb--that was before we were sailing in the one boat; now ye see, squire, the boot is on the other leg." mr. stevens remained quiet for a few moments, whilst his ragged visitor continued to leisurely sip his brandy and contemplate the soles of his boots as they were reflected in the mirror above--they were a sorry pair of boots, and looked as if there would soon be a general outbreak of his toes--so thin and dilapidated did the soles appear. "look at thim boots, and me suit ginerally, and see if your conscience won't accuse ye of ingratitude to the man who made yer fortune--or rather lets ye keep it, now ye have it. isn't it a shame now for me, the best friend you've got in the world, to be tramping the streets widdout a penny in his pocket, and ye livin' in clover, with gold pieces as plenty as blackberries. it don't look right, squire, and mustn't go on any longer." "what do you want--whatever will satisfy you?" asked stevens. "if i give you ever so much now, what guarantee have i that you'll not return in a month or so, and want as much more?" "i'll pledge ye me honour," said mccloskey, grandly. "your honour!" rejoined stevens, "that is no security." "security or no security," said mccloskey, impatiently, "you'll have to give me the money--it's not a bit of use now this disputin, bekase ye see i'm bound to have it, and ye are wise enough to know ye'd better give it to me. what if ye have give me thousands upon thousands," continued he, his former good-humoured expression entirely vanishing; "it's nothing more than you ought to do for keeping yer secrets for ye--and as long as ye have money, ye may expect to share it with me: so make me out a good heavy cheque, and say no more about it." "what do you call a heavy cheque?" asked stevens, in a despairing tone. "five or six thousand," coolly answered his visitor. "five or six thousand!" echoed mr. stevens, "it is impossible." "it had better not be," said mccloskey, looking angry; "it had better not be--i'm determined not to be leading a beggar's life, and you to be a rolling in wealth." "i can't give it, and won't give it--if it must come to that," answered stevens, desperately. "it is you that have the fortune--i am only your banker at this rate. i can't give it to you--i haven't got that much money." "you must find it then, and pretty quick at that," said mccloskey. "i'm not to be fooled with--i came here for money, and i must and will have it." "i am willing to do what is reasonable," rejoined mr. stevens, in a more subdued tone. "you talk of thousands as most men do of hundreds. i really haven't got it." "oh, bother such stuff as that," interrupted mccloskey, incredulously. "i don't believe a word of it--i've asked them that know, and every one says you've made a mint of money by speculation--that since ye sold out in the south and came here to live, there's no end to the money ye've made; so you see it don't do to be making a poor mouth to me. i've come here for a check for five thousand dollars, and shan't go away without it," concluded he, in a loud and threatening tone. during this conversation, lizzie stevens had been standing at the door, momentarily expecting a recall to the apartment. she heard the low rumble of their voices, but could not distinguish words. at length, hearing mccloskey's raised to a higher key, she could no longer restrain her impatience, and gently opening the door, looked into the room. both their faces were turned in the opposite direction, so that neither noticed the gentle intrusion of lizzie, who, fearing to leave her father longer alone, ventured into the apartment. "you need not stand looking at me in that threatening manner. you may do as you please--go tell what you like; but remember, when i fall, so do you; i have not forgotten that affair in philadelphia from which i saved you--don't place me in a situation that will compel me to recur to it to your disadvantage." "ah, don't trouble yerself about that, squire; i don't--that is entirely off my mind; for now whitticar is dead, where is yer witnesses?" "whitticar dead!" repeated stevens. "yes; and what's more, he's buried--so he's safe enough, squire; and i shouldn't be at all surprised if you'd be glad to have me gone too." "i would to god you had been, before i put myself in your power." "'twas your own hastiness. when it came to the pinch, i wasn't equal to the job, so ye couldn't wait for another time, but out with yer pistol, and does it yerself." the wretched man shuddered and covered his face, as mccloskey coolly recounted his murder of mr. garie, every word of which was too true to be denied. "and haven't i suffered," said he, shaking his bald head mournfully; "haven't i suffered--look at my grey hairs and half-palsied frame, decrepit before i'm old--sinking into the tomb with a weight of guilt and sin upon me that will crush me down to the lowest depth of hell. think you," he continued, "that because i am surrounded with all that money can buy, that i am happy, or ever shall be, with this secret gnawing at my heart; every piece of gold i count out, i see his hands outstretched over it, and hear him whisper 'mine!' he gives me no peace night or day; he is always by me; i have no rest. and you must come, adding to my torture, and striving to tear from me that for which i bartered conscience, peace, soul, everything that would make life desirable. if there is mercy in you, leave me with what i give you, and come back no more. life has so little to offer, that rather than bear this continued torment and apprehension i daily suffer, i will cut my throat, and then _your_ game is over." lizzie stevens stood rooted to the spot whilst her father made the confession that was wrung from him by the agony of the moment. "well, well!" said mccloskey, somewhat startled and alarmed at stevens's threat of self-destruction--"well, i'll come down a thousand--make it four." "that i'll do," answered the old man, tremblingly; and reaching over, he drew towards him the cheque-book. after writing the order for the sum, he was placing it in the hand of mccloskey, when, hearing a faint moan, he looked towards the door, and saw his daughter fall fainting to the ground. chapter xxxi. the thorn rankles. we left the quiet town of sudbury snow-clad and sparkling in all the glory of a frosty moonlight night; we now return to it, and discover it decked out in its bravest summer garniture. a short distance above the hill upon which it is built, the water of the river that glides along its base may be seen springing over the low dam that obstructs its passage, sparkling, glistening, dancing in the sunlight, as it falls splashing on the stones below; and then, as though subdued by the fall and crash, it comes murmuring on, stopping now and then to whirl and eddy round some rock or protruding stump, and at last glides gently under the arch of the bridge, seemingly to pause beneath its shadow and ponder upon its recent tumble from the heights above. seated here and there upon the bridge are groups of boys, rod in hand, endeavouring, with the most delicious-looking and persuasive of baits, to inveigle finny innocents from the cool depths below. the windows of the mills are all thrown open, and now and then the voices of some operatives, singing at their work, steal forth in company with the whir and hum of the spindles, and mingle with the splash of the waterfall; and the united voices of nature, industry, and man, harmonize their swelling tones, or go floating upward on the soft july air. the houses upon the hill-side seem to be endeavouring to extricate themselves from bowers of full-leafed trees; and with their white fronts, relieved by the light green blinds, look cool and inviting in the distance. high above them all, as though looking down in pride upon the rest, stands the academy, ennobled in the course of years by the addition of extensive wings and a row of stately pillars. on the whole, the town looked charmingly peaceful and attractive, and appeared just the quiet nook that a weary worker in cities would select as a place of retirement after a busy round of toils or pleasure. there were little knots of idlers gathered about the railroad station, as there always is in quiet towns--not that they expect any one; but that the arrival and departure of the train is one of the events of the day, and those who have nothing else particular to accomplish feel constrained to be on hand to witness it. every now and then one of them would look down the line and wonder why the cars were not in sight. amongst those seemingly the most impatient was miss ada bell, who looked but little older than when she won the heart of the orphan clarence, years before, by that kind kiss upon his childish brow. it was hers still--she bound it to her by long years of affectionate care, almost equalling in its sacrificing tenderness that which a mother would have bestowed upon her only child. clarence, her adopted son, had written to her, that he was wretched, heart-sore, and ill, and longed to come to her, his almost mother, for sympathy, advice, and comfort: so she, with yearning heart, was there to meet him. at last the faint scream of the steam-whistle was heard, and soon the lumbering locomotive came puffing and snorting on its iron path, dashing on as though it could never stop, and making the surrounding hills echo with the unearthly scream of its startling whistle, and arousing to desperation every dog in the quiet little town. at last it stopped, and stood giving short and impatient snorts and hisses, whilst the passengers were alighting. clarence stepped languidly out, and was soon in the embrace of miss ada. "my dear boy, how thin and pale you look!" she exclaimed; "come, get into the carriage; never mind your baggage, george will look after that; your hands are hot--very hot, you must be feverish." "yes, aunt ada," for so he had insisted on his calling her "i am ill--sick in heart, mind, and everything. cut up the horses," said he, with slight impatience of manner; "let us get home quickly. when i get in the old parlour, and let you bathe my head as you used to, i am sure i shall feel better. i am almost exhausted from fatigue and heat." "very well then, dear, don't talk now," she replied, not in the least noticing his impatience of manner; "when you are rested, and have had your tea, will be time enough." they were soon in the old house, and clarence looked round with a smile of pleasure on the room where he had spent so many happy hours. good aunt ada would not let him talk, but compelled him to remain quiet until he had rested himself, and eaten his evening meal. he had altered considerably in the lapse of years, there was but little left to remind one of the slight, melancholy-looking boy, that once stood a heavy-hearted little stranger in the same room, in days gone by. his face was without a particle of red to relieve its uniform paleness; his eyes, large, dark, and languishing, were half hidden by unusually long lashes; his forehead broad, and surmounted with clustering raven hair; a glossy moustache covered his lip, and softened down its fulness; on the whole, he was strikingly handsome, and none would pass him without a second look. tea over, miss ada insisted that he should lie down upon the sofa again, whilst she, sat by and bathed his head. "have you seen your sister lately?" she asked. "no, aunt ada," he answered, hesitatingly, whilst a look of annoyance darkened his face for a moment; "i have not been to visit her since last fall--almost a year." "oh! clarence, how can you remain so long away?" said she, reproachfully. "well, i can't go there with any comfort or pleasure," he answered, apologetically; "i can't go there; each year as i visit the place, their ways seem more strange and irksome to me. whilst enjoying her company, i must of course come in familiar contact with those by whom she is surrounded. sustaining the position that i do--passing as i am for a white man--i am obliged to be very circumspect, and have often been compelled to give her pain by avoiding many of her dearest friends when i have encountered them in public places, because of their complexion. i feel mean and cowardly whilst i'm doing it; but it is necessary--i can't be white and coloured at the same time; the two don't mingle, and i must consequently be one or the other. my education, habits, and ideas, all unfit me for associating with the latter; and i live in constant dread that something may occur to bring me out with the former. i don't avoid coloured people, because i esteem them my inferiors in refinement, education, or intelligence; but because they are subjected to degradations that i shall be compelled to share by too freely associating with them." "it is a pity," continued he, with a sigh, "that i was not suffered to grow up with them, then i should have learnt to bear their burthens, and in the course of time might have walked over my path of life, bearing the load almost unconsciously. now it would crush me, i know. it was a great mistake to place me in my present false position," concluded he, bitterly; "it has cursed me. only a day ago i had a letter from em, reproaching me for my coldness; yet, god help me! what am i to do!" miss ada looked at him sorrowfully, and continued smoothing down his hair, and inundating his temples with cologne; at last she ventured to inquire, "how do matters progress with you and miss bates? clary, you have lost your heart there!" "too true," he replied, hurriedly; "and what is more--little birdie (i call her little birdie) has lost hers too. aunt ada, we are engaged!" "with her parents' consent?" she asked. "yes, with her parents' consent; we are to be married in the coming winter." "then they know _all_, of course--they know you are coloured?" observed she. "they know all!" cried he, starting up. "_who_ said they did--_who_ told them?--tell me that, i say! who has _dared_ to tell them i am a coloured man?" "hush, clarence, hush!" replied she, attempting to soothe him. "i do not know that any one has informed them; i only inferred so from your saying you were engaged. i thought _you_ had informed them yourself. don't you remember you wrote that you should?--and i took it for granted that you had." "oh! yes, yes; so i did! i fully intended to, but found myself too great a coward. _i dare not_--i cannot risk losing her. i am fearful that if she knew it she would throw me off for ever." "perhaps not, clarence--if she loves you as she should; and even if she did, would it not be better that she should know it now, than have it discovered afterwards, and you both be rendered miserable for life." "no, no, aunt ada--i cannot tell her! it must remain a secret until after our marriage; then, if they find it out, it will be to their interest to smooth the matter over, and keep quiet about it." "clary, clary--that is _not_ honourable!" "i know it--but how can i help it? once or twice i thought of telling her, but my heart always failed me at the critical moment. it would kill me to lose her. oh! i love her, aunt ada," said he, passionately--"love her with all the energy and strength of my father's race, and all the doating tenderness of my mother's. i could have told her long ago, before my love had grown to its present towering strength, but craft set a seal upon my lips, and bid me be silent until her heart was fully mine, and then nothing could part us; yet now even, when sure of her affections, the dread that her love would not stand the test, compels me to shrink more than ever from the disclosure." "but, clarence, you are not acting generously; i know your conscience does not approve your actions." "don't i know that?" he answered, almost fiercely; "yet i dare not tell--i must shut this secret in my bosom, where it gnaws, gnaws, gnaws, until it has almost eaten my heart away. oh, i've thought of that, time and again; it has kept me awake night after night, it haunts me at all hours; it is breaking down my health and strength--wearing my very life out of me; no escaped galley-slave ever felt more than i do, or lived in more constant fear of detection: and yet i must nourish this tormenting secret, and keep it growing in my breast until it has crowded out every honourable and manly feeling; and then, perhaps, after all my sufferings and sacrifice of candour and truth, out it will come at last, when i least expect or think of it." aunt ada could not help weeping, and exclaimed, commiseratingly, "my poor, poor boy," as he strode up and down the room. "the whole family, except her, seem to have the deepest contempt for coloured people; they are constantly making them a subject of bitter jests; they appear to have no more feeling or regard for them than if they were brutes--and i," continued he, "i, miserable, contemptible, false-hearted knave, as i am, i--i--yes, i join them in their heartless jests, and wonder all the while my mother does not rise from her grave and _curse_ me as i speak!" "oh! clarence, clarence, my dear child!" cried the terrified aunt ada, "you talk deliriously; you have brooded over this until it has almost made you crazy. come here--sit down." and seizing him by the arm, she drew him on the sofa beside her, and began to bathe his hot head with the cologne again. "let me walk, aunt ada," said he after a few moments,--"let me walk, i feel better whilst i am moving; i can't bear to be quiet." and forthwith he commenced striding up and down the room again with nervous and hurried steps. after a few moments he burst out again---- "it seems as if fresh annoyances and complications beset me every day. em writes me that she is engaged. i was in hopes, that, after i had married, i could persuade her to come and live with me, and so gradually break off her connection with, coloured people; but that hope is extinguished now: she is engaged to a coloured man." aunt ada could see no remedy for this new difficulty, and could only say, "indeed!" "i thought something of the kind would occur when i was last at home, and spoke to her on the subject, but she evaded giving me any definite answer; i think she was afraid to tell me--she has written, asking my consent." "and will you give it?" asked aunt ada. "it will matter but little if i don't; em has a will of her own, and i have no means of coercing her; besides, i have no reasonable objection to urge: it would be folly in me to oppose it, simply because he is a coloured man--for, what am i myself? the only difference is, that his identity with coloured people is no secret, and he is not ashamed of it; whilst i conceal my origin, and live in constant dread that some one may find it out." when clarence had finished, he continued to walk up and down the room, looking very careworn and gloomy. miss bell remained on the sofa, thoughtfully regarding him. at last, she rose up and took his hand in hers, as she used to when he was a boy, and walking beside him, said, "the more i reflect upon it, the more necessary i regard it that you should tell this girl and her parents your real position before you marry her. throw away concealment, make a clean breast of it! you may not be rejected when they find her heart is so deeply interested. if you marry her with this secret hanging over you, it will embitter your life, make you reserved, suspicious, and consequently ill-tempered, and destroy all your domestic happiness. let me persuade you, tell them ere it be too late. suppose it reached them through some other source, what would they then think of you?" "who else would tell them? who else knows it? you, you," said he suspiciously--"_you_ would not betray me! i thought you loved me, aunt ada." "clarence, my dear boy," she rejoined, apparently hurt by his hasty and accusing tone, "you _will_ mistake me--i have no such intention. if they are never to learn it except through _me_, your secret is perfectly safe. yet i must tell you that i feel and think that the true way to promote her happiness and your own, is for you to disclose to them your real position, and throw yourself upon their generosity for the result." clarence pondered for a long time over miss bell's advice, which she again and again repeated, placing it each time before him in a stronger light, until, at last, she extracted from him a promise that he would do it. "i know you are right, aunt ada," said he; "i am convinced of that--it is a question of courage with me. i know it would be more honourable for me to tell her now. i'll try to do it--i will make an effort, and summon up the courage necessary--god be my helper!" "that's a dear boy!" she exclaimed, kissing him affectionately; "i know you will feel happier when it is all over; and even if she should break her engagement, you will be infinitely better off than if it was fulfilled and your secret subsequently discovered. come, now," she concluded, "i am going to exert my old authority, and send you to bed; tomorrow, perhaps, you may see this in a more hopeful light." two days after this, clarence was again in new york, amid the heat and dust of that crowded, bustling city. soon, after his arrival, he dressed himself, and started for the mansion of mr. bates, trembling as he went, for the result of the communication he was about to make. once on the way he paused, for the thought had occurred to him that he would write to them; then reproaching himself for his weakness and timidity, he started on again with renewed determination. "i'll see her myself," he soliloquized. "i'll tell little birdie all, and know my fate from her own lips. if i must give her up, i'll know the worst from her." when clarence was admitted, he would not permit himself to be announced, but walked tiptoe upstairs and gently opening the drawing-room door, entered the room. standing by the piano, turning over the leaves of some music, and merrily humming an air, was a young girl of extremely _petite_ and delicate form. her complexion was strikingly fair; and the rich curls of dark auburn that fell in clusters on her shoulders, made it still more dazzling by the contrast presented. her eyes were grey, inclining to black; her features small, and not over-remarkable for their symmetry, yet by no means disproportionate. there was the sweetest of dimples on her small round chin, and her throat white and clear as the finest marble. the expression of her face was extremely childlike; she seemed more like a schoolgirl than a young woman of eighteen on the eve of marriage. there was something deliriously airy and fairylike in her motions, and as she slightly moved her feet in time to the music she was humming, her thin blue dress floated about her, and undulated in harmony with her graceful motions. after gazing at her for a few moments, clarence called gently, "little birdie." she gave a timid joyous little cry of surprise and pleasure, and fluttered into his arms. "oh, clary, love, how you startled me! i did not dream there was any one in the room. it was so naughty in you," said she, childishly, as he pushed back the curls from her face and kissed her. "when did you arrive?" "only an hour ago," he answered. "and you came here at once? ah, that was so lover-like and kind," she rejoined, smiling. "you look like a sylph to-night, anne," said he, as she danced about him. "ah," he continued, after regarding her for a few seconds with a look of intense admiration, "you want to rivet my chains the tighter,--you look most bewitching. why are you so much dressed to-night?--jewels, sash, and satin slippers," he continued; "are you going out?" "no, clary," she answered. "i was to have gone to the theatre; but just at the last moment i decided not to. a singular desire to stay at home came over me suddenly. i had an instinctive feeling that i should lose some greater enjoyment if i went; so i remained at home; and here, love, are you. but what is the matter? you look sad and weary." "i am a little fatigued," said he, seating himself and holding her hand in his: "a little weary; but that will soon wear off; and as for the sadness," concluded he, with a forced smile, "that _must_ depart now that i am with you, little birdie." "i feel relieved that you have returned safe and well," said she, looking up into his face from her seat beside him; "for, clary, love, i had such a frightful dream, such a singular dream about you. i have endeavoured to shake it out of my foolish little head; but it won't go, clary,--i can't get rid of it. it occurred after you left us at saratoga. oh, it was nothing though," said she, laughing and shaking her curls,--"nothing; and now you are safely returned, i shall not think of it again. tell me what you have seen since you went away; and how is that dear aunt ada of yours you talk so much about?" "oh, she is quite well," answered he; "but tell, anne, tell me about that dream. what was it, birdie?--come tell me." "i don't care to," she answered, with a slight shudder,--"i don't want to, love." "yes, yes,--do, sweet," importuned he; "i want to hear it." "then if i must," said she, "i will. i dreamed that you and i were walking on a road together, and 'twas such a beautiful road, with flowers and fruit, and lovely cottages on either side. i thought you held my hand; i felt it just as plain as i clasp yours now. presently a rough ugly man overtook us, and bid you let me go; and that you refused, and held me all the tighter. then he gave you a diabolical look, and touched you on the face, and you broke out in loathsome black spots, and screamed in such agony and frightened me so, that i awoke all in a shiver of terror, and did not get over it all the next day." clarence clutched her hand tighter as she finished, so tight indeed, that she gave a little scream of pain and looked frightened at him. "what is the matter?" she inquired; "your hand is like ice, and you are paler than ever. you haven't let that trifling dream affect you so? it is nothing." "i am superstitious in regard to dreams," said clarence, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "go," he asked, faintly, "play me an air, love,--something quick and lively to dispel this. i wish you had not told me." "but you begged me to," said she, pouting, as she took her seat at the instrument. "how ominous," muttered he,--"became covered with black spots; that is a foreshadowing. how can i tell her," he thought. "it seems like wilfully destroying my own happiness." and he sat struggling with himself to obtain the necessary courage to fulfil the purpose of his visit, and became so deeply engrossed with his own reflections as to scarcely even hear the sound of the instrument. "it is too bad," she cried, as she ceased playing: "here i have performed some of your favourite airs, and that too without eliciting a word of commendation. you are inexpressibly dull to-night; nothing seems to enliven you. what is the matter?" "oh," rejoined he, abstractedly, "am i? i was not aware of it." "yes, you are," said little birdie, pettishly; "nothing seems to engage your attention." and, skipping off to the table, she took up the newspaper, and exclaimed,--"let me read you something very curious." "no, no, anne dear," interrupted he; "sit here by me. i want to say something serious to you--something of moment to us both." "then it's something very grave and dull, i know," she remarked; "for that is the way people always begin. now i don't want to hear anything serious to-night; i want to be merry. you _look_ serious enough; and if you begin to talk seriously you'll be perfectly unbearable. so you must hear what i am going to read to you first." and the little tyrant put her finger on his lip, and looked so bewitching, that he could not refuse her. and the important secret hung on his lips, but was not spoken. "listen," said she, spreading out the paper before her and running her tiny finger down the column. "ah, i have it," she exclaimed at last, and began:-- "'we learn from unimpeachable authority that the hon. ---- ----, who represents a district of our city in the state legislature, was yesterday united to the quateroon daughter of the late gustave almont. she is said to be possessed of a large fortune, inherited from her father; and they purpose going to france to reside,--a sensible determination; as, after such a _mesalliance_, the honourable gentleman can no longer expect to retain his former social position in our midst.--_new orleans watchman_.'" "isn't it singular," she remarked, "that a man in his position should make such a choice?" "he loved her, no doubt," suggested clarence; "and she was almost white." "how could he love her?" asked she, wonderingly. "love a coloured woman! i cannot conceive it possible," said she, with a look of disgust; "there is something strange and unnatural about it." "no, no," he rejoined, hurriedly, "it was love, anne,--pure love; it is not impossible. i--i--" "am coloured," he would have said; but he paused and looked full in her lovely face. he could not tell her,--the words slunk back into his coward heart unspoken. she stared at him in wonder and perplexity, and exclaimed,--"dear clarence, how strangely you act! i am afraid you are not well. your brow is hot," said she, laying her hand on his forehead; "you have been travelling too much for your strength." "it is not that," he replied. "i feel a sense of suffocation, as if all the blood was rushing to my throat. let me get the air." and he rose and walked to the window. anne hastened and brought him a glass of water, of which he drank a little, and then declared himself better. after this, he stood for a long time with her clasped in his arms; then giving her one or two passionate kisses, he strained her closer to him and abruptly left the house, leaving little birdie startled and alarmed by his strange behaviour. chapter xxxii. dear old ess again. let us visit once more the room from which mr. walters and his friends made so brave a defence. there is but little in its present appearance to remind one of that eventful night,--no reminiscences of that desperate attack, save the bullet-hole in the ceiling, which mr. walters declares shall remain unfilled as an evidence of the marked attention he has received at the hands of his fellow-citizens. there are several noticeable additions to the furniture of the apartment; amongst them an elegantly-carved work-stand, upon which some unfinished articles of children's apparel are lying; a capacious rocking-chair, and grand piano. then opposite to the portrait of toussaint is suspended another picture, which no doubt holds a higher position in the regard of the owner of the mansion than the african warrior aforesaid. it is a likeness of the lady who is sitting at the window,--mrs. esther walters, _nee_ ellis. the brown baby in the picture is the little girl at her side,--the elder sister of the other brown baby who is doing its best to pull from its mother's lap the doll's dress upon which she is sewing. yes, that is "dear old ess," as charlie calls her yet, though why he will persist in applying the adjective we are at a loss to determine. esther looks anything but old--a trifle matronly, we admit--but old we emphatically say she is not; her hair is parted plainly, and the tiniest of all tiny caps sits at the back of her head, looking as if it felt it had no business on such raven black hair, and ought to be ignominiously dragged off without one word of apology. the face and form are much more round and full, and the old placid expression has been undisturbed in the lapse of years. the complexion of the two children was a sort of compromise between the complexions of their parents--chubby-faced, chestnut-coloured, curly-headed, rollicking little pests, who would never be quiet, and whose little black buttons of eyes were always peering into something, and whose little plugs of fingers would, in spite of every precaution to prevent, be diving into mother's work-box, and various other highly inconvenient and inappropriate places. "there!" said esther, putting the last stitch into a doll she had been manufacturing; "now, take sister, and go away and play." but little sister, it appeared, did not wish to be taken, and she made the best of her way off, holding on by the chairs, and tottering over the great gulfs between them, until she succeeded in reaching the music-stand, where she paused for a while before beginning to destroy the music. just at this critical juncture a young lady entered the room, and held up her hands in horror, and baby hastened off as fast as her toddling limbs could carry her, and buried her face in her mother's lap in great consternation. emily garie made two or three slight feints of an endeavour to catch her, and then sat down by the little one's mother, and gave a deep sigh. "have you answered your brother's letter?" asked esther. "yes, i have," she replied; "here it is,"--and she laid the letter in esther's lap. baby made a desperate effort to obtain it, but suffered a signal defeat, and her mother opened it, and read-- "dear brother,--i read your chilling letter with deep sorrow. i cannot say that it surprised me; it is what i have anticipated during the many months that i have been silent on the subject of my marriage. yet, when i read it, i could not but feel a pang to which heretofore i have been a stranger. clarence, you know i love you, and should not make the sacrifice you demand a test of my regard. true, i cannot say (and most heartily i regret it) that there exists between us the same extravagant fondness we cherished as children--but that is no fault of mine. did you not return to me, each year, colder and colder--more distant and unbrotherly--until you drove back to their source the gushing streams of a sister's love that flowed so strongly towards you? you ask me to resign charles ellis and come to you. what can you offer me in exchange for his true, manly affection?--to what purpose drive from my heart a love that has been my only solace, only consolation, for your waning regard! we have grown up together--he has been warm and kind, when you were cold and indifferent--and now that he claims the reward of long years of tender regard, and my own heart is conscious that he deserves it, you would step between us, and forbid me yield the recompense that it will be my pride and delight to bestow. it grieves me to write it; yet i must, clary--for between brother and sister there is no need of concealments; and particularly at such a time should everything be open, clear, explicit. do not think i wish to reproach you. what you are, clarence, your false position and unfortunate education have made you. i write it with pain--your demand seems extremely selfish. i fear it is not of _me_ but of _yourself_ you are thinking, when you ask me to sever, at once and for ever, my connection with a people who, you say, can only degrade me. yet how much happier am i, sharing their degradation, than you appear to be! is it regard for me that induces the desire that i should share the life of constant dread that i cannot but feel you endure--or do you fear that my present connections will interfere with your own plans for the future? "even did i grant it was my happiness alone you had in view, my objections would be equally strong. i could not forego the claims of early friendship, and estrange myself from those who have endeared themselves to me by long years of care--nor pass coldly and unrecognizingly by playmates and acquaintances, because their complexions were a few shades darker than my own. this i could never do--to me it seems ungrateful: yet i would not reproach you because you can--for the circumstances by which you have been surrounded have conspired to produce that result--and i presume you regard such conduct as necessary to sustain you in your present position. from the tenor of your letter i should judge that you entertained some fear that i might compromise you with your future bride, and intimate that _my_ choice may deprive you of _yours_. surely that need not be. _she_ need not even know of my existence. do not entertain a fear that i, or my future husband, will ever interfere with your happiness by thrusting ourselves upon you, or endanger your social position by proclaiming our relationship. our paths lie so widely apart that they need never cross. you walk on the side of the oppressor--i, thank god, am with the oppressed. "i am happy--more happy, i am sure, than you could make me, even by surrounding me with the glittering lights that shine upon your path, and which, alas! may one day go suddenly out, and leave you wearily groping in the darkness. i trust, dear brother, my words may not prove a prophecy; yet, should they be, trust me, clarence, you may come back again, and a sister's heart will receive you none the less warmly that you selfishly desired her to sacrifice the happiness of a lifetime to you. i shall marry charles ellis. i ask you to come and see us united--i shall not reproach you if you do not; yet i shall feel strange without a single relative to kiss or bless me in that most eventful hour of a woman's life. god bless you, clary! i trust your union may be as happy as i anticipate my own will be--and, if it is not, it will not be because it has lacked the earnest prayers of your neglected but still loving sister." "esther, i thought i was too cold in that--tell me, do you think so?" "no, dear, not at all; i think it a most affectionate reply to a cold, selfish letter." "oh, i'm glad to hear you say that. i can trust better to your tenderness of others' feelings than to my own heart. i felt strongly, esther, and was fearful that it might be too harsh or reproachful. i was anxious lest my feelings should be too strikingly displayed; yet it was better to be explicit--don't you think so?" "undoubtedly," answered esther; and handing back the letter, she took up baby, and seated herself in the rocking-chair. now baby had a prejudice against caps, inveterate and unconquerable; and grandmamma, nurse, and esther were compelled to bear the brunt of her antipathies. we have before said that esther's cap _looked_ as though it felt itself in an inappropriate position--that it had got on the head of the wrong individual--and baby, no doubt in deference to the cap's feelings, tore it off, and threw it in the half-open piano, from whence it was extricated with great detriment to the delicate lace. emily took a seat near the window, and drawing her work-table towards her, raised the lid. this presenting another opening for baby, she slid down from her mother's lap, and hastened towards her. she just arrived in time to see it safely closed, and toddled back to her mother, as happy as if she had succeeded in running riot over its contents, and scattering them all over the floor. emily kept looking down the street, as though in anxious expectation of somebody; and whilst she stood there, there was an opportunity of observing how little she had changed in the length of years. she is little em magnified, with a trifle less of the child in her face. her hair has a slight kink, is a little more wavy than is customary in persons of entire white blood; but in no other way is her extraction perceptible, only the initiated, searching for evidences of african blood, would at all notice this slight peculiarity. her expectation was no doubt about to be gratified, for a smile broke over her face, as she left the window and skipped downstairs; when she re-entered, she was accompanied by her intended husband. there was great commotion amongst the little folk in consequence of this new arrival. baby kicked, and screamed out "unker char," and went almost frantic because her dress became entangled in the buckle of her mamma's belt, and her sister received a kiss before she could be extricated. charlie is greatly altered--he is tall, remarkably athletic, with a large, handsomely-shaped head, covered with close-cut, woolly hair; high forehead, heavy eyebrows, large nose, and a mouth of ordinary size, filled with beautifully white teeth, which he displays at almost every word he speaks; chin broad, and the whole expression of his face thoughtful and commanding, yet replete with good humour. no one would call him handsome, yet there was something decidedly attractive in his general appearance. no one would recognize him as the charlie of old, whose escapades had so destroyed the comfort and harmony of mrs. thomas's establishment; and only once, when he held up the baby, and threatened to let her tear the paper ornaments from the chandelier, was there a twinkle of the charlie of old looking out of his eyes. "how are mother and father to-day?" asked esther. "oh, both well. i left them only a few minutes ago at the dinner table. i had to hurry off to go to the office." "so i perceive," observed esther, archly, "and of course, coming here, which is four squares out of your way, will get you there much sooner." emily blushed, and said, smilingly, esther was "a very impertinent person;" and in this opinion charlie fully concurred. they then walked to the window, where they stood, saying, no doubt, to each other those little tender things which are so profoundly interesting to lovers, and so exceedingly stupid to every one else. baby, in high glee, was seated on charlie's shoulder, where she could clutch both hands in his hair and pull until the tears almost started from his eyes. "emily and you have been talking a long while, and i presume you have fully decided on what day you are both to be rescued from your misery, and when i am to have the exquisite satisfaction of having my house completely turned upside down for your mutual benefit," said esther. "i trust it will be as soon as possible, as we cannot rationally expect that either of you will be bearable until it is all over, and you find yourselves ordinary mortals again. come now, out with it. when is it to be?" "i say next week," cried charlie. "next week, indeed," hastily rejoined emily. "i could not think of such a thing--so abrupt." "so abrupt," repeated charlie, with a laugh. "why, haven't i been courting you ever since i wore roundabouts, and hasn't everybody been expecting us to be married every week within the last two years. fie, em, it's anything but abrupt." emily blushed still deeper, and looked out of the window, down the street and up the street, but did not find anything in the prospect at either side that at all assisted her to come to a decision, so she only became more confused and stared the harder; at last she ventured to suggest that day two months. "this day two months--outrageous!" said charlie. "come here, dear old ess, and help me to convince this deluded girl of the preposterous manner in which she is conducting herself." "i must join her side if you _will_ bring me into the discussion. i think she is right, charlie--there is so much to be done: the house to procure and furnish, and numberless other things that you hasty and absurd men know nothing about." by dint of strong persuasion from charlie, emily finally consented to abate two weeks of the time, and they decided that a family council should be held that evening at mrs. ellis's, when the whole arrangements should be definitely settled. a note was accordingly despatched by esther to her mother--that she, accompanied by emily and the children, would come to them early in the afternoon, and that the gentlemen would join them in the evening at tea-time. caddy was, of course, completely upset by the intelligence; for, notwithstanding that she and the maid-of-all-work lived in an almost perpetual state of house-cleaning, nothing appeared to her to be in order, and worse than all, there was nothing to eat. "nothing to eat!" exclaimed mrs. ellis. "why, my dear child, there are all manner of preserves, plenty of fresh peaches to cut and sugar down, and a large pound-cake in the house, and any quantity of bread can be purchased at the baker's." "bread--plain bread!" rejoined caddy, indignantly, quite astonished at her mother's modest idea of a tea--and a company-tea at that. "do you think, mother, i'd set mr. walters down to plain bread, when we always have hot rolls and short-cake at their house? it is not to be thought of for a moment: they must have some kind of hot cake, be the consequences what they may." caddy bustled herself about, and hurried up the maid-of-all-work in an astonishing manner, and before the company arrived had everything prepared, and looked as trim and neat herself as if she had never touched a rolling-pin, and did not know what an oven was used for. behold them all assembled. mrs. ellis at the head of the table with a grandchild on each side of her, and her cap-strings pinned upon the side next to baby. esther sits opposite her husband, who is grown a little grey, but otherwise is not in the least altered; next to her is her father, almost buried in a large easy-chair, where he sits shaking his head from time to time, and smiling vacantly at the children; then come emily and charlie at the foot, and at his other hand caddy and kinch--kinch the invincible--kinch the dirty--kinch the mischievous, now metamorphosed into a full-blown dandy, with faultless linen, elegant vest, and fashionably-cut coat. oh, kinch, what a change--from the most shabby and careless of all boys to a consummate exquisite, with heavy gold watch and eye-glass, and who has been known to dress regularly twice a day! there was a mighty pouring out of tea at mrs. ellis's end of the table, and baby of course had to be served first with some milk and bread. between her and the cat intimate relations seemed to exist, for by their united efforts the first cap was soon disposed of, and baby was clamouring for the second before the elder portions of the family had been once served round with tea. charlie and emily ate little and whispered a great deal; but kinch, the voracity of whose appetite had not at all diminished in the length of years, makes up for their abstinence by devouring the delicious round short-cakes with astonishing rapidity. he did not pretend to make more than two bites to a cake, and they slipped away down his throat as if it was a railroad tunnel and they were a train of cars behind time. caddy felt constrained to get up every few moments to look after something, and to assure herself by personal inspection that the reserved supplies in the kitchen were not likely to be exhausted. esther occupied herself in attending upon her helpless father, and fed him as tenderly and carefully as if he was one of her babies. "i left you ladies in council. what was decided?" said charlie, "don't be at all bashful as regards speaking before kinch, for he is in the secret and has been these two months. kinch is to be groomsman, and has had three tailors at work on his suit for a fortnight past. he told me this morning that if you did not hurry matters up, his wedding coat would be a week out of fashion before he should get a chance to wear it." "how delightful--kinch to be groomsman," said esther, "that is very kind in you, kinch, to assist us to get charlie off our hands." "and who is to be bridesmaid?" asked walters. "oh, caddy of course--i couldn't have any one but caddy," blushingly answered emily. "that is capital," cried charlie, giving kinch a facetious poke, "just the thing, isn't it, kinch--it will get her accustomed to these matters. you remember what you told me this morning, eh, old boy?" he concluded, archly. kinch tried to blush, but being very dark-complexioned, his efforts in that direction were not at all apparent, so he evidenced his confusion by cramming a whole short-cake into his mouth, and almost caused a stoppage in the tunnel; caddy became excessively red in the face, and was sure they wanted more cakes. but mr. walters was equally confident they did not, and put his back against the door and stood there, whilst mrs. ellis gravely informed them that she soon expected to be her own housekeeper, for that she had detected caddy and kinch in a furniture establishment, pricing a chest of drawers and a wash-stand; and that kinch had unblushingly told her they had for some time been engaged to be married, but somehow or other had forgotten to mention it to her. this caused a general shout of laughter around the table, in which baby tumultuously joined, and rattled her spoon against the tea-urn until she almost deafened them. this noise frightened mr. ellis, who cried, "there they come! there they come!" and cowered down in his great chair, and looked so exceedingly terrified, that the noise was hushed instantly, and tears sprang into the eyes of dear old ess, who rose and stood by him, and laid his withered face upon her soft warm bosom, smoothed down the thin grey hair, and held him close to her throbbing tender heart, until the wild light vanished from his bleared and sunken eyes, and the vacant childish smile came back on his thin, wan face again, when she said, "pray don't laugh so very loud, it alarms father; he is composed now, pray don't startle him so again." this sobered them down a little, and they quietly recommenced discussing the matrimonial arrangements; but they were all in such capital spirits that an occasional hearty and good-humoured laugh could not be suppressed. mr. walters acted in his usual handsome manner, and facetiously collaring charlie, took him into a corner and informed him that he had an empty house that be wished him to occupy, and that if he ever whispered the word rent, or offered him any money before he was worth twenty thousand dollars, he should believe that he wanted to pick a quarrel with him, and should refer him to a friend, and then pistols and coffee would be the inevitable result. then it came out that caddy and kinch had been, courting for some time, if not with mrs. ellis's verbal consent, with at least no objection from that good lady; for master kinch, besides being an exceedingly good-natured fellow, was very snug in his boots, and had a good many thousand dollars at his disposal, bequeathed him by his father. the fates had conspired to make that old gentleman rich. he owned a number of lots on the outskirts of the city, on which he had been paying taxes a number of years, and he awoke one fine morning to find them worth a large sum of money. the city council having determined to cut a street just beside them, and the property all around being in the hands of wealthy and fashionable people, his own proved to be exceedingly valuable. it was a sad day for the old man, as kinch and his mother insisted that he should give up business, which he did most reluctantly, and kinch had to be incessantly on the watch thereafter, to prevent him from hiring cellars, and sequestering their old clothes to set up in business again. they were both gone now, and kinch was his own master, with a well-secured income of a thousand dollars a-year, with a prospect of a large increase. they talked matters over fully, and settled all their arrangements before the time for parting, and then, finding the baby had scrambled into mrs. ellis's lap and gone fast asleep, and that it was long after ten o'clock, each departed, taking their several ways for home. chapter xxxiii. the fatal discovery. there is great bustle and confusion in the house of mr. bates. mantua-makers and milliners are coming in at unearthly hours, and consultations of deep importance are being duly held with maiden aunts and the young ladies who are to officiate as bridesmaids at the approaching ceremony. there are daily excursions to drapers' establishments, and jewellers, and, in fact, so much to be done and thought of, that little birdie is in constant confusion, and her dear little curly head is almost turned topsy-turvy. twenty times in each day is she called upstairs to where the sempstresses are at work, to have something tried on or fitted. poor little birdie! she declares she never can stand it: she did not dream that to be married she would have been subjected to such a world of trouble, or she would never have consented,--_never_! and then clarence, too, comes in every morning, and remains half the day, teasing her to play, to talk, or sing. inconsiderate clarence! when she has so much on her mind; and when at last he goes, and she begins to felicitate herself that she is rid of him, back he comes again in the evening, and repeats the same annoyance. o, naughty, tiresome, clarence! how can you plague little birdie so? perhaps you think she doesn't dislike it; you may be right, very likely she doesn't. she sometimes wonders why he grows paler and thinner each day, and his nervous and sometimes distracted manner teases her dreadfully; but she supposes all lovers act thus, and expects they cannot help it--and then little birdie takes a sly peep in the glass, and does not so much wonder after all. yet if she sometimes deems his manner startling and odd, what would she say if she knew that, night after night, when he left her side, he wandered for long hours through the cold and dreary streets, and then went to his hotel, where he paced his room until almost day? ah, little birdie, a smile will visit his pale face when you chirp tenderly to him, and a faint tinge comes upon his cheek when you lay your soft tiny hand upon it; yet all the while there is that desperate secret lying next his heart, and, like a vampire, sucking away, drop by drop, happiness and peace. not so with little birdie; she is happy--oh, _so_ happy: she rises with a song upon her lips, and is chirping in the sunshine she herself creates, the live-long day. flowers of innocence bloom and flourish in her peaceful lithesome heart. poor, poor, little birdie! those flowers are destined to wither soon, and the sunlight fade from thy happy face for ever. one morning, clarence, little birdie, and her intended bridesmaid, miss ellstowe, were chatting together, when a card was handed to the latter, who, on looking at it, exclaimed, "oh, dear me! an old beau of mine; show him up," and scampering off to the mirror, she gave a hasty glance, to see that every curl was in its effective position. "who is it?" asked little birdie, all alive with curiosity; "do say who it is." "hush!" whispered miss ellstowe, "here he comes, my dear; he is very rich--a great catch; are my curls all right?" scarcely had she asked the question, and before an answer could be returned, the servant announced mr. george stevens, and the gentleman walked into the room. start not, reader, it is not the old man we left bent over the prostrate form of his unconscious daughter, but george stevens, junior, the son and heir of the old man aforesaid. the heart of clarence almost ceased to beat at the sound of that well-known name, and had not both the ladies been so engrossed in observing the new-comer, they must have noticed the deep flush that suffused his face, and the deathly pallor that succeeded it. mr. stevens was presented to miss bates, and miss ellstowe turned to present him to clarence. "mr. garie--mr. stevens," said she. clarence bowed. "pardon me, i did not catch the name," said the former, politely. "mr. clarence garie," she repeated, more distinctly. george stevens bowed, and then sitting down opposite clarence, eyed him for a few moments intently. "i think we have met before," said he at last, in a cold, contemptuous tone, not unmingled with surprise, "have we not?" clarence endeavoured to answer, but could not; he was, for a moment, incapable of speech; a slight gurgling noise was heard in his throat, as he bowed affirmatively. "we were neighbours at one time, i think," added george stevens. "we were," faintly ejaculated clarence. "it is a great surprise to me to meet _you_ here," pursued george stevens. "the surprise is mutual, i assure you, sir," rejoined clarence, coldly, and with slightly agitated manner. hereupon ensued an embarrassing pause in the conversation, during which the ladies could not avoid observing the livid hue of clarence's face. there was a perfect tumult raging in his breast; he knew that now his long-treasured secret would be brought out; this was to be the end of his struggle to preserve it--to be exposed at last, when on the brink of consummating his happiness. as he sat there, looking at george stevens, he became a murderer in his heart; and if an invisible dagger could have been placed in his hands, he would have driven it to the hilt in his breast, and stilled for ever the tongue that was destined to betray him. but it was too late; one glance at the contemptuous, malignant face of the son of his father's murderer, told him his fate was sealed--that it was now too late to avert exposure. he grew faint, dizzy, ill,--and rising, declared hurriedly he must go, staggered towards the door, and fell upon the carpet, with a slight stream of blood spirting from his mouth. little birdie screamed, and ran to raise him; george stevens and miss ellstowe gave their assistance, and by their united efforts he was placed upon the sofa. little birdie wiped the bloody foam from his mouth with her tiny lace handkerchief, bathed his head, and held cold water to his lips; but consciousness was long returning, and they thought he was dying. poor torn heart! pity it was thy beatings were not stilled then for ever. it was not thy fate; long, long months of grief and despair were yet to come before the end approached and day again broke upon thee. just at this crisis mr. bates came in, and was greatly shocked and alarmed by clarence's deathly appearance. as he returned to consciousness he looked wildly about him, and clasping little birdie's hand in his, gazed at her with a tender imploring countenance: yet it was a despairing look--such a one as a shipwrecked seaman gives when, in sight of land, he slowly relaxes his hold upon the sustaining spar that he has no longer the strength to clutch, and sinks for ever beneath the waters. a physician was brought in, who declared he had ruptured a minor blood-vessel, and would not let him utter a whisper, and, assisted by mr. bates, placed him in his carriage, and the three were driven as swiftly as possible to the hotel where clarence was staying. little birdie retired to her room in great affliction, followed by miss ellstowe, and george stevens was left in the room alone. "what can the fellow have been doing here?" he soliloquised; "on intimate terms too, apparently; it is very singular; i will wait miss ellstowe's return, and ask an explanation." when miss ellstowe re-entered the room, he immediately inquired, "what was that mr. garie doing here? he seems on an exceedingly intimate footing, and your friend apparently takes a wonderful interest in him." "of course she does; that is her _fiance_." "_impossible_!" rejoined he, with an air of astonishment. "impossible!--why so? i assure you he is. they are to be married in a few weeks. i am here to officiate as bridesmaid." "phew!" whistled george stevens; and then, after pausing a moment, he asked, "do you know anything about this mr. garie--anything, i mean, respecting his family?" "why, no--that is, nothing very definite, more than that he is an orphan, and a gentleman of education and independent means." "humph!" ejaculated george stevens, significantly. "humph!" repeated miss ellstowe, "what do you mean? do you know anything beyond that? one might suppose you did, from your significant looks and gestures." "yes, i _do_ know something about this mr. garie," he replied, after a short silence. "but tell me what kind of people are these you are visiting--abolitionists, or anything of that sort?" "how absurd, mr. stevens, to ask such a question; of course they are not," said she, indignantly; "do you suppose i should be here if they were? but why do you ask--is this mr. garie one?" "no, my friend," answered her visitor; "_i wish that was all_." "that was all!--how strangely you talk--you alarm me," continued she, with considerable agitation. "if you know anything that will injure the happiness of my friend--anything respecting mr. garie that she or her father should know--make no secret of it, but disclose it to me at once. anne is my dearest friend, and i, of course, must be interested in anything that concerns her happiness. tell me, what is it you know?" "it is nothing, i assure you, that it will give me any pleasure to tell," answered he. "do speak out, mr. stevens. is there any stain on his character, or that of his family? did he ever do anything dishonourable?" "_i wish that was all_," coolly repeated george stevens. "i am afraid he is a villain, and has been imposing himself upon this family for what he is not." "good heavens! mr. stevens, how is he a villain or impostor?" "you all suppose him to be a white man, do you not?" he asked. "of course we do," she promptly answered. "then you are all grievously mistaken, for he is not. did you not notice how he changed colour, how agitated he became, when i was presented? it was because he knew that his exposure was at hand. i know him well--in fact, he is the illegitimate son of a deceased relative of mine, by a mulatto slave." "it cannot be possible," exclaimed miss ellstowe, with a wild stare of astonishment. "are you sure of it?" "sure of it! of course i am. i should indeed be a rash man to make such a terrible charge unless perfectly able to substantiate it. i have played with him frequently when a child, and my father made a very liberal provision for this young man and his sister, after the death of their father, who lost his life through imprudently living with this woman in philadelphia, and consequently getting himself mixed up with these detestable abolitionists." "can this be true?" asked miss ellstowe, incredulously. "i assure you it is. we had quite lost sight of them for a few years back, and i little supposed we should meet under such circumstances. i fear i shall be the cause of great discomfort, but i am sure in the end i shall be thanked. i could not, with any sense of honour or propriety, permit such a thing as this marriage to be consummated, without at least warning your friends of the real position of this fellow. i trust, miss ellstowe, you will inform them of what i have told you." "how can i? oh, mr. stevens!" said she, in a tone of deep distress, "this will be a terrible blow--it will almost kill anne. no, no; the task must not devolve on me--i cannot tell them. poor little thing! it will break her heart, i am afraid." "oh, but you must, miss ellstowe; it would seem very impertinent in me--a stranger--to meddle in such a matter; and, besides, they may be aware of it, and not thank me for my interference." "no, i assure you they are not; i am confident they have not the most distant idea of such a thing--they would undoubtedly regard it as an act of kindness on your part. i shall insist upon your remaining until the return of mr. bates, when i shall beg you to repeat to him what you have already revealed to me." "as you insist upon it, i suppose i must," repeated he, after some reflection; "but i must say i do not like the office of informer," concluded he, with assumed reluctance. "i am sorry to impose it upon you; yet, rest assured, they will thank you. excuse me for a few moments--i will go and see how anne is." miss ellstowe returned, after a short interval, with the information that little birdie was much more composed, and would, no doubt, soon recover from her fright. "to receive a worse blow," observed george stevens. "i pity the poor little thing--only to think of the disgrace of being engaged to a nigger. it is fortunate for them that they will make the discovery ere it be too late. heavens! only think what the consequences might have been had she married this fellow, and his peculiar position became known to them afterwards! she would have been completely 'done for.'" thus conversing respecting clarence, they awaited the return of mr. bates. after the lapse of a couple of hours he entered the drawing-room. mr. stevens was presented to him by miss ellstowe, as a particular friend of herself and family. "i believe you were here when i came in before; i regret i was obliged to leave so abruptly," courteously spoke mr. bates, whilst bowing to his new acquaintance; "the sudden and alarming illness of my young friend will, i trust, be a sufficient apology." "how is he now?" asked miss ellstowe. "better--much better," answered he, cheerfully; "but very wild and distracted in his manner--alarmingly so, in fact. he clung to my hand, and wrung it when we parted, and bid me good bye again and again, as if it was for the last time. poor fellow! he is frightened at that hemorrhage, and is afraid it will be fatal; but there is not any danger, he only requires to be kept quiet--he will soon come round again, no doubt. i shall have to ask you to excuse me again," said he, in conclusion; "i must go and see my daughter." mr. bates was rising to depart, when george stevens gave miss ellstowe a significant look, who said, in a hesitating tone, "mr. bates, one moment before you go. my friend, mr. stevens, has a communication to make to you respecting mr. garie, which will, i fear, cause you, as it already has me, deep distress." "indeed!" rejoined mr. bates, in a tone of surprise; "what is it? nothing that reflects upon his character, i hope." "i do not know how my information will influence your conduct towards him, for i do not know what your sentiments may be respecting such persons. i know society in general do not receive them, and my surprise was very great to find him here." "i do not understand you; what do you mean?" demanded mr. bates, in a tone of perplexity; "has he ever committed any crime?" "he is a coloured man," answered george stevens, briefly. mr. bates became almost purple, and gasped for breath; then, after staring at his informant for a few seconds incredulously, repeated the words "coloured man," in a dreamy manner, as if in doubt whether he had really heard them. "yes, coloured man," said george stevens, confidently; "it grieves me to be the medium of such disagreeable intelligence; and i assure you i only undertook the office upon the representation of miss ellstowe, that you were not aware of the fact, and would regard my communication as an act of kindness." "it--it _can't_ be," exclaimed mr. bates, with the air of a man determined not to be convinced of a disagreeable truth; "it cannot be possible." hereupon george stevens related to him what he had recently told miss ellstowe respecting the parentage and position of clarence. during the narration, the old man became almost frantic with rage and sorrow, bursting forth once or twice with the most violent exclamations; and when george stevens concluded, he rose and said, in a husky voice-- "i'll kill him, the infernal hypocrite! oh! the impostor to come to my house in this nefarious manner, and steal the affections of my daughter--the devilish villain! a bastard! a contemptible black-hearted nigger. oh, my child--my child! it will break your heart when you know what deep disgrace has come upon you. i'll go to him," added he, his face flushed, and his white hair almost erect with rage; "i'll murder him--there's not a man in the city will blame me for it," and he grasped his cane as though he would go at once, and inflict summary vengeance upon the offender. "stop, sir, don't be rash," exclaimed george stevens; "i would not screen this fellow from the effects of your just and very natural indignation--he is abundantly worthy of the severest punishment you can bestow; but if you go in your present excited state, you might be tempted to do something which would make this whole affair public, and injure, thereby, your daughter's future. you'll pardon me, i trust, and not think me presuming upon my short acquaintance in making the suggestion." mr. bates looked about him bewilderedly for a short time, and then replied, "no, no, you need not apologize, you are right--i thank you; i myself should have known better. but my poor child! what will become of her?" and in an agony of sorrow he resumed his seat, and buried his face in his hands. george stevens prepared to take his departure, but mr. bates pressed him to remain. "in a little while," said he, "i shall be more composed, and then i wish you to go with me to this worthless scoundrel. i must see him at once, and warn him what the consequences will be should he dare approach my child again. don't fear me," he added, as he saw george stevens hesitated to remain; "that whirlwind of passion is over now. i promise you i shall do nothing unworthy of myself or my child." it was not long before they departed together for the hotel at which clarence was staying. when they entered his room, they found him in his bed, with the miniature of little birdie in his hands. when he observed the dark scowl on the face of mr. bates, and saw by whom he was accompanied, he knew his secret was discovered; he saw it written on their faces. he trembled like a leaf, and his heart seemed like a lump of ice in his bosom. mr. bates was about to speak, when clarence held up his hand in the attitude of one endeavouring to ward off a blow, and whispered hoarsely-- "don't tell me--not yet--a little longer! i see you know all. i see my sentence written on your face! let me dream a little longer ere you speak the words that must for ever part me and little birdie. i know you have come to separate us--but don't tell me yet; for when you do," said he, in an agonized tone, "it will kill me!" "i wish to god it would!" rejoined mr. bates. "i wish you had died long ago; then you would have never come beneath my roof to destroy its peace for ever. you have acted basely, palming yourself upon us--counterfeit as you were! and taking in exchange her true love and my honest, honourable regard." clarence attempted to speak, but mr. bates glared at him, and continued--"there are laws to punish thieves and counterfeits--but such as you may go unchastised, except by the abhorrence of all honourable men. had you been unaware of your origin, and had the revelation of this gentleman been as new to you as to me, you would have deserved sympathy; but you have been acting a lie, claiming a position in society to which you knew you had no right, and deserve execration and contempt. did i treat you as my feelings dictated, you would understand what is meant by the weight of a father's anger; but i do not wish the world to know that my daughter has been wasting her affections upon a worthless nigger; that is all that protects you! now, hear me," he added, fiercely,--"if ever you presume to darken my door again, or attempt to approach my daughter, i will shoot you, as sure as you sit there before me!" "and serve you perfectly right!" observed george stevens. "silence, sir!" rejoined clarence, sternly. "how dare you interfere? he may say what he likes--reproach me as he pleases--_he_ is _her_ father--i have no other reply; but if you dare again to utter a word, i'll--" and clarence paused and looked about him as if in search of something with which to enforce silence. feeble-looking as he was, there was an air of determination about him which commanded acquiescence, and george stevens did not venture upon another observation during the interview. "i want my daughter's letters--every line she ever wrote to you; get them at once--i want them now," said mr. bates, imperatively. "i cannot give them to you immediately, they are not accessible at present. does she want them?" he asked, feebly--"has she desired to have them back?" "never mind that!" said the old man, sternly; "no evasions. give me the letters!" "to-morrow i will send them," said clarence. "i will read them all over once again," thought he. "i cannot believe you," said mr. bates. "i promise you upon my honour i will send them tomorrow!" "_a nigger's honour!_" rejoined mr. bates, with a contemptuous sneer. "yes, sir--a nigger's honour!" repeated clarence, the colour mounting to his pale cheeks. "a few drops of negro blood in a man's reins do not entirely deprive him of noble sentiments. 'tis true my past concealment does not argue in my favour.--i concealed that which was no fault of my own, but what the injustice of society has made a crime." "i am not here for discussion; and i suppose i must trust to your _honour_," interrupted mr. bates, with a sneer. "but remember, if the letters are not forthcoming to-morrow i shall be here again, and then," concluded he in a threatening tone, "my visit will not be as harmless as this has been!" after they had gone, clarence rose and walked feebly to his desk, which, with great effort and risk, he removed to the bed-side; then taking from it little birdie's letters, he began their perusal. ay! read them again--and yet again; pore over their contents--dwell on those passages replete with tenderness, until every word is stamped upon thy breaking heart--linger by them as the weary traveller amid sahara's sand pauses by some sparkling fountain in a shady oasis, tasting of its pure waters ere he launches forth again upon the arid waste beyond. this is the last green spot upon thy way to death; beyond whose grim portals, let us believe, thou and thy "little birdie" may meet again. chapter xxxiv. "murder will out." the city clocks had just tolled out the hour of twelve, the last omnibus had rumbled by, and the silence without was broken only at rare intervals when some belated citizen passed by with hurried footsteps towards his home. all was still in the house of mr. stevens--so quiet, that the ticking of the large clock in the hall could be distinctly heard at the top of the stairway, breaking the solemn stillness of the night with its monotonous "click, click--click, click!" in a richly furnished chamber overlooking the street a dim light was burning; so dimly, in fact, that the emaciated form of mr. stevens was scarcely discernible amidst the pillows and covering of the bed on which he was lying. above him a brass head of curious workmanship held in its clenched teeth the canopy that overshadowed the bed; and as the light occasionally flickered and brightened, the curiously carved face seemed to light up with a sort of sardonic grin; and the grating of the curtain-rings, as the sick man tossed from side to side in his bed, would have suggested the idea that the odd supporter of the canopy was gnashing his brazen teeth at him. on the wall, immediately opposite the light, hung a portrait of mrs. stevens; not the sharp, hard face we once introduced to the reader, but a smoother, softer countenance--yet a worn and melancholy one in its expression. it looked as if the waves of grief had beaten upon it for a long succession of years, until they had tempered down its harsher peculiarities, giving a subdued appearance to the whole countenance. "there is twelve o'clock--give me my drops again, lizzie," he remarked, faintly. at the sound of his voice lizzie emerged from behind the curtains, and essayed to pour into a glass the proper quantity of medicine. she was twice obliged to pour back into the phial what she had just emptied forth, as the trembling of her hands caused her each time to drop too much; at last, having succeeded in getting the exact number of drops, she handed him the glass, the contents of which he eagerly drank. "there!" said he, "thank you; now, perhaps, i may sleep. i have not slept for two nights--such has been my anxiety about that man; nor you either, my child--i have kept you awake also. you can sleep, though, without drops. to-morrow, when you are prepared to start, wake me, if i am asleep, and let me speak to you before you go. remember, lizzie, frighten him if you can! tell him, i am ill myself--that i can't survive this continued worriment and annoyance. tell him, moreover, i am not made of gold, and will not be always giving. i don't believe he is sick--dying--do you?" he asked, looking into her face, as though he did not anticipate an affirmative answer. "no, father, i don't think he is really ill; i imagine it is another subterfuge to extract money. don't distress yourself unnecessarily; perhaps i may have some influence with him--i had before, you know!" "yes, yes, dear, you managed him very well that time--very well," said he, stroking down her hair affectionately. "i--i--my child, i could never have told you of that dreadful secret; but when i found that you knew it all, my heart experienced a sensible relief. it was a selfish pleasure, i know; yet it eased me to share my secret; the burden is not half so heavy now." "father, would not your mind be easier still, if you could be persuaded to make restitution to his children? this wealth is valueless to us both. you can never ask forgiveness for the sin whilst you cling thus tenaciously to its fruits." "tut, tut--no more of that!" said he, impatiently; "i cannot do it without betraying myself. if i gave it back to them, what would become of you and george, and how am i to stop the clamours of that cormorant? no, no! it is useless to talk of it--i cannot do it!" "there would be still enough left for george, after restoring them their own, and you might give this man my share of what is left. i would rather work day and night," said she, determinedly, "than ever touch a penny of the money thus accumulated." "i've thought all that over, long ago, but i dare not do it--it might cause inquiries to be made that might result to my disadvantage. no, i cannot do that; sit down, and let us be quiet now." mr. stevens lay back upon his pillow, and for a moment seemed to doze; then starting up again suddenly, he asked, "have you told george about it? have you ever confided anything to him?" "no, papa," answered she soothingly, "not a breath; i've been secret as the grave." "that's right!" rejoined he--"that is right! i love george, but not as i do you. he only comes to me when he wants money. he is not like you, darling--you take care of and nurse your poor old father. has he come in yet?" "not yet; he never gets home until almost morning, and is then often fearfully intoxicated." the old man shook his head, and muttered, "the sins of the fathers shall--what is that? did you hear that noise?--hush!" lizzie stood quietly by him for a short while, and then walked on tiptoe to the door--"it is george," said she, after peering into the gloom of their entry; "he has admitted him self with his night-key." the shuffling sound of footsteps was now quite audible upon the stairway, and soon the bloated face of mr. stevens's hopeful son was seen at the chamber door. in society and places where this young gentleman desired to maintain a respectable character he could be as well behaved, as choice in his language, and as courteous as anybody; but at home, where he was well known, and where he did not care to place himself under any restraint, he was a very different individual. "let me in, liz," said he, in a thick voice; "i want the old man to fork over some money--i'm cleaned out." "no, no--go to bed, george," she answered, coaxingly, "and talk to him about it in the morning." "i'm coming in _now_," said he, determinedly; "and besides, i want to tell you something about that nigger garie." "tell us in the morning," persisted lizzy. "no--i'm going to tell you now," rejoined he, forcing his way into the room--"it's too good to keep till morning. pick up that wick, let a fellow see if you are all alive!" lizzie raised the wick of the lamp in accordance with his desire, and then sat down with an expression of annoyance and vexation on her countenance. george threw himself into an easy chair, and began, "i saw that white nigger garie to-night, he was in company with a gentleman, at that--the assurance of that fellow is perfectly incomprehensible. he was drinking at the bar of the hotel; and as it is no secret why he and miss bates parted, i enlightened the company on the subject of his antecedents. he threatened to challenge me! ho! ho!--fight with a nigger--that is too good a joke!" and laughing heartily, the young ruffian leant back in his chair. "i want some money to-morrow, dad," continued he. "i say, old gentleman, wasn't it a lucky go that darkey's father was put out of the way so nicely, eh?--we've been living in clover ever since--haven't we?" "how dare you address me-in that disrespectful manner? go out of the room, sir!" exclaimed mr. stevens, with a disturbed countenance. "come, george, go to bed," urged his sister wearily. "let father sleep--it is after twelve o'clock. i am going to wake the nurse, and then retire myself." george rose stupidly from his chair, and followed his sister from the room. on the stairway he grasped her arm rudely, and said, "i don't understand how it is that you and the old man are so cursed thick all of a sudden. you are thick as two thieves, always whispering and talking together. act fair, liz--don't persuade him to leave you all the money. if you do, we'll quarrel--that's flat. don't try and cozen him out of my share as well as your own--you hear!" "oh, george!" rejoined she reproachfully--"i never had such an idea." "then what are you so much together for? why is there so much whispering and writing, and going off on journeys all alone? what does it all mean, eh?" "it means nothing at all, george. you are not yourself to-night," said she evasively; "you had better go to bed." "it is _you_ that are not yourself," he retorted. "what makes you look so pale and worried--and why do you and the old man start if the door cracks, as if the devil was after you? what is the meaning of that?" asked he with a drunken leer. "you had better look out," concluded he; "i'm watching you both, and will find out all your secrets by-and-by." "learn all our secrets! ah, my brother!" thought she, as he disappeared into his room, "you need not desire to have their fearful weight upon you, or you will soon grow as anxious, thin, and pale as i am." the next day at noon lizzie started on her journey, after a short conference with her father. night had settled upon her native city, when she was driven through its straight and seemingly interminable thoroughfares. the long straight rows of lamps, the snowy steps, the scrupulously clean streets, the signs over the stores, were like the faces of old acquaintances, and at any other time would have caused agreeable recollections; but the object of her visit pre-occupied her mind, to the exclusion of any other and more pleasant associations. she ordered the coachman to take her to an obscure hotel, and, after having engaged a room, she left her baggage and started in search of the residence of mccloskey. she drew her veil down over her face very closely, and walked quickly through the familiar streets, until she arrived at the place indicated in his letter. it was a small, mean tenement, in a by street, in which there were but one or two other houses. the shutters were closed from the upper story to the lowest, and the whole place wore an uninhabited appearance. after knocking several times, she was about to give up in despair, when she discovered through the glass above the door the faint glimmer of a light, and shortly after a female voice demanded from the inside, "who is there?" "does mr. mccloskey live here?" asked lizzie. hearing a voice not more formidable than her own, the person within partially opened the door; and, whilst shading with one hand the candle she held in the other, gazed out upon the speaker. "does mr. mccloskey live here?" repeated lizzie. "yes, he does," answered the woman, in a weak voice; "but he's got the typers." "has the what?" inquired lizzie, who did not exactly understand her. "got the typers--got the fever, you know." "the typhus fever!" said lizzie, with a start; "then he is really sick." "really sick!" repeated the woman--"really sick! well, i should think he was! why, he's been a raving and swearing awful for days; he stormed and screamed so loud that the neighbours complained. law! they had to even shave his head." "is he any better?" asked lizzie, with a sinking heart. "can i see him?" "'praps you can, if you go to the hospital to-morrow; but whether you'll find him living or dead is more than i can say. i couldn't keep him here--i wasn't able to stand him. i've had the fever myself--he took it from me. you must come in," continued the woman, "if you want to talk--i'm afraid of catching cold, and can't stand at the door. maybe you're afraid of the fever," she further observed, as she saw lizzie hesitate on the door-step. "oh, no, i'm not afraid of that," answered lizzie quickly--"i am not in the least afraid." "come in, then," reiterated the woman, "and i'll tell you all about it." the woman looked harmless enough, and lizzie hesitated no longer, but followed her through the entry into a decently furnished room. setting the candlestick upon the mantelpiece, she offered her visitor a chair, and then continued-- "he came home this last time in an awful state. before he left some one sent him a load of money, and he did nothing but drink and gamble whilst it lasted. i used to tell him that he ought to take care of his money, and he'd snap his fingers and laugh. he used to say that he owned the goose that laid the golden eggs, and could have money whenever he wanted it. well, as i was a saying, he went; and when he came back he had an awful attack of _delirium tremens_, and then he took the typers. oh, laws mercy!" continued she, holding up her bony hands, "how that critter raved! he talked about killing people." "he did!" interrupted lizzie, with a gesture of alarm, and laying her hand upon her heart, which beat fearfully--"did he mention any name?" the woman did not stop to answer this question, but proceeded as if she had not been interrupted. "he was always going on about two orphans and a will, and he used to curse and swear awfully about being obliged to keep something hid. it was dreadful to listen to--it would almost make your hair stand on end to hear him." "and he never mentioned names?" said lizzie inquiringly. "no, that was so strange; he never mentioned no names--_never_. he used to rave a great deal about two orphans and a will, and he would ransack the bed, and pull up the sheets, and look under the pillows, as if he thought it was there. oh, he acted very strange, but never mentioned no names. i used to think he had something in his trunk, he was so very special about it. he was better the day they took him off; and the trunk went with him--he would have it; but since then he's had a dreadful relapse, and there's no knowin' whether he is alive or dead." "i must go to the hospital," said lizzie, rising from her seat, and greatly relieved to learn that nothing of importance had fallen from mccloskey during his delirium. "i shall go there as quickly as i can," she observed, walking to the door. "you'll not see him to-night if you do," rejoined the woman. "are you a relation?" "oh, no," answered lizzie; "my father is an acquaintance of his. i learned that he was ill, and came to inquire after him." had the woman not been very indifferent or unobservant, she would have noticed the striking difference between the manner and appearance of lizzie stevens and the class who generally came to see mccloskey. she did not, however, appear to observe it, nor did she manifest any curiosity greater than that evidenced by her inquiring if he was a relative. lizzie walked with a lonely feeling through the quiet streets until she arrived at the porter's lodge of the hospital. she pulled the bell with trembling hands, and the door was opened by the little bald-headed man whose loquacity was once (the reader will remember) so painful to mrs. ellis. there was no perceptible change in his appearance, and he manifestly took as warm an interest in frightful accidents as ever. "what is it--what is it?" he asked eagerly, as lizzie's pale face became visible in the bright light that shone from the inner office. "do you want a stretcher?" the rapidity with which he asked these questions, and his eager manner, quite startled her, and she was for a moment unable to tell her errand. "speak up, girl--speak up! do you want a stretcher--is it burnt or run over. can't you speak, eh?" it now flashed upon lizzie that the venerable janitor was labouring under the impression that she had come to make application for the admission of a patient, and she quickly answered-- "oh, no; it is nothing of the kind, i am glad to say." "glad to say," muttered the old man, the eager, expectant look disappearing from his face, giving place to one of disappointment--"glad to say; why there hasn't been an accident to-day, and here you've gone and rung the bell, and brought me here to the door for nothing. what do you want then?" "i wish to inquire after a person who is here." "what's his number?" gruffly inquired he. "that i cannot tell," answered she; "his name is mccloskey." "i don't know anything about him. couldn't tell who he is unless i go all over the books to-night. we don't know people by their names here; come in the morning--ten o'clock, and don't never ring that bell again," concluded he, sharply, "unless you want a stretcher: ringing the bell, and no accident;" and grumbling at being disturbed for nothing, he abruptly closed the door in lizzie's face. anxious and discomfited, she wandered back to her hotel; and after drinking a weak cup of tea, locked her room-door, and retired to bed. there she lay, tossing from side to side--she could not sleep--her anxiety respecting her father's safety; her fears, lest in the delirium of fever mccloskey should discover their secret, kept her awake far into the night, and the city clocks struck two ere she fell asleep. when she awoke in the morning the sun was shining brightly into her room; for a few moments she could not realize where she was; but the events of the past night soon came freshly to her; looking at her watch, she remembered that she was to go to the hospital at ten, and it was already half-past nine; her wakefulness the previous night having caused her to sleep much later than her usual hour. dressing herself in haste, she hurried down to breakfast; and after having eaten a slight meal, ordered a carriage, and drove to the hospital. the janitor was in his accustomed seat, and nodded smilingly to her as she entered. he beckoned her to him, and whispered, "i inquired about him. mccloskey, fever-ward, no. , died this morning at two o'clock and forty minutes." "dead!" echoed lizzie, with a start of horror. "yes, dead," repeated he, with a complacent look; "any relation of yours--want an order for the body?" lizzie was so astounded by this intelligence, that she could not reply; and the old man continued mysteriously. "came to before he died--wish he hadn't--put me to a deal of trouble--sent for a magistrate--then for a minister--had something on his mind--couldn't die without telling it, you know; then there was oaths, depositions--so much trouble. are you his relation--want an order for the body?" "oaths! magistrate!--a confession no doubt," thought lizzie; her limbs trembled; she was so overcome with terror that she could scarcely stand; clinging to the railing of the desk by which she was standing for support, she asked, hesitatingly, "he had something to confess then?" the janitor looked at her for a few moments attentively, and seemed to notice for the first time her ladylike appearance and manners; a sort of reserve crept over him at the conclusion of his scrutiny, for he made no answer to her question, but simply asked, with more formality than before, "are you a relation--do you want an order for the body?" ere lizzie could answer his question, a man, plainly dressed, with keen grey eyes that seemed to look restlessly about in every corner of the room, came and stood beside the janitor. he looked at lizzie from the bow on the top of her bonnet to the shoes on her feet; it was not a stare, it was more a hasty glance--and yet she could not help feeling that he knew every item of her dress, and could have described her exactly. "are you a relative of this person," he asked, in a clear sharp voice, whilst his keen eyes seemed to be piercing her through in search of the truth. "no, sir," she answered, faintly. "a friend then, i presume," continued he, respectfully. "an acquaintance," returned she. the man paused for a few moments, then taking out his watch, looked at the time, and hastened from the office. this man possessed lizzie with a singular feeling of dread--why she could not determine; yet, after he was gone, she imagined those cold grey eyes were resting on her, and bidding the old janitor, who had grown reserved so suddenly, good morning, she sprang into her carriage as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her, and ordered the coachman to drive back to the hotel. "father must fly!" soliloquized she; "the alarm will, no doubt, lend him energy. i've heard of people who have not been able to leave their rooms for months becoming suddenly strong under the influence of terror. we must be off to some place of concealment until we can learn whether he is compromised by that wretched man's confession." lizzie quickly paid her bill, packed her trunk, and started for the station in hopes of catching the mid-day train for new york. the driver did not spare his horses, but at her request drove them at their utmost speed--but in vain. she arrived there only time enough to see the train move away; and there, standing on the platform, looking at her with a sort of triumphant satisfaction, was the man with the keen grey eyes. "stop! stop!" cried she. "too late, miss," said a bystander, sympathizingly; "just too late--no other train for three hours." "three hours!" said lizzie, despairingly; "three hours! yet i must be patient--there is no remedy," and she endeavoured to banish her fears and occupy herself in reading the advertisements that were posted up about the station. it was of no avail, that keen-looking man with his piercing grey eyes haunted her; and she could not avoid associating him in her thoughts with her father and mccloskey. what was he doing on the train, and why did he regard her with that look of triumphant satisfaction. those were to her the three longest hours of her life. wearily and impatiently she paced up and down the long saloon, watching the hands of the clock as they appeared to almost creep over the dial-plate. twenty times during those three hours did she compare the clock with her watch, and found they moved on unvaryingly together. at last the hour for the departure of the train arrived; and seated in the car, she was soon flying at express speed on the way towards her home. "how much sooner does the other train arrive than we?" she asked of the conductor. "two hours and a half, miss," replied he, courteously; "we gain a half-hour upon them." "a half-hour--that is something gained," thought she; "i may reach my father before that man. can he be what i suspect?" on they went--thirty--forty--fifty miles an hour, yet she thought it slow. dashing by villages, through meadows, over bridges,--rattling, screaming, puffing, on their way to the city of new york. in due time they arrived at the ferry, and after crossing the river were in the city itself. lizzie took the first carriage that came to hand, and was soon going briskly through the streets towards her father's house. the nearer she approached it, the greater grew her fears; a horrible presentiment that something awful had occurred, grew stronger and stronger as she drew nearer home. she tried to brave it off--resist it--crush it--but it came back upon her each time with redoubled force. on she went, nearer and nearer every moment, until at last she was in the avenue itself. she gazed eagerly from the carriage, and thought she observed one or two persons run across the street opposite her father's house. it could not be!--she looked again--yes, there was a group beneath his window. "faster! faster!" she cried frantically; "faster if you can." the door was at last reached; she sprang from the carriage and pressed through the little knot of people who were gathered on the pavement. alas! her presentiments were correct. there, lying on the pavement, was the mangled form of her father, who had desperately sprung from the balcony above, to escape arrest from the man with the keen grey eyes, who, with the warrant in his hand, stood contemplating the lifeless body. "father! father!" cried lizzie, in an anguished voice; "father, speak once!" too late! too late! the spirit had passed away--the murderer had rushed before a higher tribunal--a mightier judge--into the presence of one who tempers justice with mercy. chapter xxxv. the wedding. the night that lizzie stevens arrived in philadelphia was the one decided upon for the marriage of emily garie and charles ellis; and whilst she was wandering so lonely through the streets of one part of the city, a scene of mirth and gaiety was transpiring in another, some of the actors in which would be made more happy by events that would be productive of great sorrow to her. throughout that day bustle and confusion had reigned supreme in the house of mr. walters. caddy, who had been there since the break of day, had taken the domestic reins entirely from the hands of the mistress of the mansion, and usurped command herself. quiet esther was well satisfied to yield her full control of the domestic arrangements for the festivities, and caddy was nothing loath to assume them. she entered upon the discharge of her self-imposed duties with such ardour as to leave no doubt upon the minds of the parties most interested but that they would be thoroughly performed, and with an alacrity too that positively appalled quiet esther's easy-going servants. great doubts had been expressed as to whether caddy could successfully sustain the combined characters of _chef de cuisine_ and bridesmaid, and a failure had been prophesied. she therefore felt it incumbent upon her to prove these prognostications unfounded, and demonstrate the practicability of the undertaking. on the whole, she went to work with energy, and seemed determined to establish the fact that her abilities were greatly underrated, and that a woman could accomplish more than one thing at a time when she set about it. the feelings of all such persons about the establishment of mr. walters as were "constitutionally tired" received that day divers serious shocks at the hands of miss caddy--who seemed endowed with a singular faculty which enabled her to discover just what people did not want to do, and of setting them at it immediately. for instance, jane, the fat girl, hated going upstairs excessively. caddy employed her in bringing down glass and china from a third-story pantry; and, moreover, only permitted her to bring a small quantity at a time, which rendered a number of trips strictly necessary, to the great aggravation and serious discomfort of the fat girl in question. on the other hand, julia, the slim chambermaid, who would have been delighted with such employment, and who would have undoubtedly refreshed herself on each excursion upstairs with a lengthened gaze from the window, was condemned to the polishing of silver and dusting of plates and glass in an obscure back pantry, which contained but one window, and that commanding a prospect of a dead wall. miss caddy felt in duty bound to inspect each cake, look over the wine, and (to the great discomfiture of the waiter) decant it herself, not liking to expose him to any unnecessary temptation. she felt, too, all the more inclined to assume the office of butler from the fact that, at a previous party of her sister's, she had detected this same gentleman with a bottle of the best sherry at his mouth, whilst he held his head thrown back in a most surprising manner, with a view, no doubt, of contemplating the ceiling more effectually from that position. before night such was the increasing demand for help in the kitchen that caddy even kidnapped the nurse, and locked the brown baby and her sister in the bath-room, where there was no window in their reach, nor any other means at hand from which the slightest injury could result to them. here they were supplied with a tub half filled with water, and spent the time most delightfully in making boats of their shoes, and lading them with small pieces of soap, which they bit off from the cake for the occasion; then, coasting along to the small towns on the borders of the tub, they disposed of their cargoes to imaginary customers to immense advantage. walters had declared the house uninhabitable, and had gone out for the day. esther and emily busied themselves in arranging the flowers in the drawing-room and hall, and hanging amidst the plants on the balcony little stained glass lamps; all of which caddy thought very well in its way, but which she was quite confident would be noticed much less by the guests than the supper--in which supposition she was undoubtedly correct. kinch also lounged in two or three times during the day, to seek consolation at the hands of esther and emily. he was in deep distress of mind--in great perturbation. his tailor had promised to send home a vest the evening previous and had not fulfilled his agreement. after his first visit kinch entered the house in the most stealthy manner, for fear of being encountered by caddy; who, having met him in the hall during the morning, posted him off for twenty pounds of sugar, a ball of twine, and a stone jar, despite his declaration of pre-engagements, haste, and limited knowledge of the articles in question. whilst lizzie stevens was tremblingly ringing the bell at the lodge of the hospital, busy hands were also pulling at that of mr. walters's dwelling. carriage after carriage rolled up, and deposited their loads of gay company, who skipped nimbly over the carpet that was laid down from the door to the curbstone. through the wide hall and up the stairway, flowers of various kinds mingled their fragrance and loaded the air with their rich perfume; and expressions of delight burst from the lips of the guests as they passed up the brilliantly-lighted stairway and thronged the spacious drawing-rooms. there were but few whites amongst them, and they particular friends. there was mrs. bird, who had travelled from warmouth to be present at the ceremony; mr. balch, the friend and legal adviser of the bride's father; father banks, who was to tie the happy knot; and there, too, was mrs. burrell, and that baby, now grown to a promising lad, and who would come to the wedding because charlie had sent him a regular invitation written like that sent his parents. mr. and mrs. ellis were of course there,--the latter arrayed in a rich new silk made up expressly for the occasion--and the former almost hidden in his large easy chair. the poor old gentleman scarcely seemed able to comprehend the affair, and apparently laboured under the impression that it was another mob, and looked a little terrified at times when the laughter or conversation grew louder than usual. the hour for the ceremony was fast approaching, and esther left the assembled guests and went up into emily garie's room to assist the young ladies in preparing the bride. they all besought her to be calm, not to agitate herself upon any consideration; and then bustled about her, and flurried themselves in the most ridiculous manner, with a view, no doubt, of tranquillizing her feelings more effectually. "little em," soon to be mrs. ellis, was busily engaged in dressing; the toilet-table was covered with lighted candles, and all the gas-burners in the room were in full blaze, bringing everything out in bold relief. "we are having quite an illumination; the glare almost blinds me," said emily. "put out some of the candles." "no, no, my dear," rejoined one of the young ladies engaged in dressing her; "we cannot sacrifice a candle. we don't need them to discern your charms, em; only to enable us to discover how to deck them to the best advantage. how sweet you look!" emily gazed into the mirror; and from the blush that suffused her face and the look of complacency that followed, it was quite evident that she shared her friend's opinion. she did, indeed, look charming. there was a deeper colour than usual on her cheeks, and her eyes were illumined with a soft, tender light. her wavy brown hair was parted smoothly on the front, and gathered into a cluster of curls at the back. around her neck glistened a string of pearls, a present from mr. winston, who had just returned from south america. the pure white silk fitted to a nicety, and the tiny satin slippers seemed as if they were made upon her feet, and never intended to come off again. her costume was complete, with the exception of the veil and wreath, and esther opened the box that she supposed contained them, for the purpose of arranging them on the bride. "where have you put the veil, my dear?" she asked, after raising the lid of the box, and discovering that they were not there. "in the box, are they not?" answered one of the young ladies. "no, they are not there," continued esther, as she turned over the various articles with which the tables were strewed. all in vain; the veil and wreath could be nowhere discovered. "are you sure it came home?" asked one. "of course," replied another; "i had it in my hand an hour ago." then a thorough search was commenced, all the drawers ransacked, and everything turned over again and again; and just when they were about to abandon the search in despair, one of the party returned from the adjoining room, dragging along the brown baby, who had the veil wrapped about her chubby shoulders as a scarf, and the wreath ornamenting her round curly head. even good-natured esther was a little ruffled at this daring act of baby's, and hastily divested that young lady of her borrowed adornments, amidst the laughter of the group. poor baby was quite astonished at the precipitate manner in which she was deprived of her finery, and was for a few moments quite overpowered by her loss; but, perceiving a drawer open in the toilet-table, she dried her eyes, and turned her attention in that direction, and in tossing its contents upon the floor amply solaced herself for the deprivation she had just undergone. "caddy is a famous chief bridesmaid--hasn't been here to give the least assistance," observed esther; "she is not even dressed herself. i will ring, and ask where she can be--in the kitchen or supper-room i've no doubt. where is miss ellis?" she asked of the servant who came in answer her summons. "downstairs, mem--the boy that brought the ice-cream kicked over a candy ornament, and miss ellis was very busy a shaking of him when i came up." "do beg her to stop," rejoined esther, with a laugh, "and tell her i say she can shake him in the morning--we are waiting for her to dress now; and also tell mr. de younge to come here to the door--i want him." kinch soon made his appearance, in accordance with esther's request, and fairly dazzled her with his costume. his blue coat was brazen with buttons, and his white cravat tied with choking exactness; spotless vest, black pants, and such patent leathers as you could have seen your face in with ease. "how fine you look, kinch," said esther admiringly. "yes," he answered; "the new vest came home--how do you like it?" "oh, admirable! but, kinch, can't you go down, and implore caddy to come up and dress--time is slipping away very fast?" "oh, i daren't," answered kinch, with a look of alarm--"i don't dare to go down now that i'm dressed. she'll want me to carry something up to the supper-room if i do--a pile of dishes, or something of the kind. i'd like to oblige you, mrs. walters, but it's worth my new suit to do it." under these circumstances, kinch was excused; and a deputation, headed by mr. walters, was sent into the lower regions to wait upon caddy, who prevailed upon her to come up and dress, which she did, being all the while very red in the face, and highly indignant at being sent for so often. "good gracious!" she exclaimed, "what a pucker you are all in!" "why, caddy, it's time to be," replied esther--"it wants eight minutes of the hour." "and that is just three minutes more than i should want for dressing if i was going to be married myself," rejoined she; and hastening away, she returned in an incredibly short time, all prepared for the ceremony. charlie was very handsomely got up for the occasion. emily, esther, caddy--in fact, all of them--agreed that he never looked better in his life. "that is owing to me--all my doings," said kinch exultingly. "he wanted to order his suit of old forbes, who hasn't looked at a fashion-plate for the last ten years, and i wouldn't let him. i took him to my man, and see what he has made of him--turned him out looking like a bridegroom, instead of an old man of fifty! it's all owing to me," said the delighted kinch, who skipped about the entry until he upset a vase of flowers that stood on a bracket behind him; whereupon caddy ran and brought a towel, and made him take off his white gloves and wipe up the water, in spite of his protestations that the shape of his pantaloons would not bear the strain of stooping. at last the hour arrived, and the bridal party descended to the drawing-room in appropriate order, and stood up before father banks. the ceremony was soon over, and emily was clasped in mrs. ellis's arms, who called her "daughter," and kissed her cheek with such warm affection that she no longer felt herself an orphan, and paid back with tears and embraces the endearments that were lavished upon her by her new relatives. father banks took an early opportunity to give them each some good advice, and managed to draw them apart for that purpose. he told them how imperfect and faulty were all mankind--that married life was not all _couleur de rose_--that the trials and cares incident to matrimony fully equalled its pleasures; and besought them to bear with each other patiently, to be charitable to each other's faults--and a reasonable share of earthly happiness must be the result. then came the supper. oh! such a supper!--such quantities of nice things as money and skill alone can bring together. there were turkeys innocent of a bone, into which you might plunge your knife to the very hilt without coming in contact with a splinter--turkeys from which cunning cooks had extracted every bone leaving the meat alone behind, with the skin not perceptibly broken. how brown and tempting they looked, their capacious bosoms giving rich promise of high-seasoned dressing within, and looking larger by comparison with the tiny reed-birds beside them, which lay cosily on the golden toast, looking as much as to say, "if you want something to remember for ever, come and give me a bite!" then there were dishes of stewed terrapin, into which the initiated dipped at once, and to which they for some time gave their undivided attention, oblivious, apparently, of the fact that there was a dish of chicken-salad close beside them. then there were oysters in every variety--silver dishes containing them stewed, their fragrant macey odour wafting itself upward, and causing watery sensations about the mouth. waiters were constantly rushing into the room, bringing dishes of them fried so richly brown, so smoking hot, that no man with a heart in his bosom could possibly refuse them. then there were glass dishes of them pickled, with little black spots of allspice floating on the pearly liquid that contained them. and lastly, oysters broiled, whose delicious flavour exceeds my powers of description--these, with ham and tongue, were the solid comforts. there were other things, however, to which one could turn when the appetite grew more dainty; there were jellies, blancmange, chocolate cream, biscuit glace, peach ice, vanilla ice, orange-water ice, brandy peaches, preserved strawberries and pines; not to say a word of towers of candy, bonbons, kisses, champagne, rhine wine, sparkling catawba, liquors, and a man in the corner making sherry cobblers of wondrous flavour, under the especial supervision of kinch; on the whole, it was an american supper, got up regardless of expense--and whoever has been to such an entertainment knows very well what an american supper is. what a merry happy party it was--how they all seemed to enjoy themselves--and how they all laughed, when the bride essayed to cut the cake, and could not get the knife through the icing--and how the young girls put pieces away privately, that they might place them under their pillows to dream upon! what a happy time they had! father banks enjoyed himself amazingly; he eat quantities of stewed terrapin, and declared it the best he ever tasted. he talked gravely to the old people--cheerfully and amusingly to the young; and was, in fact, having a most delightful time--when a servant whispered to him that there was a person in the entry who wished to see him immediately. "oh dear!" he exclaimed to mr. balch, "i was just congratulating myself that i should have one uninterrupted evening, and you see the result--called off at this late hour." father banks followed the servant from the room, and inquired of the messenger what was wanted. "you must come to the hospital immediately, sir; the man with the typhus-fever--you saw him yesterday--he's dying; he says he must see you--that he has something important to confess. i'm to go for a magistrate as well." "ah!" said father banks, "you need go no further, alderman balch is here--he is quite competent to receive his depositions." "i'm heartily glad of it," replied the man, "it will save me another hunt. i had a hard time finding you. i've been to your house and two or three other places, and was at last sent here. i'll go back and report that you are coming and will bring a magistrate with you." "very good," rejoined father banks, "do so. i will be there immediately." hastening back to the supper room, he discovered mr. balch in the act of helping himself to a brandy peach, and apprised him of the demand for his services. "now, banks," said he, good-humouredly, "that is outrageous. why did you not let him go for some one else? it is too bad to drag me away just when the fun is about to commence." there was no alternative, however, and mr. balch prepared to follow the minister to the bedside of mccloskey. when they arrived at the hospital, they found him fast sinking--the livid colour of his face, the sunken glassy eyes, the white lips, and the blue tint that surrounded the eyes and mouth told at once the fearful story. death had come. he was in full possession of his faculties, and told them all. how stevens had saved him from the gallows--and how he agreed to murder mr. garie--of his failure when the time of action arrived, and how, in consequence, stevens had committed the deed, and how he had paid him time after time to keep his secret. "in my trunk there," said he, in a dying whisper,--"in my trunk is the will. i found it that night amongst his papers. i kept it to get money out of his children with when old stevens was gone. here," continued he, handing his key from beneath the pillow, "open my trunk and get it." mr. balch eagerly unlocked the trunk, and there, sure enough, lay the long-sought-for and important document. "i knew it would be found at last. i always told walters so; and now," said he, exultingly, "see my predictions are verified." mccloskey seemed anxious to atone for the past by making an ample confession. he told them all he knew of mr. stevens's present circumstances--how his property was situated, and every detail necessary for their guidance. then his confession was sworn to and witnessed; and the dying man addressed himself to the affairs of the next world, and endeavoured to banish entirely from his mind all thoughts of this. after a life passed in the exercise of every christian virtue--after a lengthened journey over its narrow stony pathway, whereon temptations have been met and triumphed over--where we have struggled with difficulties, and borne afflictions without murmur or complaint, cheering on the weary we have found sinking by the wayside, comforting and assisting the fallen, endeavouring humbly and faithfully to do our duty to god and humanity--even after a life thus passed, when we at last lie down to die the most faithful and best may well shrink and tremble when they approach the gloomy portals of death. at such an hour memory, more active than every other faculty, drags all the good and evil from the past and sets them in distinct array before us. then we discover how greatly the latter exceeds the former in our lives, and how little of our father's work we have accomplished after all our toils and struggles. 'tis then the most devoted servant of our common master feels compelled to cry, "mercy! o my father!--for justice i dare not ask." if thus the christian passes away--what terror must fill the breast of one whose whole life has been a constant warfare upon the laws of god and man? how approaches he the bar of that awful judge, whose commands he has set at nought, and whose power he has so often contemned? with a fainting heart, and tongue powerless to crave the mercy his crimes cannot deserve! mccloskey struggled long with death--died fearfully hard. the phantoms of his victims seemed to haunt him in his dying hour, interposing between him and god; and with distorted face, clenched hands, and gnashing teeth, he passed away to his long account. from the bedside of the corpse mr. balch went--late as it was--to the office of the chief of police. there he learned, to his great satisfaction, that the governor was in town; and at an early hour the next morning he procured a requisition for the arrest of mr. stevens, which he put into the hands of the man with the keen grey eyes for the purpose of securing the criminal; and with the result of his efforts the reader is already acquainted. chapter xxxvi. and the last. with such celerity did mr. balch work in behalf of his wards, that he soon had everything in train for the recovery of the property. at first george stevens was inclined to oppose the execution of the will, but he was finally prevailed upon by his advisers to make no difficulty respecting it, and quietly resign what he must inevitably sooner or later relinquish. lizzie stevens, on the contrary, seemed rather glad that an opportunity was afforded to do justice to her old playmates, and won the good opinion of all parties by her gentleness and evident anxiety to atone for the wrong done them by her father. even after the demands of the executors of mr. garie were fully satisfied, such had been the thrift of her father that there still remained a comfortable support for her and her brother. to poor clarence this accession of fortune brought no new pleasure; he already had sufficient for his modest wants; and now that his greatest hope in life had been blighted, this addition of wealth became to him rather a burden than a pleasure. he was now completely excluded from the society in which he had so long been accustomed to move; the secret of his birth had become widely known, and he was avoided by his former friends and sneered at as a "nigger." his large fortune kept some two or three whites about him, but he knew they were leeches seeking to bleed his purse, and he wisely avoided their society. he was very wretched and lonely: he felt ashamed to seek the society of coloured men now that the whites despised and rejected him, so he lived apart from both classes of society, and grew moody and misanthropic. mr. balch endeavoured to persuade him to go abroad--to visit europe: he would not. he did not confess it, but the truth was, he could not tear himself away from the city where little birdie dwelt, where he now and then could catch a glimpse of her to solace him in his loneliness. he was growing paler and more fragile-looking each day, and the doctor at last frankly told him that, if he desired to live, he must seek some warmer climate for the winter. reluctantly clarence obeyed; in the fall he left new york, and during the cold months wandered through the west india islands. for a while his health improved, but when the novelty produced by change of scene began to decline he grew worse again, and brooded more deeply than ever over his bitter disappointment, and consequently derived but little benefit from the change; the spirit was too much broken for the body to mend--his heart was too sore to beat healthily or happily. he wrote often now to emily and her husband, and seemed desirous to atone for his past neglect. emily had written to him first; she had learned of his disappointment, and gave him a sister's sympathy in his loneliness and sorrow. the chilly month of march had scarcely passed away when they received a letter from him informing them of his intention to return. he wrote, "i am no better, and my physician says that a longer residence here will not benefit me in the least--that i came _too late_. i cough, cough, cough, incessantly, and each day become more feeble. i am coming home, emmy; coming home, i fear, to die. i am but a ghost of my former self. i write you this that you may not be alarmed when you see me. it is too late now to repine, but, oh! em, if my lot had only been cast with yours--had we never been separated--i might have been to-day as happy as you are." it was a clear bright morning when charlie stepped into a boat to be conveyed to the ship in which clarence had returned to new york: she had arrived the evening previous, and had not yet come up to the dock. the air came up the bay fresh and invigorating from the sea beyond, and the water sparkled as it dripped from the oars, which, with monotonous regularity, broke the almost unruffled surface of the bay. some of the ship's sails were shaken out to dry in the morning sun, and the cordage hung loosely and carelessly from the masts and yards. a few sailors lounged idly about the deck, and leaned over the side to watch the boat as it approached. with their aid it was soon secured alongside, and charlie clambered up the ladder, and stood upon the deck of the vessel. on inquiring for clarence, he was shown into the cabin, where he found him extended on a sofa. he raised himself as he saw charlie approach, and, extending his hand, exclaimed,--"how kind! i did not expect you until we reached the shore." for a moment, charlie could not speak. the shock caused by clarence's altered appearance was too great,--the change was terrible. when he had last seen him, he was vigorous-looking, erect, and healthful; now he was bent and emaciated to a frightful extent. the veins on his temples were clearly discernible; the muscles of his throat seemed like great cords; his cheeks were hollow, his sunken eyes were glassy bright and surrounded with a dark rim, and his breathing was short and evidently painful. charlie held his thin fleshless hand in his own, and gazed in his face with an anguished expression. "i look badly,--don't i charlie?" said he, with assumed indifference; "worse than you expected, eh?" charlie hesitated a little, and then answered,--"rather bad; but it is owing to your sea-sickness, i suppose; that has probably reduced you considerably; then this close cabin must be most unfavourable to your health. ah, wait until we get you home, we shall soon have you better." "home!" repeated clarence,--"home! how delightful that word sounds! i feel it is going _home_ to go to you and em." and he leant back and repeated the word "home," and paused afterward, as one touches some favourite note upon an instrument, and then silently listens to its vibrations. "how is em?" he asked at length. "oh, well--very well," replied charlie. "she has been busy as a bee ever since she received your last letter; such a charming room as she has prepared for you!" "ah, charlie," rejoined clarence, mournfully, "i shall not live long to enjoy it, i fear." "nonsense!" interrupted charlie, hopefully; "don't be so desponding, clary: here is spring again,--everything is thriving and bursting into new life. you, too, will catch the spirit of the season, and grow in health and strength again. why, my dear fellow," continued he, cheerfully, "you can't help getting better when we once get hold of you. mother's gruels, doctor burdett's prescriptions, and em's nursing, would lift a man out of his coffin. come, now, don't let us hear anything more about dying." clarence pressed his hand and looked at him affectionately, as though he appreciated his efforts to cheer him and felt thankful for them; but he only shook his head and smiled mournfully. "let me help your man to get you up. when once you get ashore you'll feel better, i've no doubt. we are not going to an hotel, but to the house of a friend who has kindly offered to make you comfortable until you are able to travel." with the assistance of charlie and the servant, clarence was gradually prepared to go ashore. he was exceedingly weak, could scarcely totter across the deck; and it was with some difficulty that they at last succeeded in placing him safely in the boat. after they landed, a carriage was soon procured, and in a short time thereafter clarence was comfortably established in the house of charlie's friend. their hostess, a dear old motherly creature, declared that she knew exactly what clarence needed; and concocted such delicious broths, made such strengthening gruels, that clarence could not avoid eating, and in a day or two he declared himself better than he had been for a month, and felt quite equal to the journey to philadelphia. the last night of their stay in new york was unusually warm; and clarence informed charlie he wished to go out for a walk. "i wish to go a long distance,--don't think me foolish when i tell you where. i want to look at the house where little birdie lives. it may be for the last time. i have a presentiment that i shall see her if i go,--i am sure i shall," added he, positively, as though he felt a conviction that his desire would be accomplished. "i would not, clary," remonstrated charlie. "your health won't permit the exertion; it is a long distance, too, you say; and, moreover, don't you think, my dear fellow, that it is far more prudent to endeavour, if possible, to banish her from your mind entirely. don't permit yourself to think about her, if you can help it. you know she is unattainable by you, and you should make an effort to conquer your attachment." "it is too late--too late now, charlie," he replied, mournfully. "i shall continue to love her as i do now until i draw my last breath. i know it is hopeless--i know she can never be more to me than she already is; but i cannot help loving her. let us go; i may see her once again. ah, charlie, you cannot even dream what inexpressible pleasure the merest glimpse of her affords me! come, let us go." charlie would not permit him to attempt to walk; and they procured a carriage, in which they rode to within a short distance of the house. the mansion of mr. bates appeared quite gloomy as they approached it. the blinds were down, and no lights visible in any part of the house. "i am afraid they are out of town," remarked charlie, when clarence pointed out the house; "everything looks so dull about it. let us cross over to the other pavement." and they walked over to the other side of the street, and gazed upward at the house. "let us sit down here," suggested clarence,--"here, on this broad stone; it is quite dark now, and no one will observe us." "no, no!" remonstrated charlie; "the stone is too damp and cold." "is it?" said clarence vacantly. and taking out his handkerchief, he spread it out, and, in spite of charlie's dissuasions, sat down upon it. "charlie," said he, after gazing at the house a long time in silence, "i have often come here and remained half the night looking at her windows. people have passed by and stared at me as though they thought me crazy; i was half crazy then, i think. one night i remember i came and sat here for hours; far in the night i saw her come to the window, throw up the casement, and look out. that was in the summer, before i went away, you know. there she stood in the moonlight, gazing upward at the sky, so pale, so calm and holy-looking, in her pure white dress, that i should not have thought it strange if the heavens had opened, and angels descended and borne her away with them on their wings." and clarence closed his eyes as he concluded, to call back upon the mirror of his mind the image of little birdie as she appeared that night. they waited a long while, during which there was no evidence exhibited that there was any one in the house. at last, just as they were about to move away, they descried the glimmer of a light in the room which clarence declared to be her room. his frame trembled with expectation, and he walked to and fro opposite the house with an apparent strength that surprised his companion. at length the light disappeared again, and with it clarence's hopes. "now then we must go," said charlie, "it is useless for you to expose yourself in this manner. i insist upon your coming home." reluctantly clarence permitted himself to be led across the street again. as they were leaving the pavement, he turned to look back again, and, uttering a cry of surprise and joy, he startled charlie by clutching his arm. "look! look!" he cried, "there she is--my little birdie." charlie looked up at the window almost immediately above them, and observed a slight pale girl, who was gazing up the street in an opposite direction. "little birdie--little birdie," whispered clarence, tenderly. she did not look toward them, but after standing there a few seconds, moved from between the curtains and disappeared. "thank god for that!" exclaimed clarence, passionately, "i knew--i knew i should see her. _i knew it_," repeated he, exultingly; and then, overcome with joy, he bowed his head upon charlie's shoulder and wept like a child. "don't think me foolish, charlie," apologized he, "i cannot help it. i will go home now. oh, brother, i feel so much happier." and with a step less faint and trembling, he walked back to the carriage. the following evening he was at home, but so enfeebled with the exertions of the last two days, as to be obliged to take to his bed immediately after his arrival. his sister greeted him affectionately, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him tenderly; years of coldness and estrangement were forgotten in that moment, and they were once more to each other as they were before they parted. emily tried to appear as though she did not notice the great change in his appearance, and talked cheerfully and encouragingly in his presence; but she wept bitterly, when alone, over the final separation which she foresaw was not far distant. the nest day doctor burdett called, and his grave manner and apparent disinclination to encourage any hope, confirmed the hopeless impression they already entertained. aunt ada came from sudbury at emily's request; she knew her presence would give pleasure to clarence, she accordingly wrote her to come, and she and emily nursed by turns the failing sufferer. esther and her husband, mrs. ellis and caddy, and even kinch, were unremitting in their attentions, and did all in their power to amuse and comfort him. day by day he faded perceptibly, grew more and more feeble, until at last doctor burdett began to number days instead of weeks as his term of life. clarence anticipated death with calmness--did not repine or murmur. father banks was often with him cheering him with hopes of a happier future beyond the grave. one day he sent for his sister and desired her to write a letter for him. "em," said he, "i am failing fast; these fiery spots on my cheek, this scorching in my palms, these hard-drawn, difficult breaths, warn me that the time is very near. don't weep, em!" continued he, kissing her--"there, don't weep--i shall be better off--happier--i am sure! don't weep now--i want you to write to little birdie for me. i have tried, but my hand trembles so that i cannot write legibly--i gave it up. sit down beside me here, and write; here is the pen." emily dried her eyes, and mechanically sat down to write as he desired. motioning to him that she was ready, he dictated-- "my dear little birdie,--i once resolved never to write to you again, and partially promised your father that i would not; then i did not dream that i should be so soon compelled to break my resolution. little birdie, i am dying! my physician informs me that i have but a few more days to live. i have been trying to break away from earth's affairs and fix my thoughts on other and better things. i have given up all but you, and feel that i cannot relinquish you until i see you once again. do not refuse me, little birdie! show this to your father--he must consent to a request made by one on the brink of the grave." "there, that will do; let me read it over," said he, extending his hand for the note. "yes, i will sign it now--then do you add our address. send it now, emily--send it in time for to-night's mail." "clary, do you think she will come?" inquired his sister. "yes," replied he, confidently; "i am sure she will if the note reaches her." emily said no more, but sealed and directed the note, which she immediately despatched to the post-office; and on the following day it reached little birdie. from the time when the secret of clarence's birth had been discovered, until the day she had received his note, she never mentioned his name. at the demand of her father she produced his letters, miniature, and even the little presents he had given her from time to time, and laid them down before him without a murmur; after this, even when he cursed and denounced him, she only left the room, never uttering a word in his defence. she moved about like one who had received a stunning blow--she was dull, cold, apathetic. she would smile vacantly when her father smoothed her hair or kissed her cheek; but she never laughed, or sang and played, as in days gone by; she would recline for hours on the sofa in her room gazing vacantly in the air, and taking apparently no interest in anything about her. she bent her head when she walked, complained of coldness about her temples, and kept her hand constantly upon her heart. doctors were at last consulted; they pronounced her physically well, and thought that time would restore her wonted animation; but month after month she grew more dull and silent, until her father feared she would become idiotic, and grew hopeless and unhappy about her. for a week before the receipt of the note from clarence, she had been particularly apathetic and indifferent, but it seemed to rouse her into life again. she started up after reading it, and rushed wildly through the hall into her father's library. "see here!" exclaimed she, grasping his arm--"see there--i knew it! i've felt day after day that it was coming to that! you separated us, and now he is dying--dying!" cried she. "read it--read it!" her father took the note, and after perusing it laid it on the table, and said coldly, "well--" "well!" repeated she, with agitation--"oh, father, it is not well! father!" said she, hurriedly, "you bid me give him up--told me he was unworthy--pointed out to me fully and clearly why we could not marry: i was convinced we could not, for i knew you would never let it be. yet i have never ceased to love him. i cannot control my heart, but i could my voice, and never since that day have i spoken his name. i gave him up--not that i would not have gladly married, knowing what he was--because you desired it--because i saw either your heart must break or mine. i let mine go to please you, and have suffered uncomplainingly, and will so suffer until the end; but i _must_ see him once again. it will be a pleasure to him to see me once again in his dying hour, and i _must_ go. if you love me," continued she, pleadingly, as her father made a gesture of dissent, "let us go. you see he is dying--begs you from the brink of the grave. let me go, only to say good bye to him, and then, perhaps," concluded she, pressing her hand upon her heart, "i shall be better here." her father had not the heart to make any objection, and the next day they started for philadelphia. they despatched a note to clarence, saying they had arrived, which emily received, and after opening it, went to gently break its contents to her brother. "you must prepare yourself for visitors, clary," said she, "no doubt some of our friends will call to-day, the weather is so very delightful." "do you know who is coming?" he inquired. "yes, dear," she answered, seating herself beside him, "i have received a note stating that a particular friend will call to-day--one that you desire to see." "ah!" he exclaimed, "it is little birdie, is it not?" "yes," she replied, "they have arrived in town, and will be here to-day." "did not i tell you so?" said he, triumphantly. "i knew she would come. i knew it," continued he, joyfully. "let me get up--i am strong enough--she is come--o! she has come." clarence insisted on being dressed with extraordinary care. his long fierce-looking beard was trimmed carefully, and he looked much better than he had done for weeks; he was wonderfully stronger, walked across the room, and chatted over his breakfast with unusual animation. at noon they came, and were shown into the drawing-room, where emily received them. mr. bates bowed politely, and expressed a hope that mr. garie was better. emily held out her hand to little birdie, who clasped it in both her own, and said, inquiringly: "you are his sister?" "yes," answered emily. "you, i should have known from clarence's description--you are his little birdie?" she did not reply--her lip quivered, and she pressed emily's hand and kissed her. "he is impatient to see you," resumed emily, "and if you are so disposed, we will go up immediately." "i will remain here," observed mr. bates, "unless mr. garie particularly desires to see me. my daughter will accompany you." emily took the hand of little birdie in her own, and they walked together up the stairway. "you must not be frightened at his appearance," she remarked, tearfully, "he is greatly changed." little birdie only shook her head--her heart seemed too full for speech--and she stepped on a little faster, keeping her hand pressed on her breast all the while. when they reached the door, emily was about to open it, but her companion stopped her, by saying: "wait a moment--stop! how my heart beats--it almost suffocates me." they paused for a few moments to permit little birdie to recover from her agitation, then throwing open the door they advanced into the room. "clarence!" said his sister. he did not answer; he was looking down into the garden. she approached nearer, and gently laying her hand on his shoulder, said, "here is your little birdie, clarence." he neither moved nor spoke. "clarence!" cried she, louder. no answer. she touched his face--it was warm. "he's fainted!" exclaimed she; and, ringing the bell violently, she screamed for help. her husband and the nurse rushed into the room; then came aunt ada and mr. bates. they bathed his temples, held strong salts to his nostrils--still he did not revive. finally, the nurse opened his bosom and placed her hand upon his heart. _it was still--quite still_: clarence was dead! at first they could not believe it. "let me speak to him," exclaimed little birdie, distractedly; "he will hear my voice, and answer. clarence! clarence!" she cried. all in vain--all in vain. clarence was dead! they gently bore her away. that dull, cold look came back again upon her face, and left it never more in life. she walked about mournfully for a few years, pressing her hand upon her heart; and then passed away to join her lover, where distinctions in race or colour are unknown, and where the prejudices of earth cannot mar their happiness. our tale is now soon finished. they buried clarence beside his parents; coloured people followed him to his last home, and wept over his grave. of all the many whites that he had known, aunt ada and mr. balch were the only ones that mingled their tears with those who listened to the solemn words of father banks, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust." we, too, clarence, cast a tear upon thy tomb--poor victim of prejudice to thy colour! and deem thee better off resting upon thy cold pillow of earth, than battling with that malignant sentiment that persecuted thee, and has crushed energy, hope, and life from many stronger hearts. * * * * * aunt ada bell remained for a short time with emily, and then returned to sudbury, where, during the remainder of her life, she never omitted an opportunity of doing a kindness to a coloured person; and when the increasing liberality of sentiment opened a way for the admission of coloured pupils to the famous schools of sudbury, they could always procure board at her house, and aunt ada was a friend and mother to them. walters and dear old ess reared a fine family; and the brown baby and her sister took numberless premiums at school, to the infinite delight of their parents. they also had a boy, whom they named "charlie;" he inherited his uncle's passionate fondness for marbles, which fondness, it has been ascertained, is fostered by his uncle, who, 'tis said, furnishes the sinews of war when there is a dearth in the treasury of master walters. kinch and caddy were finally united, after various difficulties raised by the latter, who found it almost impossible to procure a house in such a state of order as would warrant her entering upon the blissful state of matrimony. when it was all over, kinch professed to his acquaintances generally to be living in a perfect state of bliss; but he privately intimated to charlie that if caddy would permit him to come in at the front door, and not condemn him to go through the alley, whenever there happened to be a shower--and would let him smoke where he liked--he would be much more contented. when last heard from they had a little caddy, the very image of its mother--a wonderful little girl, who, instead of buying candy and cake with her sixpences, as other children did, gravely invested them in miniature wash-boards and dust-brushes, and was saving up her money to purchase a tiny stove with a full set of cooking utensils. caddy declares her a child worth having. charles and emily took a voyage to europe for the health of the latter, and returned after a two years' tour to settle permanently in his native city. they were unremitting in their attention to father and mother ellis, who lived to good old age, surrounded by their children and grandchildren. the end. slavery: by j. l. baker. author of "exports and imports," "men and things," &c. philadelphia: john a. norton, . slavery. the recent attempt of john brown to incite an insurrection at harper's ferry has created no little excitement throughout the country. strange and desperate as the movement was, it seems to have been the natural and necessary result of the long twenty years' war, waged in the free states upon the institutions of the south, the culminating point, it is to be hoped, in a reform based on no sound principle, and which, like an epidemic, has swept over the land, fruitful only in bitter words, harsh recrimination, sectional hostility, and ending, like the last act of a tragedy, in violence and murder. the scene that has been enacted at harper's ferry will perhaps have the effect to open the eyes of the nation, so that they can see fully the yawning gulf, the brink of which they have at last reached, and lead them to examine the ground on which they stand; inquire what they have been doing, and what good cause can be served by a course of action which has led to such fatal results. many lives have been sacrificed. a whole family has been ruined, and an old man has been led out to suffer the last and most terrible infliction of the law. he has been but an instrument in the hands of others, who have acted, with the exception of some political leaders, from honest convictions. the time has now come, however, for them to inquire, and for all to inquire with the utmost seriousness, if these convictions of duty have been just and commendable, or if they have been mistaken, and therefore to be condemned. zeal without knowledge is a dangerous weapon, as all history has proved, and it is incumbent upon all, not only to do right, but to think right. it is an old maxim that ignorance of the law excuses no man, and it is equally true that we are not at liberty to follow our blind impulses, but are bound to inform ourselves, and to _know_ whether a particular course of action, however well intended, is such as will not defeat the very purposes we have in view, while it brings misery and ruin to thousands of our fellow beings. liberty has been in all ages of the world a most fruitful theme for the poet and the orator, and still its true nature and conditions are but imperfectly understood. constitutional liberty, such as that of england and the united states, is possible only to a race that has a physical temperament that fits it for self-control or self-government, and to such a race only is it a blessing. but few such races have been known in history. one of them was the grecian, and afterwards the roman, but both became degenerated, and lost the capacity of self-government. in modern times the english nation has exhibited the same capacity, which belongs also to ourselves, who are of the same blood. no other people have those constitutional traits which fit them for self-government, which is but another name for self-restraint. the frenchman is volatile, fickle, and fond of glory, and less free to-day than he was under louis the sixteenth. he has a government which answers to his wants and his genius, which exactly represents his condition, and contributes, therefore, most to his happiness. should he, in the course of centuries, become changed in his physical and mental constitution, he will find, necessarily, a government that corresponds to the progress he has made. governments are but the agents and representatives of the people. they reflect very nearly the condition of the governed, and change to meet the changes of those they represent. no mortal power can prevent any people from taking and enjoying that degree of freedom they are capable of enjoying, and which would, therefore, contribute to their happiness. what is true of france, is true of the other european nations, and of all nations; so that we never deceive ourselves more completely than when we talk of political liberty as something equally applicable to all, and attainable by all. such liberty the anglo-saxon finds contributing to his happiness; but it may be the greatest curse, as it has often proved to those who have different blood in their veins, who have not the same capacity of self-control, and who enjoy, therefore, as much, if not more, under governments suited to their peculiar temperaments. an italian republic exists only in the dreams of mazzini and garibaldi, and yet if the sum of human happiness could be measured, there may be as much happiness in italy, and perhaps more than is to be found in the two nations that are able to live under a constitutional government. it often happens, that among those nations which require a strong government, we find a larger amount of social freedom, than among those who are politically more free. a man is more free to express an opinion in paris, upon any matter of science or religion, or other topic, excepting politics, than he is in boston. he stands less in awe of his neighbors, feels less the pressure of public opinion, than do we, on whom government bears lightly, but who are, to a corresponding extent, the slaves of public sentiment. where laws bear lightest, public opinion takes their place, and becomes, often, a dreadful tyrant, as is seen frequently in our western states, and on the borders of civilization. on the other hand, where there exists the least political freedom, we find the largest social liberty, as though one was incompatible with the other, which is probably the case, and for the reason that man must be governed to a certain extent in some way, and if he becomes politically more free, he becomes by necessity, socially, more enslaved. we shall find, if we look at the different nations of the world, that each enjoys that degree of liberty, either political or social, which most contributes to its happiness. if this were not the case with any nation, it is certain that its condition would be changed at once, to correspond to its wants and capacities. no government, however despotic, could for a moment prevent such a result; nor is it at all safe to judge of the real condition of a nation, by the excited harangues of such enthusiasts as kossuth and mazzini. as fast as a people become capable of self-control or self-government, just so fast the government becomes modified to meet their wants; for they are in fact the government, and rulers are but their representatives. this view of liberty will be considered, i am aware, by many as very heretical and not at all in accordance with the facts of history or the nature of man. to some it will, no doubt, appear new as well as strange, and very doubtful. that what we call constitutional liberty, however, depends mainly upon the peculiar physical and moral temperament of a people, i cannot doubt. self-government is constitutional in more senses than one. such at least is the result of my reflections upon the subject. the lesson i learn from history is, that no amount of physical or mental culture can materially change the peculiar temperament which belongs to each race. a nation may be educated to excel in all the arts and all the sciences, in oratory, philosophy, poetry, music, and painting, but not in the art of self-government, which implies a natural gift bestowed upon a very small portion of the human race. to judge of a people in this respect we must also witness their capacity at home, and not be deceived by what happens to individuals or small communities when thrown into the midst of a self-controlling or self-governing race. such is the case with our german population which constitutes an intelligent, useful, law-abiding portion of our citizens, and to all appearance capable of exercising the functions of self-government. but we must consider that they exist here surrounded and entirely controlled by our own people, and in some parts of the union have been born and brought up under our institutions. if we wish to know the capacity of their race for self-government, we must go to germany, and if possible find it there. the german race comes nearest to our own and excels it in some respects, though wanting the necessary political elements with which we are gifted. for many years the profoundest scholars and the greatest musical composers have been found in germany, which has also produced in goethe and schiller, names worthy to rank with the greatest of modern times. we come from the same stock and the same northern hive, but have pursued different courses, and have not now the same blood in our veins. one race takes naturally to politics, for which it has an aptitude and capacity, the other as naturally to music and painting, to science and philosophy. in the lapse of centuries, the physical constitution of both may change. the english may lose by admixture the peculiar qualities of blood which now distinguish them, and so lose their capacity of self-control. they may become degenerated, like the romans, by the enervating influence of luxury, and like that nation lose their constitutional liberty. so on the other hand, germany may, in the progress of time, undergo changes equally great and in precisely the opposite direction. a union of the different races of that vast kingdom may produce a new result. a new race may arise which shall excel the present race of englishmen, in the capacity of self-government. the present english race is the work of centuries, and contains the blood of saxons, danes, and normans, blended in due proportion for the production of a certain result, and such a result as can nowhere else be witnessed. if the theory of human liberty, which i have thus so briefly and imperfectly suggested, is the true one, and is supported by the facts of history, then it will furnish us with a key to unlock some of those hard problems in human life and destiny which have so puzzled mankind, and which have resisted all attempts at solution. if we regard all nations as moving on in the sphere designed by providence, each seeking and finding its happiness in its own way,--some less capable of self-restraint than others, some enjoying a high degree of political liberty, and some, on the other hand, in possession of a high degree of social freedom; their happiness dependent not so much on the peculiar forms of their government as upon its adaptation to their peculiar wants and capacities,--we shall be relieved of much of that commiseration and misplaced sympathy which we have bestowed upon others, and which was, perhaps, more needed by ourselves. viewed in the light i have suggested, and also in connection with the great facts, moral and physical, of which i am about to speak more particularly, the problem of negro slavery in the united states is not one so difficult of solution as has been generally supposed. the recent outbreak in virginia brings home to us, with renewed and redoubled force, the question, what must become of the millions of slaves in our southern states, could they be set free by some such movement as that of john brown, urged on by those who have been for many years engaged in agitating the subject? this is the important matter for our consideration, or rather it should have been the matter to have been considered many years ago. this is the problem which should have been solved by those who have been so long dealing in such extravagant language and "glittering generalities" about the natural rights of man. they should have informed us what is to become of those millions, suddenly let loose from restraint and thrown upon their own resources, no longer to be protected by the white race, but to be met by competition, by undying prejudice, extreme social hardship, and the "irrepressible conflict" of incompatible races. those of us who have attained to middle age have been taught by experience that no portion of those millions could exist for any length of time on the soil of massachusetts. but for the occasional emigration from the south, a negro would now be a sight as rare in this state as that of a wild indian, hardly a remnant being left of the families which we knew in our boyhood. from statistics gathered by the late dr. jesse chickering, it appears that the blacks die in massachusetts in a ratio of three to one as compared with the whites. this state of things is the result of both moral and physical causes. the depressing influence of extreme social hardship, which no philanthropy can alleviate, accounts in a great measure for this unequal mortality; while physical causes operate, perhaps, still more to the same effect. of the latter, we may learn something from a paper read a few years since before the boston society of natural history, by dr. samuel kneeland, jr., from which the following is an extract:-- "the mulatto is often triumphantly appealed to as a proof that hybrid races are prolific without end. every physician who has seen much practice among the mulattoes knows that, in the first place, they are far less prolific than the blacks or whites,--the statistics of new york state and city confirm this fact of daily observation; and in the second place, when they are prolific, the progeny is frail, diseased, short-lived, rarely arriving at robust manhood or maturity. physicians need not be told of the comparatively enormous amount of scrofulous and deteriorated constitutions found among those hybrids. "the colonization journal furnishes some statistics with regard to the colored population of new york city, which must prove painfully interesting to all reflecting people. the late census showed that, while other classes of our population in all parts of the country were increasing in an enormous ratio, the colored were decreasing. in the state of new york, in , there were fifty thousand; in , only forty-seven thousand. in new york city, in , there were eighteen thousand; in , seventeen thousand. according to the new york city inspector's report for the four months, ending with october, :-- . the whites present marriages, , the colored " " . the whites " births, , the colored " " . the whites " deaths about , (exclusive of , among , newly-arrived emigrants, and others unacclimated.) the colored exhibit deaths, giving a ratio of deaths among acclimated whites to colored persons of thirty-seven to one; while the births are ninety-seven whites to one colored. the ratio of whites to colored, is as follows:--marriages, to ; births, to ; deaths, to . according to the ratio of the population, the marriages among the whites, during this time, are three times greater than among the colored; the number of births among the whites is twice as great. in deaths, the colored exceed the white not only according to ratio of population, but show one hundred and sixty-five deaths to seventy-six births, or seven deaths to three births,--more than two to one. "the same is true, of boston, as far as the census returns will enable us to judge. in shattuck's census of , it appears that in that year there were one hundred and forty-six less colored persons in boston than in ; the total number being . from the same work, the deaths are given for a period of fifty years, from to , showing the mortality among the blacks to have been twice that among the whites. of late years, boston, probably, does not differ from itself in former times, nor from new york at present. in the compendium of the united states census for , p. , it is said that the 'declining ratio of the increase of the free colored in every section is notable. in new england, the increase is now almost nothing;' in the south-west and the southern states, the increase is much reduced; it is only in the north-west that there is any increase, 'indicating a large emigration to that quarter.' what must become of the black population at this rate in a few years? what are the causes of this decay? they do not disregard the laws of social and physical well-being any more than, if they do as much as, the whites. it seems to me one of the necessary consequences of attempts to mix races; the hybrids cease to be prolific; the race must die out as mulatto; it must either keep black unmixed, or become extinct. nobody doubts that a mixed offspring may be produced by intermarriage of different races,--the griquas, the papuas, the cafuses of brazil, so elaborately enumerated by prichard, sufficiently prove this. the question is, whether they would be perpetuated if strictly confined to intermarriage among themselves? from the facts in the case of mulattoes, we say unquestionably not. the same is true, as far as has been observed, of the mixture of the white and red races, in mexico, central and south america. the well-known infrequency of mixed offspring between the european and australian races, led the colonial government to official inquiries, and to the result, that, in thirty-one districts, numbering fifteen thousand inhabitants, the half-breeds did not exceed two hundred, though the connection of the two races was very intimate. "if any one wishes to be convinced of the inferiority and tendency to disease in the mulatto race, even with the assistance of the pure blood of the black and white race, he need only witness what i did recently, viz.: the disembarkation from a steamboat of a colored pic-nic party, of both sexes, of all ages, from the infant in arms to the aged, and of all hues, from the darkest black to a color approaching white. there was no _old mulatto_, though there were several _old negroes_; many fine-looking mulattoes of both sexes, evidently the first offspring from the pure races; then came the youths and children, and here could be read the sad truth at a glance. the little blacks were agile and healthy-looking; the little mulattoes, youths and young women, farther removed from the pure stocks, were sickly, feeble, thin, with frightful scars and skin diseases, and _scrofula_ stamped on every feature and every visible part of the body. here was hybridity of human races, under the most favorable circumstances of worldly condition and social position." such are the results of an unfavorable climate and the mixture of the blood of two races that can never intermarry. the union of such races produces the results described by dr. kneeland. similar results are observed when the two races differ less and where marriage is possible, as for instance in mexico and central america, which are in ruins from the union of the spanish and native blood. union of different races is, on the other hand, often highly beneficial, our own blood being a fortunate result of such a union, but such races must be similar and not like those of europe, africa, and the natives of this country, wholly dissimilar or repugnant. at the south, the free black would suffer less from the effects of climate; but much more from the extreme prejudice existing there towards the black, when he assumes the position of an equal. to suppose he could exist under such a state of things is to ignore all experience, and the observation of every day. in jamaica, the english government have troops to protect the freed slaves from the encroachments of their old masters; but there it is stated, on the authority of the london times, that the blacks are not only falling below the point of civilization attained during their servitude, but in many cases actually returning to their native barbarism, and the worship of idols. we have no such standing army here, but the slave, when free, must be left to the tender mercies of his former master. what would be the fate of the slave is as certain as is the fate of the north american indian, the difference being that the indian flies from civilization, which destroys him, while the imitative and mild-tempered african cling-to civilization which as certainly destroys _him_. how far he may rise in the scale of civilization if left to himself, whether the african is a self-sustaining and progressive race, or whether it will lose, when left to itself, what has been gained, and fall back in a state of barbarism, are questions not settled as yet by experiment. the attempt is making in liberia, and it is to be hoped successfully, to solve this question in favor of the negro; but sufficient time has not yet elapsed, nor is the testimony which comes from the west indies by any means such as could be wished. from some of our western states the colored man has been entirely excluded. this is a wise provision, and a merciful one, to the blacks, who come into the free states only to drag out a few years in some menial employment, and then disappear with their families, if they have any, leaving no trace behind. if history and experience teach us anything, it is this, that two races constituted like the anglo-saxon and the african, can never co-exist in a state of equality, which means competition. so long as the inferior race is in a dependent condition, and can claim support and protection from the white, it remains, with rare exceptions, contented and happy, the great burden of such a relation falling, in fact, upon the master, and not upon the slave. the moment that relation is changed, the negro thrown upon his own resources, and exposed to the withering and blasting effects of that ineradicable antipathy which exists towards all of african descent, that moment his fate is sealed; he perishes like the autumn leaves when comes a killing frost, and, in course of a very few generations, not a vestige remains to show that he has ever existed. this is a truth which experience and observation have taught us, and which could not have been taught in the same manner to mr. jefferson, and other founders of our government, whose opinions are quoted in favor of the abolition of slavery. that slavery was an evil, they knew, and we know it also, but that the evil is mainly to the white, and that the black could never co-exist with his master in a state of freedom, they did not know, because the experiment had not been tried. sufficient time has now elapsed to settle that question, and in a manner which would seem to leave but small chance for doubt to a rational mind. such, i suppose, to be the immutable law of providence, regulating the intercourse of those races which he has made, and given to one a white skin, and to the other a dark one. the creator of all things could, doubtless, have made all white, or all black, but, for some purpose which we cannot fathom, he has chosen not to do so. he has created some races near akin to each other, and some entirely incompatible and repugnant, and it is not for us to say that he has done wrong. if possible, we should ascertain what are the laws, physical and moral, which _he has established_, and then we shall do well to acquiesce in them as being right, without attempting to repeal or improve upon them, or to set up in opposition our own notions about what we call _abstract right_. right is not an abstraction, but a reality, and, to find out what it is, we have to consult our experience, observation, revelation, expediency, divine laws and human laws, and every source from which we can gather the means of directing our limited capacities to the formation of just conclusions.[ ] some may say, perhaps, better let them perish then, than remain in slavery. as the slaves do not say so themselves, i do not, for one, feel warranted in saying it for them. they may, in the designs of providence, have an important mission to perform,--that mission being, for aught we know, to carry back from their long sojourn in a land of bondage the seeds of civilization to benighted africa, the home of their fathers. whatever may be their ultimate fate, i do not feel warranted in hastening and deciding it by exterminating them, or, in other words, dissolving the tie that binds them to those whose duty and interest it is to protect them. a heavy burden lies upon the backs of the masters, which they cannot throw off at will, and with which we are not burdened. they have a sad and perplexing duty to perform, and why should we, by our interference, increase those burdens which we can do nothing to lighten? all such interference is a positive injury to the slave, and insulting to those with whom we have formed a copartnership, and with whom we must live as one family, so long as we continue to be a free people. one who has a true respect for the colored man and a just regard for his interests, will not, i think, wish to see him placed in a false position, such as he occupies in the free states, hanging for a short time upon the skirts of a community which disowns him, and then sinking into the grave leaving no trace behind. for the negro there is, socially, no hope in the free states, and those who flatter him with such a prospect do him a most grievous wrong. a few of partly african descent and possessed of considerable intellectual endowments have been thus deceived, as they will no doubt have occasion to realize most fully. as lovers of their race how can they wish to see it occupy its present position in the free states? if they would improve its condition, why not lead out a colony to its native land, where it can live and not die, where it can be relieved from the destroying influence of the anglo-saxon, and stand up on its own ground, conscious of no superior, feeling its own dignity, and with ample opportunity for the development of all the faculties with which it has been endowed. such a work would be worthy of the best intellect and the highest powers that have been bestowed on either black or white; but those of the colored race who are content with delivering anti-slavery lectures, or writing for anti-slavery papers, so far from elevating their race are engaged in a work which can end only in ruin, to the blacks certainly, in the loss of life and entire extinction, and to the whites in the loss it may be of a union which no art can restore to its original beauty and perfection when once destroyed. as the true friend of the negro, i would not flatter him with delusive hopes and false expectations that can never be realized as has been too often and constantly done by very excellent men, and with the very best intentions; but, i would endeavor, as far as possible, to tell him the truth, however unpalatable, in the full belief that in the end such truth will operate for the best interest of all, black and white, bond and free. the diversities and repulsions of race which have been ordained, no doubt, for some wise purpose, are intended, perhaps, only for this state of existence. another life may present a new order of things in which no such distinctions exist. men have been created to differ from each other physically, morally, and intellectually, but still all are equal before the creator of all, entitled to an equal share in his bounty, and to the enjoyments of life best suited to the genius and capacity of each. in another world the genius and capacity of all may be alike, all finding happiness in the society of all--and in a mutual pursuit of the same objects, whether of knowledge or of taste, of study or of worship. it is much to be hoped that this subject will ere long be treated in a very different manner from what it has been for the last fifteen or twenty years. it is simply a question of races, and all the violent and bitter harangues that have been uttered have advanced not one step towards ameliorating the condition of the slave, or solving the problem of negro slavery in this country. such harangues have only served to stir up strife and jealousy, to set one portion of the people against another portion, array in opposition members of the same family, and finally, when acting upon such fiery spirits and undisciplined minds as that of john brown, to bring us to the brink of civil and servile war. in offering the above suggestions, it may be proper to say, that i have done so with entire respect for the personal character and motives of many of those who have been prominent in promoting and bringing upon us the present state of things. i have the best reason to know that some of them have acted from a high sense of duty, and such no doubt is the case with those colored men to whom i have referred. i yield to no one in my regard and sympathy for the colored man, wherever he may be found, and would therefore see him placed in a true position, not in a false and impossible one. those who have been so long agitating this subject, however honestly, may still have done so under a mistaken sense of duty, and the time has now come when the subject should be viewed in every aspect and in all its relations, so that, if possible, we can know the ground whereon we stand. no attempt, however humble, to throw light on a subject of such momentous importance should be discouraged, and i cannot therefore feel that any apology is due from me for laying before the community some considerations which may present the subject, to many, in a somewhat new light. if it is true that the two races can never co-exist, in a state of freedom, it is a truth of the utmost importance, and should, therefore, be fully known and understood by all.[ ] if that proposition is not true, its fallacy can no doubt be shown, or at any rate demonstrated by the lapse of time. in my judgment, time has, thus far, proved and confirmed it. the reader will judge from his own experience and observation, and the evidence here presented, how far my conclusion is a just and reasonable one. when we consider that the slave is supported from birth until he can labor, and from the time when he can no longer work until he dies, and also that at best his services are not worth more than one-third as much as those of free labor, it is very easy to see that he is the best paid laborer in the world, as it is certainly true that a more happy and contented laboring population is not to be found among civilized or uncivilized nations. with rare exceptions, the relation of master and slave in our southern states is a very happy one, at least to the slave. kindness and indulgence are the rule, while cruelty and harsh treatment are the exception. our northern patience would no doubt soon be exhausted, were we compelled to deal with and provide for a similar class of laborers. at the same time, the slave is subject to occasional hardships. this is the fate of all, under whatever social system they may live. in some form or other, all men are called on to pay for the privileges they enjoy, nor could it be expected that the slave would be an exception to this general rule. if the marriage bond could be legalized and rendered more sacred, and families not allowed to be separated by sale, many cases of hardship would be prevented. this is a matter for the serious consideration of the slaveholder, if he would manifest to the world a desire to place the dependent race in the best possible condition, consistent with its safety. of the possibility of such reforms, they are the best judges, however, who have the burden upon them, and are best acquainted with the wants and capacities of the african race. it is easy for those at a distance to give advice, in regard to a social system, the practical working of which they are quite ignorant of, but those who are born and bred under such system can only know the difficulties that lie in the way of reform, especially when those difficulties are aggravated by interference from abroad. slavery may finally come to an end in the united states, by the operation of natural causes, such as the rapid increase and constant encroachment of free labor, and the fact that slave labor is so expensive and tends so greatly to the impoverishing of the soil. as slavery dies out, the colored race will disappear from the scene forever. it is not for us, i think, to hasten that time by revolution and servile insurrection, to put torches and pikes into the hands of such a population to be used against the whites, in re-enacting all the horrors of a st. domingo massacre, and at the same time sealing its own fate as suddenly and as rapidly as the dew disappears before the rising sun. public sentiment has undergone a marked change in england, on the subject of slavery, within the last few years. the anti-slavery sentiment, like an epidemic, swept over the whole length and breadth of great britain, and in its course swept away slavery in the british west indies. the natural and inevitable re-action has already taken place in england, and happy will it be for us if it comes in this country before it is too late. that such a re-action is already taking place in the united states, hastened by the foray of john brown, there is great reason to believe. the following extracts from the london times are very significant:-- effect of emancipation on the african race.--there is no blinking the truth. years of bitter experience; years of hope deferred; of self-devotion unrequited; of poverty; of humiliation; of prayers unanswered; of sufferings derided; of insults unresented; of contumely patiently endured,--have convinced us of the truth. it must be spoken out loudly and energetically, despite the wild mockings of "howling cant." the freed west india slave will not till the soil for wages; the free son of the ex-slave is as obstinate as his sire. he will not cultivate lands which he has not bought for his own. yams, mangoes, and plantains--these satisfy his wants; he cares not for yours. cotton, sugar and coffee, and tobacco--he cares but little for them. and what matters it to him that the englishman has sunk his thousands and tens of thousands on mills, machinery and plants, which now totter on the languishing estate that for years has only returned beggary and debt. he eats his yams, and sniggers at "buckra." we know not why this should be, but it is so. the negro has been bought with a price--the price of english taxation and english toil. he has been redeemed from bondage by the sweat and travail of some millions of hard-working englishmen. twenty millions of pounds sterling--one hundred millions of dollars--have been distilled from the brains and muscles of the free english laborer, of every degree, to fashion the west indian negro into a "free and independent laborer." "free and independent" enough he has become, god knows; but laborer he is not; and, so far as we can see, never will be. he will sing hymns and quote texts; but honest, steady industry he not only detests but despises. we wish to heaven that some people in england--neither government people nor parsons nor clergymen, but some just-minded, honest-hearted and clear-sighted men--would go out to some of the islands (say jamaica, dominica, or antigua)--not for a month or three months, but for a year--would watch the precious _protege_ of english philanthropy, the freed negro, in his daily habits; would watch him as he lazily plants his little squatting; would see him as he proudly rejects agricultural or domestic services, or accepts it only at wages ludicrously disproportionate to the value of his work. we wish, too, they would watch him while, with a hide thicker than that of a hippopotamus, and a body to which fervid heat is a comfort rather than an annoyance, he droningly lounges over the prescribed task on which the intrepid englishman, uninured to the burning sun, consumes his impatient energy, and too often sacrifices his life. we wish they would go out and view the negro in all the blazonry of his idleness, his pride, his ingratitude, contemptuously sneering at the industry of that race which made him free, and then come home and teach the memorable lesson of their experience to the fanatics who have perverted him into what he is. * * * * * * * * the abolitionists in america would have the population of the southern states turned into a mixed race, whites, blacks, and mulattoes being on terms of equality, and constantly intermarrying; but if one thing more than another has tended to give to the anglo-saxon race in the new world the victory over the spanish, it is that it has kept itself apart from the red and negro races, and lodged power constantly in the hands of men of european origin. it has been fully proved, not only on the american continent, but in our own colonies, that the enforced equality of european and african tends, not to the elevation of the black, but the degradation of the white man. we cannot find any sympathy for those who would try, in the united states, the plan of a half-caste republic, and we trust that the federal government and the right-thinking part of the community will protect the south from the repetition of such outrages as that at harper's ferry. our own race is boastful as well as intolerant and aggressive. this is especially true of the new england type, and hence it is that we are prone to regard ourselves in many, if not all respects, superior to the people of the south. in some respects, undoubtedly, we have the advantage of those who have been born and educated under a very different social system; but, on the other hand, according to the law of compensation, we lack much that is valuable in the southern character and mental constitution. the nature of our climate and more especially of our institutions, has given to our english blood a new and most powerful stimulus, so that we develope an immense amount of intellectual energy and activity, which constantly seeks vent, and which constantly tends to run into some extreme or excess. having lived for many years in a state of great material prosperity, we are prone to wax fat and kick. we have known no real evils, no invasion from without, or civil war within, and for want of any real danger we conjure up those that are imaginary. we torment ourselves with evils which have no existence but in our own brain. i think it was judge marshall who speaks of those imaginary evils, which as they are without cause, are also without remedy. the southern mind is less active and more conservative, sometimes erratic, but generally disposed to take a common sense and rational view of things, and is, in some respects, more reliable than our own. it forms an admirable check in our political system, and preserves us from a natural tendency to run into the extreme of radicalism, and that spirit of agrarianism which has destroyed all former republics. the constant tendency in a republic is to remove all constitutional checks intended for the security of individual rights, and reduce everything to the rule of the majority. it is obvious that the senate of the united states and the supreme court, though intended as checks upon popular impulse and outbreaks, are yet but very imperfect barriers when opposed to what is termed the will of the people. it requires but a few years to change the political character of the senate so that it shall reflect the prevailing sentiments of the day, and the same is true of the supreme court. in some of our states the judges are already elected from year to year, and must become to a greater or less extent political partizans. when these checks are removed and the rights of the individual are dependant on the bare will of the majority, then we have a pure democracy, which is pure despotism, and a despotism so dreadful that it soon gives way to despotism of a milder form in the person of a military dictator. we have no landed aristocracy which, in england, stands between the people and the throne, keeping each from encroaching upon the other, nor any real check in our system of government, unless it is the fixed fact of a large number of states, whose population is naturally and necessarily conservative, and which stands like a rock against the surging waves of popular excitement of agrarianism and radicalism from whatever quarter they may come. the assertion that slavery was the corner-stone of american liberty, made some years ago by a statesman from south carolina, was looked upon with amazement as a most absurd paradox, but time may show that it contained a truth which we have as yet failed to see and comprehend. the southern character is more impulsive, but also more open and genial than our own. if it shows a hasty spark, it is also soon cold and rational again. it is not brooding and intolerant, nor easily led away into excesses, such as too often befall us of a more northern clime. one prominent cause for such difference is, no doubt, to be found in the fact that, while we, at the north, live in towns and cities where men are in a constant state of action and reaction upon each other, and the masses can be suddenly and extensively roused and excited, the southern planters live remote from each other, and, in many cases, in almost entire seclusion. such a population is less in danger from these moral epidemics that from time to time sweep over communities, because it is sparse, and therefore not so much exposed to exciting causes; thus, while it loses many good influences which flow from a more compact society, escaping also many serious evils to which the latter is subject. it is not france, but paris, the great centre of population, the seat of all that is luxurious and refined, of science and of art, of everything in short which can serve to adorn and embellish social life; it is this paris alone that makes and unmakes kings and emperors, that overthrows one dynasty during the night and sets up another the next morning, and then gives the law to the nation which stands looking on. some editor or some orator touches that sympathetic telegraphic chord which passes through each individual of this vast living mass, and in an instant, as it were, the gutters run with blood, a ferocious mob rushes through every avenue, seeking vengeance for wrongs, which, if they have no existence, in fact, exist not the less really in the excited and inflamed imagination. then comes a satiety of blood, then a re-action, and then a state of things too often far worse than the first. our own city of new york is considered by many to have become incapable of intelligent self-government, and to exhibit those evils which, especially under a government like our own, flow from the collection of a very large population at one point. a sparse and widely scattered population, which is also by necessity highly consecutive, may supply the very check we most need and which is not to be found in paper constitutions, courts or senates. in the gradual progress of time, free labor will doubtless overrun the more northern slave states, bringing fertility to the soil, and improving in many respects the condition of the white race, though fraught with ruin to all of african descent. my sympathies are with the latter as well as the former, and i cannot wish to see our swelling, aggressive, northern anglo-saxon tide, overflowing the southern states, sweeping away perhaps the most conservative and useful element in our republican system, and at the same time utterly destroying in its course that helpless race which, in the providence of god, has been cast upon our shores. there is room enough for us all to live together in peace and harmony. the two races can co-exist in their present relative condition, but in no other way. this is the great lesson of history, experience, statistics, and the observation of every day. footnotes: [ ] our english common law is said to be the perfection of human wisdom. it is founded in right, and its object is to ascertain and establish the right. the sources from which it is drawn have been thus enumerated. "the law of nature; the revealed law of god; christianity, morality, and religion; common sense, legal reason, justice, natural equity, humanity." [ ] since the above was written, i find that the same theory is advanced by mr. buckle, in his history of civilization, a very obvious theory, it would seem, and the result of the most common observation, viz: that where two distinct races come together there can be no amalgamation, but the inferior must die out in presence of the superior. generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/yellowpearlstory tesk the yellow pearl a story of the east and the west by adeline m. teskey author of "where the sugar maple grows," etc. [illustration: logo] hodder and stoughton new york george h. doran company copyright, , by george h. doran company [illustration: frontispiece] the yellow pearl adeline m. teskey the yellow pearl _march st, ----_ here i am in this strange country about which i have learned in the geography and history, and about which i heard my father talk. the daughter of an american man and a chinese woman, i suppose i am what is called a mongrel. my father was a commissioner of customs in china, and living for years in that country he fell in love with my mother and married her--as was natural. who could help falling in love with my dear, yellow, winsome, little mother? my name is margaret, called after my father's mother; my father said that the word margaret means a pearl, so he gave me the pet name "pearl." dear father! "it was a monstrous thing for brother george to marry away there," i overheard my aunt gwendolin remark a short time after my arrival. "why could he not have come back home to his own country and found a wife?--and above all to have married a heathen chinese!" "not a heathen," said my grandmother, reproachfully, "she had previously embraced the faith of europeans; so my dear george wrote me from that far-away country." "oh, they are all heathens in my estimation," cried my aunt gwendolin, scornfully; "what faith they embrace does not change the fact that they belong to the yellow people." my mother died while i was yet a child, and my father has died and left me alone in the world within the last year. grandmother, my father's mother, when she learned about her son's death, sent at once for me. "i cannot leave a granddaughter of mine in that country, and among that heathen, if not barbarous, people," she wrote to the american consul, "and i ask your services to assist her to come to my home in america." the consul, absent-minded, gave me my grandmother's letter to read, and thus i learned her feeling about my mother's people and country. i never would have come to this horrible america if i could have helped myself; but i am scarcely of age, and by my father's will grandmother is appointed my guardian. the result of it all is, that having crossed the intervening waters, i am here in the home of my grandmother, my aunt gwendolin and my uncle theodore morgan. when i arrived this morning i was ushered into the sitting-room by a maid, and the first one i beheld was my grandmother, sitting in a rocking-chair. she called me to her, and crossing the room, i kotowed to her, that is i went down on my hands and knees and touched my forehead to the floor, as my chinese nurse had taught me when i was yet a baby that i should always do when i came into the presence of an elderly woman, a mother of children. "my _dear_ grandchild!" cried my grandmother, "_do_ get up. all you should do is to kiss me--your grandmother!" and she put out her hand and assisted me from the floor. grandmother is the dearest, prettiest little woman i ever saw, with white hair and the brightest of eyes, and i have to love her, although i had made up my mind to hate everything in america. a moment after she had lifted me from the floor, my aunt gwendolin came in. she is tall and thin, not nearly so beautiful a woman as my chinese mother. she wears skirts that drag on the floor, and her hair is built up into a sort of a mountain on top of her head. i am reminded every time i look at her of a certain peak in the thian shan mountains. i very much prefer little women, like my own dear mother, like the women of my own country. my uncle theodore is long-armed, long-legged, long-bodied. he looks a little like my father, and for that reason i hate him a little less than my aunt gwendolin. after my mother's death, my father brought into our home a french governess, daughter of a french consul, to teach me. father seemed to be lost in his business, or his grief at the loss of my mother, and paid very little heed to me after the arrival of the governess. "she is an educated woman," he told me when he had engaged her, "and i want her to teach you all you could learn in a first-class girls' school in europe or america." after that the french governess spent hours with me every day, and i saw my father only at intervals. how much we talked about, that french lady and i! everything, almost, except religion; _that_ my father vetoed, as her faith was not the one he wished me to embrace. "i'll take you over to your grandmother by and by," he used to say, "to get the proper religious instruction." the governess said that i inherited more from my father's side of the house than my mother's; that although i was born in china, i was more of an occidental than an oriental; more than once she said that my american mannerisms and tricks of speech were really remarkable, and that i was a living example of the power of heredity. but i am never going back on my mother's people, _never_, my dear little oval-faced mother whose grave is under a spreading camphor tree at the heart of the world. does it not mean something that china is at the centre of the world--the kernel? "the girl is not bad to look at, in fact i think she is a beauty--a face filled with the indescribable dash of the orient," said my uncle theodore, when they were talking me over in the sitting-room after i had retired to my chamber upstairs. evidently they had forgotten the opening in the floor which had been left by the workmen while making some changes in the plumbing. and they did not know my extraordinary keenness of hearing, which my governess said was an oriental trait. it seemed to give my governess some pleasure to talk about that keen sense of the orientals, and to speculate as to how they had acquired it. "they have lived in a country where it is necessary, for self-protection, to hear all that is being plotted and planned," she said, "a country of conspiracies and intrigues, of plots and counterplots. centuries of this have developed abnormal hearing." "she has a superb figure," said my uncle, continuing to talk about me, "and that oval face of hers, with her creamy complexion, is really bewitching." "yellow! you mean, _yellow_!" interrupted my aunt gwendolin; "she's entirely too yellow for beauty. i'm terribly afraid that some of our set will discover her nationality. that's _one_ thing you must remember, theodore, nobody on this continent is ever to learn anything about her chinese blood. they are so despised here as a race. she is our brother's daughter, with some foreign strain inherited from her mother; that is enough; never, _never_, let us acknowledge the chinese. the italians and spanish are yellowish too,--i have it!" she exclaimed, "_spanish!_--spanish will do!--some of those are _our_ people now, you know! it will be quite interesting to have her a native of one of our dependencies--a descendant of some old spanish family!" "do not be foolish, gwendolin," said my grandmother. "i could not endure the thought of introducing a celestial," continued my aunt. "none must know that we have introduced the yellow peril into the country!" "why, gwendolin, how you do talk," said my grandmother; "the child's father was an american, and she was admitted into this country as an american." "you must talk with the girl to-morrow, theodore," continued my aunt, ignoring my grandmother's remark, "and tell her to keep sacred her progenitors. she speaks such perfect english no one would suspect that there was much foreign about her." "she has a striking, unusual air that would attract a second glance from most people," said my uncle. "if you can keep her nationality from professor ballington you will do better than i think you can; he is a great ethnologist; it is his life-work to make discoveries in that line." "well it _must_ be kept, no matter what means we resort to," returned my aunt gwendolin, with a ring of determination in her voice. "poor child," said my dear old grandmother, "she is my granddaughter, and i love her already, my george's child. she looks beautiful to me whether yellow or no." i had gone down to dinner on this first evening in a soft yellow silk, with long flowing sleeves trimmed with dragons, i know i looked well in it. governess always said i did. it was partly chinese and partly european in design. governess planned it herself, and she said the french were born with a knowledge how to dress artistically; she boasted that she made it to suit my peculiar style. "did you notice that china silk she had on at dinner?" said aunt gwendolin; "there must be an end to all that; a ban must be put on everything chinese." "it was rather becoming i thought," said uncle theodore, "in harmony with the clear yellow of her skin. let her dress alone, she seems to know how to put it. that is a born gift with some women, and if it is not, they never seem to acquire it. there is great elegance in the straight lines of the oriental dress." "let her alone," said aunt gwendolin scornfully, "and let the whole city know we have introduced the yellow per----" "gwendolin, dear," interrupted grandmother, "do not speak so." "those chinese silks, of which she seems to have gowns galore--i was at the unpacking of her trunks--must be tabooed," said my aunt. "her father has evidently intended her to dress like an european or american; she has _some_ waist line, and does not wear the sacque the women wear in china; but her sleeves are _years_ old." "the dear child may object to having her attire changed at once," said my grandmother. "she is used to those soft clinging silks, and may not want to give them up. and sleeves are of little consequence. let her alone for awhile." "let her alone!" again retorted aunt gwendolin, "and let professor ballington see her? he'd know her nationality at once in that yellow silk covered with sprawling dragons, as almost anybody might. i cannot have anything so mortifying occur when the girl is calling me 'aunt'!" "ballington is a curious kind of a chap, and values people on their own merits; _he'd_ think none the less of the girl because she has some chinese blood in her," returned uncle theodore. "i'll take her out to-morrow," continued my aunt, "and buy her some taffeta silks and french muslins, and dress her up as a christian _should_ be dressed." grandmother said no more. the mother is not the head of the house in america as she is in dear old china. i suppose it is the daughter who rules in this country. i am so sleepy i cannot listen any longer, even to talk about myself. my governess has taught me that eavesdropping is not honourable, but i cannot avoid hearing so long as i stay in my room, and i have nowhere else to go. i will turn out the electric light, throw myself on the bed, yellow silk and all, and cry myself asleep. i wonder is that an american or a chinese act? my governess was continually tracing my actions to one or other of the nations. _march , ----_ it happened this morning! that man aunt gwendolin thought would be so sure to know that i was the yellow pearl, came to the house, and was ushered into my uncle's den by the maid, a few moments after i had been sent in there to have the "talk" with him which was spoken about the night before. "he is a tall man, very, very white," were my thoughts regarding him, as he bowed politely before me, when my uncle introduced us; and i suppose his thoughts regarding me were: "she is a short woman, very, very, yellow." he left after a few moments' conversation with my uncle; and turning to me the latter said, "that gentleman who has just gone is professor of ethnology in the state university. he knows all about the peculiarities of all the peoples and tribes that ever have graced or disgraced the face of this planet we call the world---- has your aunt told you that she thinks it better that you should say nothing about your chinese ancestry?" he added hastily and awkwardly. "have the chinese done anything disgraceful?" i asked him. "no, no, i don't suppose they really have," he answered with an air of annoyance. "a girl like you cannot understand; you had better simply follow instructions. i hope it will not be necessary to mention this subject again," he added meaningly. i could not mistake him; i must not _dare_ tell professor ballington or any one else in this great country that my mother was a chinese woman. in the afternoon aunt gwendolin took me down into the shops of the city, "to select an outfit," she said. we stood for hours, it seemed to me, over counters laden with silks and muslins of every colour in the rainbow. aunt gwendolin held the various shades up against my face to see which best became my "spanish complexion." this was said, i suppose, for the ears of the sales-people, and the fashionable customers standing around. when selections were made among the goods, i was taken to the establishment of a "parisienne modiste," where i was pinched, puckered, and pulled until i was nearly numb. a sort of a steel waist was put on me, which my aunt and the modiste called a "corset," and was so tightly pulled i could scarcely breathe. "i can't stand it, aunt gwendolin," i whisperingly gasped. "yes, you _can_!" she returned peremptorily, "you'll get used to it; that's nothing like as tight as the girls all wear them in this country." "i can't breathe," i gasped again, when the modiste had turned her back; (aunt gwendolin had signed to me the first time not to let her hear me). "hush!" said my aunt; "for pity sake do not let the modiste know that you never had a corset on before." "i'd rather have my feet bound like the women do in chi----" aunt gwendolin placed her jewelled fingers over my mouth before i had finished the sentence. just as i was through being "fitted," one of aunt gwendolin's fashionable friends came in. "arabella," my aunt called her, but the modiste called her mrs. delaney. i was not noticed, and slipped off into a corner, and this newcomer and my relative fell into a deep and absorbing talk about the new style of sleeve. i saw my opportunity and slipped unnoticed out the front door, which fortunately was behind them. hurrying down a few blocks i reached a bookseller's window. with one glance i had noticed, when my aunt and i were passing the window on the way to the establishment of the parisienne modiste, the word china on the cover of a book. "i'll buy that book," i had said to myself, "and learn what there is about china that makes americans despise her people." entering the store, i found a number of books about china and the chinese: "one of china's scholars," "how the chinese think," "the greatest novels of china," "chinese life." i paid for them all and ordered them sent to my grandmother's house. the bookseller looked at me very curiously for several moments, and then ventured, "you speak english very well." "of course i do," i said, tossing my head and trying to act saucily, as my governess had told me the american girls did. i would not have dared to treat a man that way in china. he did not venture to speak again. it is funny to be able in this america to frighten a man! confucius says that women should "be always modest and respectful in demeanour, and prefer others to themselves"; but i have not to mind confucius any longer; i am now in the "sweet land of liberty," as they sing in their national anthem. i heard my father say once that the gentleness and modesty of oriental women was really beautiful; but it would not be beautiful in america. i hurried back to the establishment of the parisienne modiste, and found my aunt and her friend still talking about sleeves. they had never noticed my absence. how very important sleeves are in america! i never heard them talked about in china. the talkers had evidently forgotten me, so i slipped out again, and walked several blocks, watching the manners, and catching snatches of the conversation of americans. "i'm going to have mine eighteen gores----" "pleating down the front, frills at the side----" "pocahontas hat, and prince chap suit----" "front panel, and revers turned----" "frills and pipings all around----" "gored, or cut in one piece----" "oh, pompadour, by all means, with----" these were the snatches of conversation which i caught from the women as they passed me. the men were mostly silent and glum. this curious country, that aunt gwendolin says has gone away ahead of the rest of the world, why do its women talk more about dress than anything else? and why have its men such pushing, hurrying, knock-you-down-if-you-stand-in-my-way faces? when i got back to the establishment of the parisienne modiste i found my aunt ready to take me to the milliner's to be "outfitted with hats." walking a block or two we entered a much-decorated room, and at my aunt's request an attendant brought several hats for our inspection--curious-looking things like straw bee-hives, or huge wasps' nests, covered over largely with wings and the heads of poor little dead birds, ends and loops of ribbon, roses and leaves, looking as if they were only half sewed on and liable to tumble off if touched, and long feathers, buckles, and pins. my aunt selected several, fitted them on my head, and declared they were very becoming to my spanish style of beauty. i, almost in tears, whispered into her ear, so the attendant would not hear me, "i shall not have to wear them where any one can see me, shall i?" aunt gwendolin smiled (the attendant was looking) and replied sweetly, "yes, they are very pretty, indeed." we in china could never kill our birds and wear them on our heads--the breasts of our beautiful mandarin ducks, the wings of our gold and silver pheasants, the heads of our pretty parrakeets--we never could do it--we would feel like murderers. our majestic-looking wild geese, that fly over our heads in flocks sometimes thirty miles in length, going south in the autumn and north in the spring, we never molest them. the buddhists believe that all geese perform an aerial pilgrimage to the holiest of the lakes in the mountains every year, transporting the sins of the neighbourhood, returning to the valley with a new stock of inspiration for the people in the locality where they choose to alight. here in this civilised country--i have been reading in one of their magazines that grandmother loaned me--they catch the beautiful water-fowls, kill them, and hack off their downy breasts to make ladies' hats. and the little young birds starve in the nest, because the mother never returns to feed them. ugh! civilised countries are dreadful! when the hats were selected my aunt conducted me to the furrier's. "the cold weather is not over yet," she said, "and while we are about it i shall select some necessary furs." i had noticed as we were passing through the streets that the ladies had curious looking things around their necks and shoulders, capes trimmed with heads of animals, and tails and paws of the same. i wondered the dogs did not bark at them. they looked like some hunters who had been out shooting and had thrown their dead game over their shoulders. the furrier whose shop we had entered seemed to know my aunt, and as soon as she said, "i want you to show me some of your best fur garments suitable for a young lady," he brought down from some shelves the greatest quantity of fur articles, ermine, mink, seal, sable, all covered with heads, tails, paws, claws, eyes, mouths, teeth, whiskers. i shuddered and drew back when my aunt went to place one around my neck. "oh, auntie!" i cried, "don't touch it to me!" "ha, ha, ha," softly and politely laughed the shopkeeper, "the young lady has not become acquainted with the newest thing in furs, so beautiful and realistic--so charming!" aunt gwendolin frowned. she evidently did not like my display of nerves, and resolutely fastened around my throat an ermine scarf with seven or eight heads, and twice as many tails. "there!" she said, "that will do nicely, it is very becoming to her creamy spanish." "it could not be better," said the polite shopkeeper. a muff was then chosen to match the scarf, with just as many horrible grinning heads, and little snaky tails; and paying for them, my aunt ordered them sent home. on my return home i dropped a silver coin into the housemaid's hand, and told her when the parcel of books arrived she was to carry it up to my room and say nothing about it. she seemed to understand, and asked no questions. an hour later she came to my door with the books in her arms, and found me examining my new set of furs. "betty," i cried, throwing wide the door of my room, "come in and tell me all about my furs--how the man that sells them gets all those little heads and tails. where do they get them? and how do they catch them? i want to know it all." "oh, miss," said betty, stepping briskly into the room, nothing loath to accept the invitation to examine the new furs, "they lives out in the wild woods--these little critters, an' men poisons 'em, an' traps 'em. an' when they is dead, they skins 'em, tans the skins, an' makes 'em up into muffs, an' boas, an' tippets, an' fur coats, an' so forth, an' so forth." "poison and trap them!" i cried, "doesn't that make the little creatures suffer?" "you bet!" said betty. "how cruel!" i added. "yes, miss, ain't it awful?" returned betty, making a wry face. "they's a book just been throwed in at the door to-day telling all as to how it is done. the american humane association has wrote the book--_they_ don't approve of killin' things. i'll bring it up an' let you read it." suiting the action to the thought betty rushed away down to the kitchen for the book. she returned in a few moments with a small pamphlet, and thrust it hastily into my hand--my aunt was calling her--and hastened away. i glanced down at a picture on the front page--a hare caught by the hind leg in a trap. a most agonised expression was on the little animal's face. below the picture was the title of the story, "_the cost of a skin_." i dropped into a rocking-chair and read the story: "furs are luxuries, and it cannot be said in apology for the wrongs done in obtaining them that they are essential to human life. skins and dead birds are not half so beautiful as flowers, or ribbons, or velvets, or mohair. they are popular because they are barbaric. they appeal to the vulgarians. our ideas of art, like our impulses, and like human psychology generally, are still largely in the savage state of evolution. no one but a vulgarian would attempt to adorn herself by putting the dead bodies of birds on her head, or muffling her shoulders in grinning weasels, and dangling mink-tails. indeed, to one who sees things as they are, in the full light of adult understanding, a woman rigged out in such cemeterial appurtenances is repulsive. she is a concourse of unnecessary funerals; she is about as fascinating, about as choice and ingenious in her decorations, as she would be, embellished with a necklace of human scalps. she should excite pity and contempt. she is a pathetic example of a being trying to add to her charms by high crimes and misdemeanours, and succeeding only in advertising her indifference to feeling. "of all the accessories gathered from every quarter of the earth to garnish human vanity, furs are the most expensive; for in no way does man show such complete indifference to the feelings of his victims as he does in the fur trade. "the most of the skins used for furs are obtained by catching their owners in traps, and death in such cases comes usually at the close of hours, or even days, of the most intense suffering and terror. the principal device used by professional trappers is the steel-trap, the most villanous instrument of arrest that was ever invented by the human mind. it is not an uncommon thing for the savage jaws of this monstrous instrument to bite off the leg of their would-be captive at a single stroke. if the leg is not completely amputated by the snap of the terrible steel, it is likely to be so deeply cut as to encourage the animal to gnaw or twist it off. this latter is the common road to escape of many animals. trappers say that on an average one animal in every five caught has only three legs." "we'd never do it in china--_never_!" i cried, throwing the leaflet from me. "it is only this horrid, civilised america that could be so terribly cruel! i shall never wear my furs--_never_! i shall beg grandmother--she seems to be the only civilised being i know that has any heart--to allow me to go without them!" i looked again at my leaflet, which i had picked from the floor, and continued to read the words of the author: "i would rather be an insect--a bee or a butterfly--and float in dim dreams among the wild flowers of summer than be a man and feel the wrongs of this wretched world." i rose from my chair and thrust my headed and tailed ermine scarf and muff into a box, and pushed them far back on the closet shelf. "stay there! stay there!" i cried. "the yellow pearl will have nothing to do with civilisation!" "yellow pearl," i said to myself, accusingly, half an hour later, "_you_ know that they have fur in china, that the rich wear fur-lined garments." "yes," i replied to that accusing _i_, "the rich wear fur-lined garments, but they procure the fur from animals that have to be killed for food, or for man's self-preservation. they are not caught in the cruel steely traps of america. linings, mind you, _linings_," i reiterated, "to keep them warm, not the heads, tails, paws, claws, eyes, teeth of the little animals to bedizen their persons." _march th, ----_ the result of all the pinching, puckering, fitting, which i underwent at the establishment of the parisienne modiste is that i am walking around arrayed in taffeta silk, and squeezed out of all my natural shape by the steel waist. my sleeves are made so that my shoulders appear very much nearer my ears than nature intended them to be. my hair is done up in a quarter hundred--more or less--little puffs, and a quarter hundred hairpins are scratching my scalp. i have had to lay aside my nice soft shoes, and pretty chinese slippers, and am gyrating around in tight shoes, with a french heel somewhere about the middle of the sole. i almost fell downstairs the first day i wore them; and when i wanted to take them off my aunt gwendolin was indignant. "you'll learn to walk in them soon," she said; "you are in a civilised country now, and must do as the people do here. you cannot pad around without heels any more." i look ugly, and i feel cross. i have reached the land of bondage! oh, for my beautiful china silks, thick, soft, lustrous, and loose enough to be comfortable--which have been bundled up and put in a large cedar chest in the attic. oh, for my own country, my heathen china, with its dress thousands of years old in fashion! what frights some of the women in this stuck-up country look--in their tight waists, showing their figures! that may be pretty enough--if really modest, which my country denies--when they are young, slender, lithe; but fancy a great stout woman in a "shirt waist," as they call it, with a belt defining her girth, and perhaps a tight skirt making her look positively vulgar. ugh! grandmother has had me in her room; indeed, she took me in a couple of days after my arrival, and locking the door to keep out all intruders, she talked long and solemnly to me. she was shocked when she learned that i had scarcely heard of christ, and that i had never read the bible. "my dear child," she cried, "what was your father thinking about? why did he so neglect your religious education?" "he always said that he was going to bring me over to you, grandmother, to teach me religion," i replied. "i know all about confucius and buddha, my nurses used to talk about them; but they never mentioned christ." the result of this conversation is, that grandmother has me go into her room for a half-hour every day to study the bible. we began at the first chapter of genesis, and already we have got as far as abraham. between times i am reading the chinese books in my own room upstairs, and i learn from one of them that more than a century before the birth of abraham, china had two great and good men; fully as good as abraham i should think,--yao and shun--who framed laws that govern the nation to-day. why did not yao and shun get a "_call_" as abraham did? i think they deserved one fully as well. after we get through our study of genesis and abraham, grandmother usually has a little talk about that great and beautiful man, christ; telling me how kind and gentle he was, and how he always considered the good of others rather than his own good. "the princely man!" i cried the first time she mentioned him. she wanted to know what i meant, and i told her that my nurses had told me about china's ideal and model, the "princely man," and i thought the christ must be _he_. "more, much more than confucius, the princely man," returned my grandmother. "it is my sincere hope, my dear granddaughter, that your mind may become illumined as you proceed with your study, until you understand the vast difference between the princely man and christ." "there is a pretty legend about christ," she added, "which says that as he walked the earth sweet flowers grew in the path behind him. the legend is true in a spiritual sense--wherever his steps have pressed the earth all these centuries, flowers have sprung up, flowers of love, kindness, gentleness, thoughtfulness." then grandmother began to sing softly, in the sweetest old trembly soprano voice one ever heard, asking me to join her: "let every kindred, every tribe on this terrestrial ball, to him all majesty ascribe, and crown him lord of all." _march th, ----_ we went to church this morning, it being sunday--aunt gwendolin, uncle theodore, and i. grandmother was indisposed and did not go. it was my first attendance at church, for aunt gwendolin said i had nothing fit to wear until she dressed me up. "are _you_ going, theodore?" i heard my aunt, through the opening in the floor, say in a surprised tone, as if she were not accustomed to seeing him go. "i think i'll go this morning," returned my uncle, continuing to brush his coat, which act had prompted my aunt's question. "i want to see how our fashionable way of worshipping god will impress the little celestial. it will be her first attendance at church." aunt gwendolin came up to my room and selected the gown i was to wear, in fact my whole outfit. she took from the wardrobe a white french cloth costume (it was very much in harmony with my feelings that i should appear in america's church for the first time in the colour which china uses for mourning), and one of the beehive hats with several birds on it. "oh, i can't wear that if anybody is going to see me," i cried when she brought out the hat. "well, if you are going to make a scene," said my aunt curtly, "wear _this_," and she brought from its bandbox a "sailor" covered with white drooping ostrich feathers. "you'll look sweet in that," she added; "and when you get more used to civilised head-gear you can wear the others." "do we go to church to look sweet?" i inquired. "oh, dear, no," she answered impatiently, "but there is nothing gained in being a fright--were there no christians in your country to hold meetings?" without waiting for my reply, she dived into the closet and brought out my fur tippet, but i begged so hard not to wear it, that she said as the day was mild i need not. i'll have to see grandmother and have it disposed of before another churchgoing time. aunt gwendolin herself was beautifully dressed in a light blue-gray; at a glance she looked like a passing cloud dropped down from the sky, but a closer inspection revealed a mystery of shirrings, tuckings, smockings, frillings never seen in a cloud. in reply to my questions she had told me the name of all the strange puckerings. i'd like the cloud-gown better without the puckerings. "what do we go to church for?" i asked as we were being whirled along in the automobile, which was controlled by a very good-looking young man whom they called "chauffeur." "why--why--what a heathen you are! to worship god, of course," said my aunt shortly. "does god require us to wear such fashionable clothes to worship him?" i asked, feeling wearied with the effort of dressing--collars, belts, buckles, pins, gloves, corsets, shoes, hats, buttonings, and lacings. uncle theodore laughed, and aunt gwendolin frowned, and looked carefully round to see whether her white taffeta petticoat was touching the ground--we were by this time at the church and walking from the automobile to the church door. following aunt gwendolin's lead, we were soon in a front seat. we were there but a few moments when a number of young men and women, dressed in black robes, with white ties under their chins, came in through some back door behind the gallery where they afterwards stood, and began to sing. "lead me to the li-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight," sang one young woman, all in a tremble. "lead me to the li-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight," sang a man in a heavy voice. then the woman screeched in as high notes as her voice could reach, i am sure, and the man ran away down to a growl. after the whole company had repeated "lead me to the light," they began to sing against each other, all in a jumble; they seemed to finish the song in some foreign language. i did not know a word of it. i suppose as it was for the worship of god it did not matter whether any one else understood it or not. after the singing was done, a man--the minister they call him--uncle theodore has since told me--stood up before the people and read a verse from the bible--one of the verses i have not got to yet in my reading with grandmother. then he began to talk about the hardships of poor missionaries out in what he called "the unchristianised west of our own country," and the _awful_ need of the natives. it was "missionary sunday;" a bulletin lying in the seat acquainted us with the fact, and the music and the sermon were to be of a missionary character. the minister told a story about a young man who had gone out as a missionary to the indians, who was living in a shack, twelve by fourteen, cooking his own meals, and eating and sleeping in the one room. he had not salary enough to pay his board. when the minister had talked half an hour, and had us all wrought up about the woes of the missionary, and the needs of the heathen, he closed his sermon. and we leaned back in our seats and were lulled into forgetfulness of the grievous story, by low-toned, dreamy, soothing music, from the echo organ. aunt gwendolin has told me since that the organ cost seventy thousand dollars. christians are most extraordinary people; they rouse one all up to the pitch of being willing to do most anything by a heart-rending address, and then scatter all the impression by their music. when the organist had finished, i wasn't the least worried about the ills of the missionary or the indians. indeed all the people looked relieved, as if a burden had been lifted from them. when we were again in the automobile aunt gwendolin said: "didn't the church look well this morning? it has been undergoing some repairs, and three thousand dollars' worth of cathedral oak has been added to the wainscoting." "that would pay the board of the young missionary among the indians for a long time," i said. "hush!" said aunt gwendolin impatiently, "do not talk foolishness!" perhaps uncle theodore thought she shut me up too peremptorily, for he said: "paying that young man's board out in the west would never be noticed or talked about, my dear; other denominations would pay no attention to it, while this cathedral oak wainscoting--oh my! oh my! will excite the admiration and jealousy of the whole city." "i _love_ beautiful churches," returned my aunt gwendolin poutingly. "i shall take pearl around to see st. george's, where the altar cost five thousand dollars. it will be an education to the girl. a man gave it in memory of his wife, which was a very beautiful thing to do." "pooh!" exclaimed my uncle, "why didn't he do something for some poor wretches who need it, in memory of his wife?" while they had been talking i was looking at the curious, high-crowned, black, shiny hats (a stove-pipe, uncle theodore has since told me they ought to be called) which the men all were wearing. they seem to be as essential in america as the queue is in china. in the afternoon grandmother invited me into her private room to have a quiet talk with her, she said. "everything is very new to you, my dear margaret--pearl i believe your father called you--in this country, and you must come to me with all your troubling problems. i feel for you, my dear grandchild, and do not fear to say anything, _anything_ at all you feel like saying to me." she took my small yellow hands in hers, and looked at me lovingly, saying as she gently chafed them that they were very pretty and plump. there _were_ things puzzling me, had puzzled me that very day, and i felt inclined to place them before my kind granny. "what are christians, grandmother?" i asked. "my dear child," said my grandmother, "the word simply means the followers of christ." "oh, it cannot mean _that_!" i cried, then stopped, abashed. grandmother raised her glasses from her eyes, placed them on her forehead, and stared at me in a puzzled way for a few seconds, then she said: "my dear pearl, why do you say that?" she was looking at me and i must answer, although fearing that i had hurt her feelings in some way by my abrupt contradiction. "you said that the man, christ, was very kind and gentle, and that he always thought of the good of others before his own," i continued. "would _he_ pay thousands upon thousands for a grand church, in which to sit and be happy, and feel rich; and thousands upon thousands for a great organ to play sweet music and make him forget the world's sorrows, while his brothers were too poor to pay for their board----?" "no, he would _not_!" said grandmother, tears welling into her blue eyes. jumping from my seat i threw my arms around her neck and kissed her wrinkled, quivering face, saying, "_you_ are a follower of the princely man--of the good man, christ, _you_ are, grandmother----" a peremptory rap at the door stopped further conversation, and when i opened it, a lady was ushered in to see grandmother. i was introduced to mrs. paton, of whom i had before heard my grandmother speak as "a great christian worker," and whom i heard my aunt gwendolin denounce as a "tiresome crank, spoiling every one's comfort." i looked very earnestly at the lady, trying to fit her into the two definitions. mrs. paton began almost at once to talk about the "temperance movement," and the "evils of intoxicating liquors," and "the selfishness of the onlooking world, who were not the real sufferers." she left after the expiration of half an hour, and grandmother said to me: "you would not understand mrs. paton's remarks, my dear. you will have to be longer in the country before you know what is meant by the 'evils of intoxicating liquors.' did you ever really see a drunken man?" "no, grandmother," i said, "i never even _heard_ of one. _drunk!_--what does it mean?" "oh," said grandmother, "something that as a country we have reason to be terribly ashamed of--men drinking intoxicating liquors until they lose their senses----" another rap interrupted grandmother, and we were called out to tea. the only really delightful thing they do in this america is to drink tea, just the same as we do in china. i see how it is; they have a new confucius in this america, but they do not live the new confucius--none but my dear grandmother. _march th, ----_ it is settled--but not without a fight--i do not have to wear the furs with heads and tails, and all the rest. to please my grandmother, who was so afraid i might catch cold, i submitted to accepting a plain set, a set which dear grandmother had selected herself. aunt gwendolin was furious, and fought hard that i should be compelled to wear the first set, but grandmother overruled. i see the mother can be the head of the house in america when she chooses. it was the kittens that decided grandmother. one day she and i were out for a short walk, and we met a girl with two little kittens around her hat--not real live kittens, but the skins of two little gray and white kittens stuffed with cotton batting, and with glass eyes, arranged as if meeting and sparring around the crown of that girl's hat. "it is barbaric," said grandmother. "there are two kinds of heathen. there are the heathen who are born such, and there are the heathen by choice. and if we look about us we must acknowledge we have a great multitude of them at home." it almost made grandmother sick, and she decided at once that i could get the furs changed. "i never seem to have awakened to the enormity of it before," said poor grandmother with a sigh. how glad i am that the mother can be the head of the house in america when she chooses! a young man whom we all call cousin ned, because he is a distant relative of the family, comes here to grandmother's house very often. he talks incessantly about "first base," "second base," and "third base," "innings," and "runs," "pitchers," and "short-stop," "outfield," and "infield," "right-fielder," "centre-fielder," and "left-fielder," "scores," and "catchers." it is all greek to grandmother and me, but we can get him to talk about nothing else. i asked uncle theodore the first time i saw this cousin of ours, what he was doing--his home is many miles away, and he is boarding in the city. "he is here ostensibly to attend the university," said uncle theodore, "but ned is a great sport." as uncle theodore was walking away he sang lightly: "if fame you're on the lookout for and seek it over all the words you must engrave upon your mind are these: play ball!" this was rather unusual, for uncle theodore rarely sings, and i am sure i do not know what he meant by it. by reason of the relationship, cousin ned feels free to come to the house without ceremony at all hours of the day. most of the time he is wearing a "sweater," with a large letter on the breast. _march th, ----_ aunt gwendolin decided, soon after i came, that i must begin at once to take lessons in spanish. the teachers are now visiting the house daily, one to teach me the spanish language, and the other to instruct me how to sing spanish songs. señor de bobadilla has just been here, and i have been screeching away for half an hour in a small room where my aunt has had a piano placed specially for my use. she says she is not going to "bring me out"--that means introduce me to society, grandmother says; that was one of the puzzling questions i carried to her--until i can sing spanish songs. i see through it all, because of the conversation i heard through the floor opening; she thinks by that means to convince her society friends that i am spanish instead of chinese. how very funny! there was a small dinner-party at this house the other evening, but of course i could not be at the table. i have not "come out." grandmother argued for my appearing, but aunt gwendolin was firm to the contrary, and she won. ancestors are not much regarded in america. my aunt gave me permission, however, to look in on the guests when they were seated at the table. she had a large mirror fastened to the door, and by leaving it open at a particular angle i could watch--myself unseen behind a curtain--the ceremony of dining as practised in america. mercy! those women with bare arms and bare shoulders sitting there before the men! how could they help blushing for themselves! i just gave one glance at them, then ran away and hid my face! having the evening to myself, i went up to my room and enjoyed myself reading my chinese books. my aunt said that i was to stay at the curtained door, and learn the ways of society by watching the manners of the guests at dinner; but i saw all i wanted to see in one glance. i'd like to carry all those women little shawls to put around their bare shoulders. mrs. delancy's was the barest of them all, but i have heard my aunt talk since about how "elegantly gowned mrs. delancy was." a strange thing happened up in my room; i opened one of my books just at the page where it tells about the chinese ambassadors, on the occasion of their visits to christian countries, noticing with grave disapproval the décollete costumes of the women at the state functions. what wonder!--if they looked anything like the women at my aunt's dinner party! señor de bobadilla says that i am making remarkable progress with my spanish songs; he tells grandmother in a half-whisper, as if fearing to let me hear him, that i am very bright and intelligent; he congratulated her on having such a prodigy for a grandchild. oh, cunning señor de bobadilla, you want to continue my lessons indefinitely. i am learning to quiver and shake, and trill, run up the scale, and down the scale, jump from a note away down low to a note away up high. i'll soon be able to sing "lead me to the light," as well as the church choir. the professor looks very spanish in brown velvet coat, red necktie, shoes shining like a looking-glass, a moustache waxed into long points on each side of his top lip, and hair hanging in a curling brown mat down to his shoulders. seated at the piano, his thin yellow fingers sprawl over the white and black ivory keys, while in response to my efforts he keeps ejaculating, "goot! goot! _excellent! superb!_" i, dressed in muslin, cream-coloured ground dashed over with wild roses, or blue ground with white chrysanthemums (the latter is not very becoming to my yellow skin) stand at his left hand stretching my mouth to the utmost, trying to give utterance to the tones he is striking on the piano, and trying to look spanish, too. señor de la prisa is teaching me the spanish language--a lesson every day, and i am beginning to jabber the strange gibberish like a parrot: "_es un dia bonita. el viento es frio. se esta haciendo tarde. es temprano._" i'll soon believe myself that i am _really_ spanish, and have never come from "the country of yellow gods and green dragons," as uncle theodore calls my dear native land. i have been watching people, reading the daily newspapers and my chinese books, and asking grandmother questions until i feel very wise. i am almost as wise as a real american now. some weeks following mrs. paton's sunday visit to my grandmother, i was out for a short walk of pleasure when i overtook her. she was pleased to meet me again, she said, and we walked along together, chatting, at least she talked and i listened, sometimes asking questions. "just think of it, my dear," she said, "this is the day on which men are applying for licenses to sell poison to kill their fellow-men." then she told me story after story of the terrible misery caused by intoxicating drinks, and the sin and crime they caused people to commit, until i was almost in tears. a noise of voices and tramping feet interrupted her, and there came around a corner, marching toward us, a long procession of men. "who are they?" i inquired, slipping my arm into hers. i had never before seen so many men together. "strikers," she returned sadly. "strikers?" i exclaimed. "yes," she added, "men who will not work until their employers pay them the amount they think they ought to be paid." tramp! tramp! tramp! the great crowd passed us in long file, dusty, worn, hard-worked men. my heart swelled as i looked at their strained faces; i could not go any farther on my walk; i had to rush home to ask grandmother questions. "grandmother!" i cried, panting into her room, "strikes in a country that follows christ!--and men asking for a license to sell poison to their fellow-men!" i fell on my knees in front of her chair and sobbed, i could not have told why. she took my face in her soft old withered hands, and holding it was about to speak, when my aunt gwendolin, who had overheard me, came into the room and cried indignantly: "that crank of a mrs. paton has been talking to the girl; i know her very words. that woman should be forcibly restrained!" grandmother did not answer her, but continued to stroke my face until i grew quieter, and until my aunt had left the room. then in reply to my many pointed questions she told me in brief, that the reason men got licenses to sell liquor was that they paid money for them, and the country granted them for the sake of the great revenue they brought into its treasury. "oh, grandmother!" i cried, raising my head from her lap, "when britain tried to induce the chinese emperor to legalise the opium traffic because of the import duty, he said, 'nothing shall induce me to derive a revenue from the vice and misery of my people'!"--i had read all this in my books on china. grandmother was wiping away tears, and i said no more. i went up to my own room, and half an hour later i heard my uncle theodore, to whom my grandmother had repeated my words, say: "she is preternaturally sharp. no girl of this country thinks of the things she does. i suppose they develop younger in those eastern climes." "it is all new to her," said my grandmother; "she has just come in upon it and sees it with fresh eyes. the girls here have grown up with it and become used to it by degrees." "oh, it's that oriental blood--half witch, half demon--that's at the bottom of all her tantrums. the orientals are all a subtle lot, and we as a country are wise to make them stay at home," said my aunt gwendolin. _april , ----_ aunt gwendolin has discovered my chinese books that i had intended to keep hidden in my room. she came in suddenly one day and found me seated in the midst of them. "what's this? what's this?" she cried in great agitation. "how are we ever going to get you into the ways of christianised, civilised folk if you keep feeding your mind on literature about uncivilised people?" and she gathered my books up into her arms and carried them away. i have them all read, however, and she cannot carry away the thoughts they have left in my mind. what great creatures we human beings are! what a world with which no one else can meddle we can carry around in our little brains and hearts! it is all the same whether they are american or chinese brains or hearts. "i see now where she has gotten all her smart sayings about the chinese," my aunt said to my grandmother and uncle theodore. "how can we ever hope to do anything with her when she is being poisoned by such stuff as is in those books? 'for ways that are dark and tricks that are vain' commend me to the chinese!" "i'll sicken her of the chinese," she added: "i'll bring one into the kitchen to cook; then perhaps she'll feel more compunction about acknowledging that she is part celestial. she actually seems as if she were proud of the fact now." grandmother remonstrated, but my aunt replied: "i have always been wanting to try a chinese cook; they are really the world's cooks and so careful and clean, it is said. then i would like to give pearl enough of it. she will not be so fond of claiming kinship with the cook." the result of all this was that inside of twenty-four hours a chinaman was installed in the kitchen--and the biscuits are perfect. his name is yee yick; of course he has three names, all chinamen have; but trying to become americanised they use only two in this country. my aunt has decided that it is sufficient to call him yick. "the english call their servants by their surnames," was all the explanation she made. yick is a dude; he has a suit for almost every day in the week, and is very vain of his appearance. his queue is rolled up around his head, which is a sign that he has not yet abandoned his home gods. he is very anxious to learn english, and betty tells me that he has a slate hanging up in the kitchen on which he is writing english words every spare moment. i had watched yick a good deal, but i never exchanged a word with him, until the event occurred about which i am going to write; and i know he never dreamed that i could speak his language. poor yick! if he is "chief cook and bottle-washer," as my aunt says, he is my countryman, and i cannot help taking an interest in him. one day i walked to the end of the veranda which runs the whole length of the house, and glancing in through the kitchen window as i passed, i saw yick making his tea-biscuits. he had the flour and shortening all mixed, and raising the bowl of milk which was on the table, he took a great mouthful, and then began to force it out in a heavy spray through his teeth into the dish of prepared flour, in the same manner as the chinese laundryman sprinkles clothes. i wrung my hands, and cried within myself, "oh, yick, you terrible man! you horrible little pigtail!" but i slipped back to the front of the veranda without making an audible sound. how could i tell on poor yick, and bring down such an awful storm on his head as would result? he was a stranger in a strange land, and it was my duty to protect him. was it such a very wicked thing he had done? he never killed little birds, anyway, and wore them on his head; nor trapped cunning little animals, and strung their heads and tails around his neck! i decided i would not tell on him. but that evening at dinner i passed the plate of white, flaky biscuits without taking any. i sat at grandmother's left hand, and when she was not looking, i slipped the biscuit which she had taken away from her bread-and-butter plate, and let it slide from my hand down onto the floor. dear, absent-minded grandmother never missed it. aunt gwendolin and uncle theodore ate three biscuits each. "it seems to me that yick keeps constantly improving in his biscuits," said my aunt, as she reached for her third. "they ought to be better than other people at most everything," returned my uncle theodore, "they have been a long while practising. they may have been making biscuits before moses was born. the chinaman possesses a history which dwarfs the little day of modern nations. it is a saying of theirs that from the time heaven was spread and earth was brought into existence china can boast a continuous line of great men." i looked pleased and smiled. my aunt seeing it said, with a toss of her head: "a continuous line of great cooks and laundrymen." that evening when my aunt and uncle were out, and grandmother had gone to bed, i slipped down to the kitchen and stood face to face with yick. he almost kotowed to me, but commanding him to stand up, i told him in plain chinese that i had seen him mixing the biscuits, and disapproved of his plan. his hair almost seemed to stand on end when he heard me speaking his native tongue. he started to tremble, and his knees bent under him. "yee yick," i continued, in the language he thoroughly understood, "if you ever put the milk in your mouth again, and sift it out through your teeth into the flour, i shall inform the mistress of the house, and you shall be dismissed!" trembling all over yick began rapidly in chinese to promise that he would never, _never_ be guilty of the act again. then, as if scarcely able to believe that i could understand his native tongue, he repeated his promise in english. "no, missee, yee yick not putee milk in mouthee! no, missee, yee yick not putee milk in mouthee!" i assured him in chinese that i would keep the secret of what i had seen on condition that he would keep his promise, and went out of the kitchen, leaving the poor fellow almost in tears. i believe he scarcely knows whether to regard me as a spirit or a being of flesh and blood, it is so hard for him to understand how i can speak chinese. the plumbers have closed up the hole in the floor, so i shall hear no more about the "wily celestial." _april th, ----_ while i have been waiting to be prepared to "come out," i determined to walk around the streets and see some more of the doings of americans. grandmother gave her consent, with a warning to keep off certain streets. "it is quite safe for a young girl to walk alone in most places in our country, thank god," said dear grandmother devoutly, "and i am very willing that you should look about you. i remember when i was a girl i liked to walk and see things, too." but aunt gwendolin knocked the whole thing in the head--apparently. "it is so plebeian for her to go tramping through the streets," she said to my grandmother. "cannot she be satisfied to go out every day with us in the automobile? the grounds are spacious around this place, and she can have all the exercise she wants right here." so the question was settled--to all appearance. a week after my aunt's fiat i read in the daily newspaper that in the "house of jacob," a certain jewish synagogue downtown, there was conducted on a certain afternoon every week sewing classes for young jewish girls. instantly i decided that i wished to visit it, and see those "children of abraham," about whom grandmother had been teaching me in the bible, those people who were god's favourites, and i set about laying plans to accomplish my desire. happily, when that afternoon came around, aunt gwendolin went out to a bridge party--i have not yet found out what that means, but i hoped that afternoon that she would have a good many bridges to cross, so it would keep her a long time away--and it was betty's day out. previous to this i had found in a closet a black skirt and shawl formerly worn by grandmother, and a bonnet which she had laid aside. as soon as my aunt had safely departed (i had seen betty go an hour before), i hastily threw the heavy black satin skirt over mine, draped the black embroidered silk shawl around my shoulders, and tied on the bonnet. with a black chiffon veil, which was not very transparent, tied over my face, i felt very comfortable. it was quite proper for an _elderly_ lady to go anywhere she wished. grandmother was taking her customary afternoon nap, as i slipped down the backstairs into the kitchen. yick, preparing the flour for his biscuits, saw me and started. i could not keep my secret from him; i decided to take him into my confidence and trust him. so lifting my veil, i looked at him markedly, and told him rapidly in chinese that he was not to tell any one he had seen me. he smiled, winked, and nodded knowingly, assuring me in voluble chinese that he would keep my secret. "you no tellee onee me," he said significantly, with grimaces and gesticulations. going out through the back door, and down through a lane at the back of the house, i was soon on the street. taking the street-cars--in which aunt gwendolin thinks it is very plebeian to ride--i was soon whirled down in front of the "house of jacob." what a mercy it is, in this curious america, that so many people are plebeian and ride in street-cars that they do not pay any attention to one another. nobody noticed my grandmotherly garb. a woman reporter entered the front door of the synagogue along with me, and i imagined that i was regarded with some deference--grandmother's old skirt and shawl are made of rich material. i followed the reporter around the room in which the classes were held, a few yards in the rear. there they were, a hundred or more little jewish children, red-headed, black-headed, blonde-headed, and jewish women had them arranged in groups, and were teaching them to sew. "these little red-heads are typical russian jews," i heard the director of the ceremonies say to the reporter, "only in this country a few months. _there's_ one that has the marked jewish features," she added, pointing to another type of child. "they are all fond of jewellery--an oriental trait." dear, dear, i only stayed a short time looking at them. they are not much different from others, those people who struck rocks and water gushed out, had manna and quails rained down on them, and walked through a wilderness led by a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night. i have seen hundreds of chinese who looked just as remarkable. i cannot understand why god showed partiality to abraham's children. i went out onto the street again, and wandered on till i came to what i recognized as chinese quarters. there were the laundries of hoy jan, lem tong, lee ling, and the shops and warehouses of moy yen, man hing, and cheng key. the dear names; it did me almost as much good to look at them as it could to make a visit to my own country. as i walked down the quiet street, a wistful oval face looked down on me from a window. a chinese woman's face, and the first i had seen since coming to america. stepping into a little shop near by, a shop containing preserved ginger, curious embroidered screens, little ivory elephants and jade ornaments, i asked who lived in the house where i saw the face at the window, and was informed that it was the home of mr. and mrs. lee yet. it was drawing near dinner time in my grandmother's house; already i had stayed out longer than i had intended: i had no time to investigate further regarding mrs. yet. when i got back to the house i found that my aunt had returned before me, but fortunately had not noticed my absence. when yick walked into the dining room with the steaming plum-pudding for our dinner, aunt gwendolin said: "yick, who was that little old woman i saw coming up our back lane half an hour ago?" "me nevee see no little old womee," returned yick, with a child-like smile. "how stupid those chinese are," said my aunt, when yick had left the room. "i certainly saw an old woman, and there that creature never saw her!" the _creature_ had helped a _young_ woman take off her black bonnet and shawl, and escape up the backstairs half an hour before. i suppose it's "that oriental blood--half witch, and half demon" that's at the bottom of my tantrum of this afternoon. _april th, ----_ mrs. paton has been in to make another sunday visit to grandmother; she is an old friend and privileged to come when she chooses--and as before i had the privilege of hearing her talk. "we are calling ourselves a christian country," she said to grandmother, "and yet we care more for pleasure than for anything else. an actress is paid more money in one month than a preacher of the gospel is paid in a year. does not that show what the people of our country care most for? going over to christianise the heathen forsooth! we are not following christ ourselves! what an example we set them! how can we expect them to think much of our religion when they see it has done so little for _us_? "christianity is despised, and rightly so. it is called cant, and so it is; going around with the bible under its arm, and never obeying its precepts. we want more men overturning the tables of the money-changers, and upsetting the commercialism that is grinding other men down to starvation!" dear grandmother was not argumentative, and gently assented to all her visitor was saying. "when this country is really following christ itself," continued the visitor, "we shall see our wealthy men, instead of using their wealth to build palaces, and to minister to the pride of themselves in a thousand forms, choosing to lead the simple life, with personal expenditure cut down to a minimum, and their ability to minister to others increased to a maximum; in short we will find them following in the footsteps of their lord. man is really the richer as he decreases his wants, and increases his capacity to help." when she rose to leave, at the end of an hour's chat, she said very solemnly to me as she held my hand in a farewell clasp: "my dear, each man and woman is born with an aptitude to do something impossible to any other. _you_ have an aptitude that the world has no match for. it is your aptitude for your own peculiar and immediate duty." oh, how solemn the words look as i write them down. what can my duty be? i wonder when i am going to find out. aunt gwendolin thinks it is to sing spanish songs, i know; she firmly believes that to be my own _peculiar and immediate duty_. grandmother thinks it is to study the bible. and uncle theodore thinks it is to look artistically dressed. i have not come to a conclusion yet as to what i think myself. when i get so terribly lonesome in this america that i cannot stand it any longer, i get betty to steal down my yellow silk out of the box in the attic, the one trimmed with green dragons, and i dress up in it, and put on my head the pretty embroidered band that the chinese women wear instead of the hideous hats of america, and sweep up and down the room like a peacock with a spreading tail, betty going into raptures over my appearance, sometimes laughing hysterically, and sometimes almost in tears, because they have "no such grand clothes in america." if aunt gwendolin hears a noise and comes trailing along the hall, i jump into bed and cover myself up, yellow silk and all, and betty proceeds to bathe my head for a headache--i really have one by that time. how many foreigners they have in this great country, shanghai roosters, turkey hens, persian cats, arabian horses. i wonder do all those foreign creatures feel something calling them back, back to their own country? cousin ned spends most all his time at grandmother's at present. he had his arm broken at a baseball game, and is carrying it in a sling. _april th, ----_ we had the pleasure of professor ballington's company at lunch to-day--uncle theodore had him down in his office on some business, and insisted on his coming home and lunching with him. when he and my uncle walked in unannounced they found grandmother, aunt gwendolin, and me in the sitting-room. the professor shook hands with me in a very friendly manner; he really seemed pleased to see me. oh, it is awfully nice for a girl in a strange land, feeling alone and lonesome, to have some one glad to see her. he had not spoken to me since that morning my uncle introduced me to him, but he has seen me a number of times when i have been out in the carriage with my grandmother and aunt. he seated himself beside me, and we were just beginning to chat pleasantly when my aunt gwendolin said: "you have not heard our little dependency sing, professor ballington?" grandmother's cheeks flushed, and uncle theodore looked embarrassed. "pearl, dear," she added sweetly, addressing me, "give us one of your stirring spanish songs before we go to lunch. you can sing better before lunch than after." in obedience to the request--which i felt to be a command--i went to the piano and sang lightly the only spanish song _i could_ sing. all the hearers seemed pleased with my effort. professor ballington looked calmly at me, but a smile lay behind his blue eyes. what did that smile mean? we immediately sat down to lunch, and i was saved the embarrassment of having to tell that i could only sing _one_ spanish song. i guess aunt gwendolin made sure that no such a dilemma should occur. by some stray remark of uncle theodore's, the conversation at the table turned on what he calls the "asiatic problem." "those dreadful asiatics," interposed aunt gwendolin, "so sly and subtle, they certainly should be shut out. they are a menace to any country." "above all nations is humanity," smilingly returned professor ballington. "especially those inferior people, the chinese," added my aunt. "we can scarcely call the chinese inferior, miss morgan," returned professor ballington. (how i wanted to give him a hug!) "the chinaman despises our day of small things. like the jew he possesses a great national history which dwarfs that of all other nations. the golden era of confucius lies back five hundred years before the coming of christ, and the palmy days of the chan dynasty antedate the period of david and solomon." "oh, yes," said my aunt curtly, "but what has he accomplished in all that time? we regard them as a nation of laundrymen." "and they regard us as a nation of shopkeepers, and express lofty contempt for our greed of gain," said the professor. "the idea!" said my aunt scornfully; "the fact is i always feel inclined to relegate the yellow-skinned denizens of china to the brute kingdom. think of the _dreadful_ things that happen there! life itself is of small account to them!" "one of our own writers," returned the professor, "says, 'life is safer in pekin than in new york.' another writer adds, 'chicago beats china for official dishonesty!'" "it is a nation which for thousands of years has set more store by education than any other nation under the sun," said uncle theodore, "i have been reading up about them lately" (that's because of me) "and it is perfectly astonishing, their high ideals. there are clearly marked gradations in society, and the highest rank is open only to highly educated men. first, the scholar; because mind is superior to wealth. second, the farmer; because the mind cannot act without the body, and the body cannot exist without food and raiment. third, the mechanic; because next to food and raiment shelter is necessary. fourth, the tradesman; men to carry on exchange and barter become a necessity. and last of all the soldier; because his business is to destroy, and not to build up society. how does that compare with our country which makes more of the destroyer than of any other citizen? no man in china can rise to any position of responsibility except by education; money in _this_ country will carry a man into the legislature if he cannot write his own name." "chinese ethics are grand," added the professor. "listen to the teaching of lao teh. 'i would meet good with good, but i would also meet evil with good, confidence with confidence--distrust with confidence. virtue is both good and trustful.'" "there isn't a doubt that they are a wonderful people," returned uncle theodore. "when our ancestors were wandering about in sheep-skins and goat-skins--if in any other skins but their own--china had a civilisation. wrong seems to be not a question of right with us, but of might. we do not attempt to stop people taking chances on the stock exchange; taking such chances is perfectly legal, but taking chances in a lottery is a serious offence. if a chinaman takes chances in a little game which he understands, the morals of the community are endangered, and the poor celestial must be hurried off to jail. we civilised people allow betting at a horse-race, and disallow it in other places. it is only the uninfluential people we send to jail for violation of the law." they talked back and forth in an animated way for some time. i was dying to speak, but did not dare; but i am sure that once in the heat of the argument, professor ballington shot a glance across the table at me which spoke volumes. the same smile was in his eyes that was there when i sang for him my _one_ spanish song. what did he mean? can he guess? does he know that i am not spanish?--that i am the yellow pearl? _may th, ----_ a very important item has appeared in the newspaper to-day--poor lee yet has fallen into trouble; rather, other people are trying to get him into trouble, and his wife, the little oval-faced mrs. yet, has been subpoenaed to appear as a witness in his behalf. that dear little sad woman to have to go to court before all those americans! "she shall _not_ be studied and laughed at as a curiosity. she _shall_ be dressed up like an american woman!" i declared as soon as i read the item. in pursuance of my idea this afternoon, i a second time donned grandmother's garments--lucky that grandmother and i are the same height--and a second time left the house unnoticed by any one except yick. how very much at home i feel in the garments of an elderly gentlewoman! perhaps i am walking around the world the eighteen-year-old reincarnation of some dear, silken-clad old granny who inhabited this sphere hundreds of years ago. i quickly found my way down to the home of mrs. yet, and rapped at the door. it was opened by the little woman herself, who looked even sadder than when i first saw her. i addressed her in chinese and lifting my veil, told her that i had come to make her a visit. she smiled in a pleased way, opened wide the door, and invited me into the house. she had never noticed the discrepancy between my antiquated dress and young face, and was blissfully unconscious that my garments were fifty years (more or less) out of date. on my entrance something small and pink moved behind a wire screen in the corner of the room, and mrs. yet clipclapped across the floor in her chinese sandals, and picked up a little bundle of chinese life, saying: "this my baby. he eighteen month. he sick--get tooth--got one tooth." we talked about the baby, she sometimes speaking in chinese, and sometimes in broken english, until we felt acquainted. then i said: "mrs. yet, i see by the newspaper that you will have to appear in court to give evidence in behalf of your husband. you do not want to go there in chinese dress to be the subject of curiosity, and newspaper remark?" the trouble which had left her face while she was talking about the baby, reappeared, and tears gathered in her almond eyes. it was more than i could stand, and i cried, "don't! don't! mrs. yet--i have come to make things all right--i, your country-woman--speaking your own language. i am going to give myself the pleasure of dressing you like an american woman." she remonstrated politely but i urged so strongly that at last she yielded; and it seemed when she did so as if a great burden had rolled from off her pale little face. immediately i went out to one of the great stores and ordered several costumes for her to "fit on"--i wasn't a child any longer. grandmother's rich old skirt and shawl carried weight a second time (they could not see my face distinctly through the veil), for without hesitation a woman was despatched with the costumes. this woman expert worked over the little mrs. yet, pinching, and pulling, and puckering, after the manner of american dressmakers, until she had her resplendent in a rich maroon-coloured wool costume, which exactly suited her olive skin, and made her almost a beauty. at last the costume was satisfactorily settled and paid for. oh, it is nice to have plenty of money to pay for all one wants. father left me plenty (and although i do not control it until i come of a certain age, i get a liberal monthly instalment). i then went to a milliner's and bought a hat of a shade to harmonise with the costume. it was trimmed with ribbon, and deep, rich, maroon roses, and just looked _too sweet for anything_. "youthful and stylish," as the milliner said. why not? mrs. yet is young, and she has just as good a right to look stylish as any american woman! happy? i should say i am! i never was happier in my life than i am to-night; even if i did steal out in grandmother's old clothes, and am a "sly, subtle oriental." _may th, ----_ the court met to-day, and there has appeared in the evening papers this notice: "a novelty in the shape of a chinese woman witness appeared in the sessions yesterday. mrs. lee yet went into the box in behalf of her husband. her trim little figure was becomingly attired in a dark-red, tailored costume, and a reddish trimmed hat set off to perfection her rich oriental complexion and features, beautiful in their national type. she gave her evidence without an interpreter, and did much toward clearing her husband of the accusations falsely laid against him." oh, isn't it delightful to think that i have been instrumental in bringing all this to a happy issue! i shall carry this newspaper down to mrs. yet's home, and read to her this pleasing paragraph. _may th, ----_ a "windfall," as uncle theodore calls it, has come to the family; grandmother was quite a "well-to-do" woman before, now she is a _rich_ woman. some investments in mines that grandfather made years ago have turned out to be of marvellous value, and the result is that my grandmother, my uncle theodore, my aunt gwendolin have greatly increased in wealth. aunt gwendolin wanted to change the form of our living at once; she would introduce a page and a butler to our household staff. but grandmother said she was accustomed to a quiet life and preferred it. she insists, in spite of my aunt's protests, that a chinese cook, a house-maid, a laundress, a gardener, and that lovely chauffeur ought to be enough to attend to the wants of four people. aunt gwendolin stormed, and said it was so _common_ to live as we did, that the english always kept a butler; but grandmother was firm. another example that mothers in america can rule in the house if they wish. grandmother seemed a good deal concerned about this sudden acquisition of wealth. "an addition of silver to bell-metal does not add to the sweetness of the tone," she said. "i fear an undue proportion of silver impairs more than bells." _may th, ----_ "bulls and bears in a hard struggle over wheat." uncle theodore read the great headline from his evening paper. "wild scenes prevailed to-day at the board of trade," he continued, "when john smith began taking in his profits on wheat. it is estimated that he made a profit of over three hundred thousand in less than half an hour. altogether he has cleared more than five millions on his wheat deal, and that within six months." "dear me! dear me!" cried grandmother, "and people dying for want of bread!" "well," returned uncle theodore, "smith is only a highly sensitive product of our so-called civilisation; the civilisation we are rushing and straining to carry to the quiet, unassuming people whom _we_ call heathen. they have no millionaires, made so at the expense of their brothers. when we teach them all the graft, lynching, homicide, enormities of trusts, railroads, new religions, and quack remedies, we shall have them civilised." "christianity has to blush for christendom," sighed grandmother. i have been asking grandmother since how bulls and bears could struggle over wheat; and she tells me that the strugglers are not four-footed beasts at all, but _men_. i see how it is, bulls and bears are both cantankerous animals, which, if they come in conflict about anything, are sure to have a fight; and men who have given evidence of like natures have been called after those fierce animals. it must be that way. i have asked grandmother whether that is not the way they came by their names, and she said she supposed it must be. _may st, ----_ my poor despised people have fallen upon hard lines. lee yet met with an accident on the street and had to be taken to the hospital where he must remain for weeks, and the day following mrs. yet was stricken down with diphtheria. i was out in the automobile with grandmother and aunt gwendolin and chancing to pass the house of lee yet, i saw the awful word "diphtheria." in black letters on a scarlet ground, tacked to the door. that night when all his day's work was done i gave yick a coin and asked him to go down and learn who was stricken with the disease. he came back with the intelligence that it was poor little mrs. yet, and that there was no one waiting on her. fortunately the next afternoon aunt gwendolin went to "bridge," and again donning grandmother's garments, i slipped out of the house and down to the home of mrs. yet. meeting the doctor at the door, just as he was coming out, i ordered him to engage a nurse. he looked at me in surprise, but i paid in advance for a week's service, so he could do nothing but obey me. opening the door i went into the front room of the little home and found the celestial baby fretting away in its cradle just as any other baby would fret if left to itself. i began to call it all sorts of pet names in chinese, and the little slant-eye cooed and smiled back at me as if he really liked it. a chinese neighbour woman came in and told me that the baby was to be kept in the front room, while its mother was quarantined in a room upstairs. she further informed me that she came in twice a day to feed the baby, and the rest of the time he was alone. "i have it! i have it!" i cried exultingly to my own interior self, "i know now my _aptitude_! i know now what i can do that is impossible to any other; it surely is _impossible_ to any other--in this nation of an hour--to jabber the chinese i can jabber to this eighteen months' old baby! i shall come here and take care of him, while the trained nurse is taking care of the mother upstairs. i'll come for awhile every day anyway, and will pay the chinese woman, who cannot leave her laundry-minding in the daytime, to take care of him at night! he's just as much a dear human baby as any purple-and-fine-linen american baby!" how fortune favoured me that evening! aunt gwendolin announced that she was going in the morning on a month's visit to another city. she was not much more than out the door the following day when i asked grandmother's permission to go where i liked every afternoon of the week. dear grandmother remonstrated a little--for fear i might tire myself too much--or might go where it was not wise to go, etc., etc. but i coaxed, and i won the day. a strange event happened the very first afternoon. just as i had passed through the lane at the rear of the house, who should be standing there at the back gate but the chauffeur, beside the automobile. he knew me despite my grandmotherly garb (as i had commenced going to the house of mrs. yet in grandmother's black shawl, bonnet, and skirt, i thought it better to continue doing so), politely touched his cap, and said if i had far to go it would take him but a few minutes to whirl me there in the automobile. he is very good looking, and a gentleman. uncle theodore says he is a student who is taking this means to earn money further to pursue his medical studies. sometimes uncle theodore familiarly calls him "sawbones." nodding my assent, i entered the car, gave my directions, and soon was down in front of mrs. yet's small house. i lifted the fretting little baby out of his cradle as soon as i entered, washed and dressed him, he kicking and squirming just as i suppose any other baby kicks and squirms. all the fear i had was that he would roll out of my hands, he was such a slippery little eel when his body was wet. where did i learn how to wash and dress a baby? i must have known how by instinct, for i never did it, or saw it done before. the chinese woman who keeps the little oriental at night told me the articles that went next the skin, and i had no trouble guessing about where to put the others. after one or two attempts i did it as well as a mother of twenty babies. every day i am being conveyed down to my duties in the automobile. the chauffeur seemed to divine that i would go out every afternoon (perhaps because aunt gwendolin was away) without my telling him, and is always waiting at the little rear gate in the back street to obey my commands. what a delightful time we are having! "when the cat's away the mice can play!" dear grandmother has never seen me either leave or return to the house, but necessarily yick and betty are both into the secret. "'for ways that are dark and tricks that are vain,' commend me to the chinese." _may d, ----_ a most impressive occurrence has transpired, as mrs. paton would say. just as i was coming out of mrs. yet's house this afternoon who should be passing but professor ballington! i had not yet dropped my black chiffon veil, and glancing down from his great height of six feet, he looked me full in the face. at the same instant he saw the word, "diphtheria," in the great black letters on a scarlet ground, and stopping he exclaimed: "why, miss pearl! this is a surprise! do you know where you are--what risk you are running? diphtheria is contagious--_very_!" "i know," i replied, "but some one has to mind a little chinese baby in there. its father is in the hospital, and its mother is shut in a room upstairs with diphtheria, and there is no one to stay all afternoon with the baby if i do not. he's a chinese baby, and of no account in america," i added. (i came within one of telling him that i was the only one who could call him pet names in the language he could understand; wouldn't aunt gwendolin have taken a fit?) "i just _had_ to come," i pleaded, seeing his look of disapproval. "each man and woman is born with an aptitude to do something impossible to any other, an aptitude that the world has no match for, mrs. paton says; and i have just found out that my aptitude, impossible to any other, is to mind this chinese baby; no one else can _match_ me in this!" he looked less severe, almost kind, and half as if he could scarcely keep from laughing. then he said, "have you disinfectants? they are very necessary." i shook my head, and he said: "come with me to a drug store and i will supply you with a stock." and i, decked in my grandmother's cast-off clothes, walked along the street, and into the "palace drug store" with the elegantly dressed and caned professor. he didn't seem the least ashamed of me; indeed, he was so polite that i forgot for the moment that my dress was anything odd--forgot it until i saw a young man clerk looking at me in an amused way; then i dropped my thick veil. the professor insisted on my taking a certain kind of lozenge to hold in my mouth while i was in the infected house, and ordered quantities and quantities of disinfectants carried there, giving me instruction as to how they should be used. when we were walking back to the house of mrs. yet, the professor remarked that the chinese were a people worth studying. "have you heard any of their poetry, miss pearl?" he questioned. and before i had time to reply--perhaps he thought he had no right to make me give an answer to that question, he is a "great philologist"--he continued: "could anything be more exquisite than those lines to a plum blossom? "'one flower hath in itself the charms of two; draw nearer! and she breaks to wonders new; and you would call her beauty of the rose-- she, too, is folded in a fleece of snows; and you might call her pale--she doth display the blush of dawn beneath the eye of day, the lips of her the wine cup hath caressed, the form of her that from some vision blest starts with the rose of sleep still glowing bright through limbs that ranged the dreamlands of the night; the pencil falters and the song is naught, her beauty, like the sun, dispels my thought.' "a certain collection of chinese lyrics," he continued, "'a lute of jade,' moved a london journal to observe that, the more we look into chinese nature as revealed by this book of songs, the more we are convinced that our fathers were right in speaking of man's brotherhood. here's another to a calycanthus flower: "'robed in pale yellow gown, she leans apart, guarding her secret trust inviolate; with mouth that, scarce unclosed, but faintly breathes. its fragrance, like a tender grief, remains half-told, half-treasured still. see how she drops from delicate stem; while her close petals keep their shy demeanour. think not that the fear of great cold winds can hinder her from bloom, who hides the rarest wonders of the spring to vie with all the flowers of kiang nan.' "this is wang seng-ju's tiny poem," he added, "i presume a great many people in this greatly enlightened america never ascribe any sentiment to the chinaman: "'high o'er the hill the moon barque steers, the lantern lights depart, dead springs are stirring in my heart, and there are tears; but that which makes my grief more deep is that you know not that i weep.'" the moon had appeared in all her full-orbed glory, although it was early twilight, and the professor looked at me so earnestly while quoting those words that i actually believe i blushed. "'there yet is man-- man, the divinest of all things, whose heart hath known the shipwreck of a thousand hopes, who bears a hundred wrinkled tragedies upon the parchment of his brow.' "ou-yang hein penned those lines," he added, raising his hat in adieu. but before we parted i made him promise to write out for me the chinese verses he had quoted; and it is his beautifully written lines i have copied. i am going to learn them off by heart. how i would love to recite them at one of aunt gwendolin's "drawing-rooms!" the professor had gone but a few paces when he returned to inquire what hospital poor lee yet was in, saying that he would go around and see how he was faring. "this is such a very selfish world," he added, as if half to himself, "i sometimes fear those poor foreigners that come to our shores get woefully treated." that was lovely of him! after all, men are brothers under their skin. that was what their great man, christ, taught--that all men are brothers; he did not except the chinese, as some americans want to do. _june th, ----_ almost as soon as mrs. yet was pronounced well, and was allowed to go among people again and before mr. yet had left the hospital, baby yet fell seriously ill--his teeth. he grew worse, and worse. yick told me about it one day in a few concise chinese words, which he snatched an opportunity to drop to me in passing through the dining room. the wily celestial seems to understand, without being told, that no one is to know that he and i can exchange thoughts in our native tongue. that afternoon i stole out again, and went down to the little yet home. it was just as yick had said, the baby was very ill. he lay on his little pallet, white and still, almost unconscious, and his mother stood over him wringing her hands, and shedding bitter tears. "oh, my baby! my baby! he die and leave me! my heart break!" she cried in chinese when she saw me. "precious treasure! precious treasure!" she continued, bending toward the almost inanimate form on the pallet. the latter is the almost universal term of endearment in china, and no american mother ever agonised more bitterly than did that chinese mother over that atom of herself lying before her. i had to do something to comfort her, so i began to tell her about heaven. _i_, who was not sure that i could get to that blessed place myself (stealing out on the sly in a grandmother's clothes is not a very heavenly trick), said that whoever missed it, babies would be there. "will chinese babies be there? they do not want them in america," she asked rapidly and tremblingly in chinese. "certainly," i replied; and at that moment i seemed to have a vision of all the babies of this wide world that had died--black babies, brown babies, yellow babies, red babies (probably the colour of their skin was only the earth garb); i saw the whole throng, for grandmother had read to me from the bible that of such was the kingdom of heaven. "his tooth not bother him there?" she added. "no," i returned, "there shall be no more pain there." "he like it," she continued, almost smiling through her tears. then she grew very, very still, and a glow stole over her yellow face which made it beautiful. i stepped nearer, put my arm around her, and kissed her on the cheek. she looked at me in a startled way, then drawing a tiny handkerchief from her bosom, she carefully wiped the spot on her cheek where my lips had touched. the practice of kissing is unknown in china. on the way home, when but a few yards from the house of mrs. yet, i met professor ballington again, and told him the story about the sick baby. he asked me to go back with him, and take him in to see it, which i did. he looked scrutinisingly at the little hard pallet on which the baby lay; and what did that dear man do but go out to one of the great stores not far away, and buy the prettiest little cot, and the softest and best mattress that could be found in the market, and order them sent home without delay to that little yellow baby. was it the soft mattress that did it? i do not know; but almost immediately the baby seemed to rest easier, and by degrees came back to life and strength. oh, this would be a glorious country to live in!--if the people were all like professor ballington. _june th, ----_ i made my first visit to the theatre. aunt gwendolin said i should not go until i came _out_, but uncle theodore said he would take me himself, and defy all fashions and formalities. "i enjoy seeing the little girl absorbing our civilisation," he said to grandmother; "sometimes i fancy it seems rather uncivilised to her." grandmother demurred a good deal; she said she did not know but i would be quite as well, or better, if i never went near a theatre. but uncle theodore said that was an old-fashioned idea that grandmother held to because of her puritan ancestry; that it was generally conceded now that the theatre is a great educator, the greatest educator of the people extant to-day. "there is going to be a world-renowned actress to-night, a star of first magnitude in the theatrical world," he added, "and i want my niece to have the advantage of hearing her." i dressed my very prettiest for the occasion. uncle theodore always has an eye for the artistic in dress. i donned soft silks, soft ribbons, and soft feathers. it is one of my uncle's ideas that women should be softly clad; he absolutely hates anything hard, stiff, or masculine-looking on a woman. when we entered the theatre the orchestra was playing most ravishing music. i could have stayed there all night and listened to it without tiring, i believe. it must be the american half of me that is the music-lover, for the chinese are not very musical. the boxes were full of wonderfully well-dressed men and women. how beautiful women can look in this great country, dressed in every colour of the rainbow! men are of less account in america; but they looked well enough, too, in black coats and white shirt-bosoms. after awhile the heavenly music stopped, the curtain on the stage rolled up, and the play began. at first it was entrancing, magnificent--the stage-furnishings, gorgeously dressed women, clever-looking men, all acting a part--a lovely world without anything to mar it, right there in that small space of the stage before our eyes. then a woman, the star actress, came in wearing a very décolleté gown (i am getting hardened to them now), and began to talk in a manner i never had imagined people in good society would talk--right before those hundreds of men and women. i'll not write it down; i do not wish to remember it. but the party of women on the stage, instead of being shocked or ashamed, all laughed little, rippling, merry laughs. my cheeks burned, and i did not dare to look at anybody, not even uncle theodore. after that i could not like the theatre any more and drawing away within myself, i looked and listened as if the actors had been hundreds of miles from me. when the play was over and we were on the way home uncle theodore said: "if i had known the nature of the play, i would not have taken you to-night, pearl." "but _i_," i cried, "_i_ am only _one_! there were hundreds of people being _educated_ as well as _i_!" uncle theodore turned and looked at me quickly; then he said coldly: "my dear, you have a great deal yet to learn." when we reached home i went at once upstairs to my room, and uncle theodore retired to his den. neither of us has ever mentioned the subject since. cousin ned is around morning, noon, and night now. he is walking with a crutch, having had his shin kicked at a foot-ball match. _june th, ----_ i went with grandmother to-day on her weekly visit to the "home for incurable children." grandmother goes to carry her presents, and "to cheer up the little folk," she says; i went prompted by curiosity. we were ushered in by a cheery, wholesome-looking maid who knew grandmother, and gave her the freedom of the house. we first entered the ward where the older children were kept, and there grandmother distributed her books and pictures. while she sat to rest i wandered from one cot to another, where white little faces looked up at me, pleasantly answering my questions, or volunteering information. "i am a _new_ patient," one midget said, with a placid air of importance. "i'm goin' to have an _operation_ to-morrow," said another exultingly. "that's one blessed fact about children," said the attending nurse, "they never fret in anticipation. they look forward with positive pride to a new experience--even if it is an operation." in one bright room three boys were playing a game of number-cards, one a hunchback, another with crippled lower limbs, and a third, seated on a long high bench, handling the cards with his toes, his arms and hands being useless. the top part of the foot of the socks belonging to this last lad had been cut off, and he was picking the cards off the table with his bare toes; passing them from foot to foot, and replacing a certain card on the table, quite as expertly as another boy might do it with his fingers. i walked into another room to see the little babies; blind, crooked-limbed, distorted, never going to be able to use their bodies properly. "why does god leave them here?" i demanded of grandmother as soon as we had reached the open air again. "perhaps," said grandmother quietly, "to give us the blessed privilege of acting the god toward them." "christianity means brotherhood, pearl, dear," she added, after we had walked several yards in silence. what a great country this america is! caring for its ailing and crippled in such a beautiful way! "oh, china!" i cried, when i was all alone in my own room, "_you_ would drown your blind, crooked-limbed, distorted babies, or throw them out on the hillsides to die! oh, china! china! would you could come over here and see how america treats her 'weak and wounded, sick and sore?' these are the words of a church hymn." i said something to this effect the same evening to grandmother, and she replied: "perhaps, my dear, it may be the duty of some of us to carry america to china." seaside, _july st, ----_ we are at the seaside. it is the fashion in america for whole families to shut up their houses in hot weather and go off to some summer resort--the women of them--whether to be cool, or to be in the fashion i do not yet know. grandmother wanted to go one place, aunt gwendolin to another, and uncle theodore, who said he might run over for a few sundays, to yet another. at last a charming spot upon the atlantic coast was decided upon. uncle theodore settled the question emphatically, because dear grandmother needed the revivifying influence of the sea air. aunt gwendolin fretted a little at first for fear it might be humdrum, and commonplace, and for fear none of "our set" would be there; but she recovered from her depression when she heard that mrs. delancy, mrs. deforest, mrs. austin, and others of the same clique had also chosen that particular part of the coast as their recuperating place. mrs. delancy dropped in one day to tell her that the whole fashionable tide had turned toward that coast this summer, and she knew we should have a "simply _grand_ season." aunt gwendolin's spirits rose after that, and she immediately went about ordering a most elaborate summer wardrobe--morning gowns, evening gowns, walking suits, yachting suits, bathing suits. uncle theodore went ahead of the rest of the party and engaged a suite of rooms in the most fashionable hotel on the beach, from the broad balconies of which the view of the sea is grand, and the air delicious. grandmother and i spend much time together. as i am not "out" aunt gwendolin says that i cannot attend any of the functions to which she is going daily--and nightly. i do not know what i miss by being obliged to stay away from the parties and balls, but i know it is very delightful wandering on the beach with grandmother, watching the lights, shades, and colours on the water, the dipping and skimming of the water birds, the movements of the lobster fishers, the going out and coming in of the tide, and all the many, many objects of interest around the great sea world; never caring whether i am fashionable or not fashionable, whether anybody is noticing me or not noticing me. the only objects that i do not like to look at on this sea beach are the human bathers. the sea-gulls taking their bath are graceful, but, oh! those grown-up women in skirts up to their knees, and bare arms, wandering over the beach like great ostriches! they mar the picture of beauty which the earth and sky and sea unite to make, and i would shut them up if i had the power--or add more length to their bathing suits. perhaps the sea-gulls would not look graceful either if they had half their feathers off. we were here a week when professor ballington came. we were all a little surprised to see him because he is not a "society man," as aunt gwendolin says. he does not appear to care much for "functions," and spends much time wandering on the beach. grandmother and i meet him frequently. one time when i went out for a little run before breakfast i found him staring at the great green sea that kept restlessly licking the sand at his feet. he looked lonesome, and i tried to say something to cheer him up. then he asked permission to join me in my stroll, and we had a most delightful time, finding shells, and stones, the formations of various periods of time, professor ballington said. he seems to know everything. i do not wonder he cares so little for society, or the company of women in general. strange how much more the men, the cultured men, the society men, of america know than the women! i suppose it is because the women have to spend so much time talking about the change of sleeves. there was a dance one night in the ballroom, which is around at the opposite side of the house from our apartments, and leaving grandmother absorbed in her book, i slipped around on the balcony and peeped through the slats of the closed shutters on the dancers within. all was in a whirl, and there i saw, with my own two eyes, men with their arms around the waists of women, whirling those same women around the great room in time to music played by an orchestra. it made me dizzy to look at them. "wouldn't that shock china!" i cried. "shall _i_ have to submit to that when i come _out_? oh, why cannot i always stay _in_?" i was so excited i did not know i was talking aloud, until the voice of professor ballington over my head said: "you do not like the thought of coming out into society? you would like always to stay in domestic retirement?" "yes, yes," i said; "what can save me from coming _out_?" "marry some good man," he said, "and spend your energies making a quiet, happy home for _him_." he was looking at me in a very peculiar way, and i felt frightened, i don't know why, and skipped along the balcony back to grandmother's sitting-room. when i entered who should be there talking to grandmother but mrs. paton. she said she had felt lonesome without grandmother in the city, and had made up her mind to spend a week at the seaside. "oh, grandmother!" i cried, as soon as i had greeted mrs. paton, "shall i _have_ to come _out_? cannot i always stay _in_?" grandmother clasped my hand in hers, in the old way she had of quieting me, and explained to mrs. paton that i did not incline to the ways of society people, and had a dread of entering the world which aunt gwendolin loved so well. "give your life to some noble cause, my dear," said mrs. paton earnestly, turning her eyes upon me. "the world is in sore need of consecrated women. you could be a foreign missionary, or a home missionary. oh, don't waste your life on the frivolity called society!" this is not professor ballington's advice. which is right? how glad i am that in this "land of the free," i am not compelled to follow any will but my own! _august_ seaside. well, i did get a surprise last evening while out strolling on the beach, for whom should i meet but "sawbones," otherwise chauffeur graham. he is having summer holidays now, and before settling down to some work to make money for his autumn college expenses, he snatched a day to get a whiff of sea air, he said. he seemed very pleased to see me, and i was _delighted_ to see him, and extended my hand to him in cordial greeting. i know aunt gwendolin would object to her niece shaking hands with the chauffeur--it was the medical man i shook hands with. i stayed out there as long as i dared, and we had a lovely stroll along the beach in the moonlight, the waves whispering at our feet as we walked and talked. chauffeur graham said that it always seemed to him that the waves were coming from the many far-off lands with their incessant pleadings that we carry our enlightenment and advantages to the suffering places of the earth. that was the medical man speaking in him. he must be noble or he would never hear those voices in the waves. how i wish it were proper for me to give him some of the money i do not know what to do with, so that he could go on with his studies and not need to work between times to earn a pittance. grandmother says she is going to engage him again in the autumn, when we all return to the city; she knows him now, and feels safe in his hands, he is so careful. "it is such a nuisance to have a man that you cannot command at any hour of the day--or night," said aunt gwendolin. "make him understand, if you engage him again, that all his time belongs to _us_. these gentlemen chauffeurs who are straining after a university education are unendurable!" "he shall have whatever time he wants for his studies or examinations. it is the least i can do to show my sympathy with his life work," returned my grandmother. _another stroll_. i had another stroll this evening on the beach with chauffeur graham--while aunt gwendolin was getting ready for the dance--and he told me something. "when i am through with my medical course," he said, "i intend to go to china to practise what i have learned." i stopped suddenly in my walk and faced him. "why are you going to china?" i demanded. it makes me indignant to have this nation, an infant in years, patronising my hoary-headed empire! "if a man is going to do his duty by the world," he returned, "he will go where his work is most needed. they have no native medical school in china. "they are a great people," he added after a short pause, "likely to be in the van of the world's march in the ages to come; and i want to have a hand in getting them ready. napoleon said, 'when china moves she will move the world.' all the broken legs will be set in this country whether i am here to set them or not; i want to go where they will not be set unless i do it." "go where the vineyard demandeth vinedresser's nurture and care." i repeated the lines which i had heard them sing in the church. "that's about the way it is," he returned, looking at me in pleased surprise. he left this morning on an early train, to go back to the peg and grind, and now the place is slow and lonesome. after all i think it is better to have to peg and grind; it surely must be the spice of life which rich people miss. i do not care how quickly the hot months pass, and we can go back to the city again. _sept. th, ----_ we are all back in the city again, and settled into the old routine; but there is a new excitement in the air. aunt gwendolin insists that i require to go to some fashionable "young ladies' boarding school," to be "_finished_." she says (but not in grandmother's hearing) that i do not talk as i should, that my voice is quite ordinary, and i must learn the tone of society ladies before i can be brought _out_. "you mean the _artificial_ tone?" said uncle theodore, who was present when i was getting my lecture. "call it what you like, theodore," snapped aunt gwendolin, "it is the tone used by an american society woman; the girl talks yet in the natural voice of a child." "would that she could always keep it," returned uncle theodore. after much talking my aunt persuaded my grandmother that i should go to some such school. "my dear," said grandmother timidly, "your aunt seems to think you may gain much by a period spent in some good school. she may be right. it certainly cannot hurt you, and if it can be of any benefit there is nothing to prevent your having it." to comfort dear grandmother i raised no objection, and it is settled that i go in the fall term. the choice of a school was left entirely to aunt gwendolin, and she has decided upon the most expensive and most fashionable one in the country. she has been corresponding with the lady principal; my rooms have been ordered; and everything is complete. one day my aunt placed in my hand one of her monogrammed sheets of writing-paper, pointing to the following paragraph: "it is the family's wish that much attention be given to preparing the young girl whom i am sending to you, for society; heavy or arduous work in any other line is of secondary consideration. the prestige of your school could not fail to be enhanced by the presence of a spanish girl of good family." "i am not a spanish girl, aunt gwendolin!" i said. "i did not say you were," returned my aunt, "i simply said the prestige of her school could not fail to be enhanced by the presence of one." have i got to live up to _that_? boarding school, _october th, ----_ i am here at last, accompanied by two large leather trunks, which aunt gwendolin has filled with all sorts of costumes, for all sorts of occasions. a page opened the door in response to the hackman's ring, when after some hours' journey by rail, i arrived at the fashionable "boarding school," and a maid conducted me up a flight of softly carpeted steps to my appointed rooms. i had not more than taken off my wraps, when madam demill (she has declared that her name should be spelled de mille, but it has become corrupted in this democratic america) the head of the establishment, called upon me. she was cold, hard, stately; a creature of whalebone and steel as to body, and of pompadours and artificial braids as to head. she announced after her first greeting that there was going to be a party that evening, and she wished me to be dressed in evening costume, and appear in the drawing-room at half past eight o'clock. "if you would wear some of your distinctly spanish costumes it would be very _apropos_," she added. "i see you have the decided spanish complexion. i am glad you are pronounced in your nationality; it is so much more interesting. as you did not arrive in time for dinner, a tray shall be brought to your room with sufficient refreshment to keep you in good feature until you partake of the refreshment offered at the party," she added as she swept from the room. how helpless i felt! i was to dress in evening costume for the "party." what was i to put on? for the first time in my life i wished that aunt gwendolin were near me. how i longed for my yellow silk gown that my governess in china had designed with flowing sleeves trimmed with "sprawling dragons!" i knew i looked better in that than in anything else, and i knew how to put it on; no infinitesimal hooks and eyes, pins and buttons, to be found, and put in exact places; which if one fails to do in the american gown the whole thing goes awry. my worry was dispelled by the arrival of the maid with the promised tray. it was not too heavily laden to prevent me from completely emptying it, with the exception of the dishes. while i was eating the maid unpacked my trunks,--you have not got to do much for yourself in a fashionable boarding school--hanging the articles in an adjoining clothes closet. during the same period of time a happy thought occurred to me. "i will call aunt gwendolin over the long distance telephone and ask her what i shall wear at the party to-night!" was the happy inspiration. in response to my request the maid conducted me to the telephone, and when the connection was made, i called: "hello, aunt gwendolin! this is the yellow pearl speaking!" "how does that little minx know that she is the yellow peril?" i heard my aunt say, probably to uncle theodore in the room beside her. then she turned to me and replied: "well." "what gown shall i wear to-night at the party?" back over the two hundred miles of field, forest, lake, came aunt gwendolin's thin, squeaky voice: "wear your cream-coloured oriental lace." "does it fasten in the front or back? if in the back i cannot put it on myself!" i returned, over the fields and trees and waters. "yes, you _can_, get some of the girls to fasten it for you," cried the voice through the phone. "be sure and wear _that_; it so emphasises your spanish style of beau----" i hung up the receiver. at my request the maid helped me to get into the cream oriental lace; and at half past eight i made my appearance in the drawing-room, as to dress, looking like a spanish grande dame, and as to face, looking as yellow, and lonesome, and sour as the fiercest spanish brigand. i was introduced to mr. this-one, and mr. that-one and mr. the-other-one. they all looked alike to me, with high collars, and patent-leather shoes. after awhile there was a little dance, but as i did not know how i had to sit against the wall, and madam demill said i must be put under a dancing master at once. the day following, in the afternoon (all the so-called lessons are gone through in the forenoon, and we have nothing to do but amuse ourselves the rest of the day) a number of the girls came to call on me in my apartments. there were a dozen or more of them present when an arrogant-looking one, with her hair arranged in an immense pompadour over her forehead, from ear to ear, drawled through her nose. "i suppose you do not love americans since we beat your country at the battle of manila?" "no," i said truthfully, "i do not love americans." (of course i mentally excepted grandmother, professor ballington, chauffeur graham--and uncle theodore when he acts nice.) the girls threw their chins into the air, their eyes shot fire, and i heard several faint sniffs. then a slim, golden-haired, blue-eyed girl stepped out from the group, and coming quickly to my side, she put her arm around me and said: "we'll _make_ her love us!" and she actually touched her rosebud lips to my yellow cheek. since that i have not hated americans quite so savagely. the act seemed to have a softening effect on the others, too, for from that time they all have treated me very decently, even the girl with the pompadour. golden hair seems to have a great deal of influence in the school. there are _some_ nice girls in america. _oct. th, ----_ life in this "fashionable boarding school" is just about a repetition, daily, of what transpired the evening of my arrival. it is not worth recording, so i am closing up my diary until i return to grandmother's. it takes yick, and mrs. yet, and chauffeur graham, and professor ballington, and even a pinch of aunt gwendolin to give a little spice to life. _thanksgiving_ i took a run back to grandmother's for what those americans call thanksgiving--it is most amusing to foreigners like me--and yick. on grandmother's table there was what they tell me is the regulation dinner for the day--roast turkey and pumpkin pie. when yick, in his best costume, had walked proudly into the dining room with the immense turkey on a platter, and deposited it on the table, he returned to the kitchen convulsed with laughter, betty has told me since. "christians queer people! christians queer people!" he sputtered merrily. "thank god eat turkey, thank god eat turkey!" i knew what yick meant, the oriental idea of thanking god would have been some act of self-denial. it was hard for the poor "heathen chinee" to construe the american self-indulgence into an act of thanksgiving. poor yick, and poor yellow pearl! how far both of you are from comprehending civilisation. _holidays, dec. th, ----_ i am back again at grandmother's for the holidays. grandmother and uncle theodore seemed so glad to see me that i am beginning to feel quite as if this were home. yick and betty are still here, chauffeur graham still manipulates the automobile. mrs. delancy gave a "little christmas dance," as she calls it, last night, and the description has come out in the morning paper: "the home of mrs. delancy was transformed into a bower of flowers, ferns and softly shaded lights, on the night of her christmas dance. the hall and staircase were decorated with southern smilax entwined with white flowers, and the dressing-rooms with mauve orchids; while in the drawing-room the mantelpiece was banked with richmond roses and maidenhair ferns, and that in the dining room with lily-of-the-valley and single daffodils. passing through the dining room, where an orchestra was stationed behind a screen of bamboo, twined with flowers, the guests entered the japanese tea pavilion, which had been erected for the occasion. the entrance was formed of bamboo trellis work covered with southern smilax, flowers, and innumerable tiny electric lights. the walls were covered with fluted yellow silk, and from the ceiling depended dozens of baskets filled with flowers interspersed with japanese lanterns and parasols. huge bouquets of chrysanthemums were fastened against the wall. the table was exquisitely decorated with enormous baskets of flowers; in the centre was one with large mauve orchids over which was tilted a large pink japanese umbrella, trimmed with violets, while from each basket sprang bamboo wands suspended from which were japanese lanterns filled with lily-of-the-valley and violets, the whole forming the most beautiful scheme of decoration seen this season." how tired i am writing it all! i wonder if any one felt tired looking at it. then followed a description of the ladies' gowns: "the ladies were simply stunning in their smartest gowns, mrs. delancy queening it in an exquisite apple-green satin, with pearls and diamonds; miss morgan (which means my respected aunt), whose sparkling blonde beauty always charms her friends, in maize chiffon, through which sparkled a gold-sequined bodice and underskirt, and mrs. deforest, dark and graceful, in a rich white satin gown. mrs. austin looked extremely handsome in a most becoming orchid gown, with ribbon of the same shade twisted in her dark hair." there was a lot more of the same, but my hand refuses to write it. one would think it was a number of half-grown children the newspaper reporter was trying to please by saying nice things about them. strange that in this america nothing is ever said about what the women _say_ or _do_ at those social functions; nothing seems worth noticing about them but the kind of clothes they have on. the men do not count for anything at all. i wonder was professor ballington there. i wonder did he look at any one with that smile away back in his eyes which was there when he looked at me the time i sang my _one_ spanish song. _december st, ----_ yick has given us a new diversion. aunt gwendolin gave him orders to make a _particularly_ nice layer-cake for an afternoon "tea." yick is quite proud of his cakes, and this day he wished to outdo anything he had previously done, so he made a layer cake, icing it with red and white trimmings. he delights to get a new recipe, or find some new way of decoration. the daily paper, which always in the end finds its way into the kitchen, had evidently attracted his attention. he saw in the advertisement pages a round box with an inscription on top. taking the box for a cake, he decorated his culinary effort in imitation of the picture. aunt gwendolin never saw it until it was carried in to the table, before all the finest ladies of the city, and this was what they all read, in three rows of red letters across the white icing: dodd's kidney pills who says my people are not clever and original? _dec. d, ----_ it is drawing near the festive season in this remarkable land, and there is a great bustle everywhere. some people are concerned about providing luxuries for themselves, and some are concerned about providing for those poorer than themselves. mrs. delancy came in all fagged out from her arduous work of shopping. "i have just been treating myself to a few little christmas presents," she gasped, as she carried a great, fat, pug dog and deposited him on grandmother's best white satin sofa pillow. she called the dog many endearing names, such as "darling," "little baby boy," "sweet one," and "tootsy-wootsy." dogs are thought as much of as babies in america; those are the very same terms of endearment that the women address to their babies. "i had to leave this little darling in a restaurant to be fed and cared for while i did my shopping," she explained. "he _would_ come with me, the pet." she then informed aunt gwendolin that she had been to the milliner's and ordered five hats, and had just completed the purchase of a three thousand dollar jacket at the furrier's. the dog on the pillow whined in the midst of her recital, and she stopped long enough to go over and give him a kiss. she was still enlarging on the beauty of the fur coat, when the housemaid tapped on the door, and ushered mrs. paton into the sitting-room. "i heard that you ladies were here," she said, "and i thought you might like to have the privilege of helping a little in those charities," and she began to unfold some papers which she held in her hand. "oh, my dear mrs. paton, do not ask me to-day, _really_," exclaimed mrs. delancy, holding up her hands. "i am among the poor myself to-day, and you know charity begins at home. i really haven't a cent to give to any one else. i'm stony broke, as the boys say. i have laid out so much money to-day for necessities!" mrs. paton then turned to my aunt and said, "gwendolin, _do_ give something out of the thousands you are expending on self-indulgence to help those who have not the necessities of life!" taking the paper into her hand with an ungracious air, my aunt wrote down a certain amount, and then passed it back. "dear me!" sighed mrs. delancy, as soon as mrs. paton had left the place, "how tired i get of those people with their solicitations for some y. m. c. a., or y. w. c. a., or something else _eternally_. they'd keep a person poor if one paid any heed to them, _really_! some one starving or unclothed every time! it does annoy me so to hear harrowing tales!" _january st, ----_ last night there was a sound of revelry in this great land. at the solemn hour of midnight, when the old year was dying, and the new year was just being born, one class of people in this american city rushed out into the open streets, cheering, blowing horns, ringing bells, and making all possible noises on all sorts of musical instruments. another class celebrated the birth of the new year by eating an elaborate meal. this is what appeared in the morning paper regarding the latter: "one million dollars was spent last night in this city celebrating the birth of another year. more than twenty-five thousand persons engaged tables at from three to ten dollars a plate in the leading hotels and cafés." how fond of eating americans are! this is the first time i have seen the birth of a new year in any but my native land, and my mind goes back to the celebration on a similar occasion in china. it is a solemn event there. for weeks the people are preparing for it; houses are cleaned, and debts are paid, for a chinaman, if he has any self-respect, will be sure to pay his debts before the new year. i told this to uncle theodore a few days ago, and he said, "i wish that americans would rise to that state of grace." nobody goes to bed that night, but all sit up waiting for the first hour of the new year, when the father of the home, his wife and children all worship before the spirit tablets of their ancestors, and then at the shrine of the household gods. then the door is opened, and the whole family with the servants go outside and bow down to a certain part of the heavens, and so worship heaven and earth, and receive the spirit of gladness and good fortune, which they say comes from that quarter. at the same hour, when the old year is dying, china's emperor, as high priest of his people, goes in state to worship. kneeling alone under the silent stars he renders homage to the superior powers. he on his imperial throne makes the third in the great trinity, heaven, earth, and man. should there come a famine or pestilence, upon him rests the blame, and he must by sacrifice and prayer atone for the imperfections of which heaven has seen him guilty. oh, china! i would prefer kneeling with you under the silent stars on new year's eve, to feasting at the groaning tables, or ringing the bells and blowing the horns of this great, civilised, noisy america! _january th, ----_ oh, glorious! grandmother says i need not go back to boarding school for the winter term; she says the family always go south during the cold weather, and she wants me to go with them. wants me, think of it, _wants_ me. isn't it nice to have somebody want one along with her! i believe grandmother really loves me. aunt gwendolin doesn't; she wanted me sent back to school. she said i would never be fit to be brought _out_ with that kind of carrying on. i love those that love me, but as for loving those that _hate_ me, as grandmother had been teaching me from the bible, i haven't come to that yet. that reminds me, i wish aunt gwendolin would stop snapping at yick; i am afraid some day he will kill himself on the doorstep, so his ghost may haunt her the rest of her life. but i think he likes grandmother and the other members of the family sufficiently well to cause him to refrain from that act of chinese revenge. mexico, _february st, ----_ a great migratory movement has taken place in our family--we are now in the warm, sunny country called mexico. aunt gwendolin was the cause of it. she said she was tired of going to florida, that it was so _common_ to go there now, everybody was going there, that the latest thing was to winter in mexico, and she thought we all ought to follow suit. she talked and argued so much about it that she persuaded grandmother and uncle theodore to her way of thinking, and after travelling hundreds of miles in pullman and sleeper cars, here we are in this land of cactus fences, tortillas, great snakes, and parrots; this land where roses and strawberries grow all the year round; where in some parts are luscious tropical fruits, flowers, and palms. mrs. delancy has come along with us, and professor ballington says he may join our party later. there are many americans around us in the various towns--it is so fashionable at present to winter in mexico. uncle theodore takes me out for long walks with him in this land of perpetual summer, and we see many strange and interesting sights. the rich are so _very_ rich, and the poor are so _very_ poor. there is one drawback--we had to leave behind us our automobile. of course we can hire one here, but we can not have our own lovely chauffeur, and grandmother says she is afraid to trust any of those mexicans. i suppose our poor chauffeur is pegging away hard over his medical lore now, while i am lounging around doing nothing. the granddaughter of a millionairess, with money to get anything i want, and yet i am beginning to think there is nothing worth getting. it is lovely to be poor like the chauffeur and have to work hard for something. my life is so small and worthless that i am oppressed with it. one of the sights that interest us the most when we are out in the country are the cactus hedges. there are great palisades of the organ-cactus lining the railways, and there are ragged, loose-jointed varieties used for corralling cattle. great plantations of a species of cactus called maguey with stiff, prickly leaves a dull, bluish-green, are seen in abundance. from this plant the mexicans get not only thread, pins, and needles, but pulque, the juice or sap of the plant, which they ferment and make into a national beverage. pulque is used by the mexicans as whisky is used by americans, and opium by chinamen. great fields of maize are cultivated, of which there are two or three crops a year. the food of the people is tortillas, made out of this maize mashed into a paste and baked into flat cakes. i ate those tortillas when i first came, as a curiosity, a native production, but i am not going to eat any more. while uncle theodore and i were watching a woman making them, great drops of perspiration fell from her brow into the paste. she pounded away, poor tired creature, and paid no heed to the drops. poor women of mexico, they have to work so hard, preparing the paste, and making those little cakes to be eaten hot at every meal! but no more tortillas for me. we visited the old churches which are beautifully decorated with veined marble and alabaster. precious stones seem to grow in this remarkable land. "keep your eyes open, pearl," said my uncle, "and you may pick up some opals, or amethysts. they grow in this country, and i have heard they can be had for the picking." mexico, _february th, ----_ i have made a discovery--i have found out america's princely man! it is abraham lincoln, and this is his birthday! magazines have been coming down from the north telling us all about this princely man, and i have asked grandmother and uncle theodore hundreds of questions, it seems to me, about him. and i can see that they never get tired answering those questions, but seem as if they could talk about him forever. scarcely a political debate occurs, either in congress or in the press of the country, but the possible views or actual example of abraham lincoln are quoted as the strongest argument, uncle theodore says. the magazines find it impossible to publish too much about him. mention of his name in an incidental fashion from a stage or forum draws a burst of cheering; or if the reference is of a humorous nature the laughter is close to tears. "with love and reverence his memory is cherished by the american people as is the memory of no other man," said dear grandmother. "quoting a 'decoration day' orator," she added, "'he was called to go by the sorrowful way, bearing the awful burden of his people's woe, the cry of the uncomforted in his ears, the bitterness of their passion on his heart. misunderstood, misjudged, he was the most solitary of men. he had to tread the wine-press alone, and of the people none went with him. but he turned not back. he never faltered. as one upheld, sustained by the unseen hand, he set his face steadfastly, undaunted, unafraid, until in death's black minute he paid glad life's arrears: the slaves free! himself immortal!'" yes, it is quite certain that abraham lincoln is america's princely man! _i_ would like to make something happen in the world that would be talked about after i am dead. grandmother says that it is only something that one does for the _good_ of the world that is remembered after he is dead. "if a man has money, people will lionize him as long as he is living for the sake of it," she says, "but money counts for nothing when a man is dead." "money!" said uncle theodore, who had been listening to our talk. "i doubt whether abe ever owned enough to buy a farm." _february th, ----_ one comfort, i am not bothered much with aunt gwendolin--she has become acquainted with a french nobleman, count de pensier, and he is attracting all her attention, thanks be to goodness! mrs. delancy is delighted, and is doing all she can to further the acquaintance. "it is not every day that one has the privilege of associating daily and hourly with one of the _titled aristocracy_ of the old world," she has said several times in my hearing. when we first arrived aunt gwendolin saw some of the spanish ladies wearing mantillas on their heads, and she immediately bought one for me. "there!" she said when i put it on, "isn't that simply perfect? doesn't that make her spanish through and through?" she says that when i become a thorough spanish-american she is going to give a "coming out party" for me. the scarf is really quite becoming. uncle theodore admired it, or admired me with it on, so i wear it wound around my head when i go on my rambles through the country with him. i really much prefer it to the bristling hats of the american women, and it is quite pleasant to be called "señorita," and to be thought spanish. these long head scarfs are also worn by the poor women, but theirs are made of cotton. on the street they carry their babies strapped to their backs with it, the little heads and legs bobbing up and down until one would think they might snap off. sometimes the scarf ties the baby to the mother's bosom, thus leaving her hands free for other work. "our american sensibilities" (quoting aunt gwendolin) "are sometimes shocked by mexican doings." one day we saw a procession headed by the father carrying a tiny coffin on his head. behind him walked the mother dragging by the hand a little bare-foot girl, of two or three; and behind them again trotted a dog. the father was drunk, and staggered as he walked. as we watched the little procession on the way to the graveyard they passed in front of a saloon where they sold pulque. the father wanted another drink, so he started to enter the saloon taking the little coffin under his arm. he stumbled on the threshold, and the little pine box fell out of his hands down onto the flag-stones, the cover coming off. and we saw a little dead baby within the coffin, with a crown of gilt paper on its head, and a cross of gilt paper on its brow. in its little hands were a bunch of flowers. the man laughed awkwardly, put the lid on the coffin and placed it on his head again, proceeding toward the graveyard without his drink, followed by the mother, the girl, and the dog. "why do not the american missionaries who are crossing oceans to find heathen, look for them at their own doorstep?" said uncle theodore afterwards, when he was telling the story to grandmother. "sure enough," returned grandmother, "it does look as if the unenlightened of its own continent is america's first duty." aunt gwendolin is having moonlight walks and talks innumerable with count de pensier--and--oh, i am having liberty! _february st, ----_ we have had some unusual excitement lately--a bull and tiger fight. the day following, the description came out in a morning paper: "a fight between a tiagua bull and a bengal tiger in the bull ring this afternoon was most ferocious, and will result in the death of both animals. the sickening spectacle was witnessed by , people, largely americans, and many of them tourists, who stopped over here especially to witness the barbaric spectacle. after three bulls had been despatched in the regulation manner, the star performance was pulled off. the two animals, enclosed in an iron cage, about thirty feet square, were brought together, and the battle between the enraged brutes commenced. the bull was first taken into the enclosure and given the usual bull fight tortures to arouse his ire, and then the iron cage containing the tiger was wheeled up to the entrance; but the tiger refused to get out and open the battle, and the bull attempted to get into the small cage and get at his adversary. the bull was badly scratched about the face. finally the tiger came from his cage, and the bull gored the cat with a long, sharp horn as he emerged. with a screech of pain, the cat, with a powerful lunge, broke the bull's right leg, and then the two animals went into the fight for their lives. the tiger was able to spring out of the way of the bull in a number of instances, but when the big, heavy animal caught his adversary it went hard with the tiger. the bull stepped upon the tiger in one instance and there was a crunching of ribs audible in the seats of the amphitheatre. "the bull disabled the tiger in the back, and after that the fighting was tame, and the americans cried for pity, while the mexicans cheered and wanted the performance to continue." mrs. delancy, and aunt gwendolin, along with uncle theodore and count de pensier, attended the fight. grandmother would not go, and i stayed with her. "a _christian lady_ going to a bull fight," i said to grandmother under my breath. "yes, my dear," returned grandmother looking really pale, "it shocks me quite as much as _you_. it was not so when i was young. american women of the present day must see everything. it is deplorable!" when the scene was the most harrowing, and the americans were calling for the fight to be stopped, aunt gwendolin, and i believe several other american women, fainted, and had to be carried out. "dear me, dear me," said grandmother again, when she heard the harrowing details. "that is just the way with americans of the present day; they must see everything. it was not so when i was young." who should walk into our presence at that very moment but professor ballington. he had heard grandmother's remark, without knowing the cause for her words, and as he was shaking hands with us he said: "you believe the poet watson diagnosed uncle sam's case when he said: "'but when fate was at thy making, and endowed thy soul with many gifts and costly, she forgot to mix with those a genius for repose; and therefore a sting is ever in thy blood, and in thy marrow a sublime unrest.'" "it was not so when i was young," said grandmother. "how can we lay the shortcoming at the door of fate?" "chinese women would never attend a bull and tiger fight, grandmother," i whispered into her ear when the professor was looking the other way, "nor chinese gentlemen." "i hope not, my dear," is all the reply dear grandmother made. professor ballington only stayed with us a day or two; he was just on a tour, he said, and had to cover a certain amount of space within a certain period of time. grandmother and i were very desirous that he should remain longer; but i really believe aunt gwendolin felt relieved when he was gone. she did not appear to feel comfortable with his comprehending eyes upon her when she was entertaining count de pensier. _february th, ----_ the count has proposed to my aunt gwendolin, and she has accepted him. grandmother is in tears ever since, and uncle theodore is furious. i heard the latter talking to my grandmother--in his excitement he seemed to forget my presence--and he said: "that frenchman is just a fortune-hunter, one of those penniless, titled gentry that swarm in europe. he wants gwendolin's money to regild a tarnished title, and gwendolin wants the title! he has found out from arabella delancy the size of gwendolin's fortune, in possession and in prospective, and he has offered his title in exchange for it! that's the size of the whole affair!" "that's what grieves me most," said grandmother, with quivering lips; "it is not holy matrimony." "i look for a divorce within five years!" continued my uncle. "i had always hoped that gwendolin and professor ballington would make up some time," added grandmother. "oh, gwendolin would never suit ballington," returned uncle theodore. "your granddaughter--the little celestial--is the making of a woman much more to his taste--" he looked up suddenly, and seemed to remember for the first time that i was in the room. i, sly, subtle oriental that i am, worked away on my shadow embroidery and never by the wink of an eyelid, or the movement of a muscle showed that i heard a word. _april th, ----_ we are home again, and all is bustle and confusion--aunt gwendolin is going to be married. she pays no attention to me now at all; and you know, dear diary, how that grieves me. dressmakers, milliners, caterers, florists, decorators, throng the house. count de pensier is staying in a hotel downtown. he calls every forenoon, and every afternoon; and declares, with his hand on his heart, that he cannot return to his own country without his bride. cousin ned has asked me to marry him. he is down in his luck, and blue--missed in his examinations--and he says he believes he might settle down and do something if he were only married. he says the relationship is so far out that there is nothing to hinder him and me from being married. get married, indeed! there's nothing farther from my thoughts. _may th, ----_ well the fuss and flurry are all over--they are married, aunt gwendolin and count de pensier. i cannot do better than copy a paragraph out of the newspaper to describe the doings: "the church was beautifully decorated with azaleas, palms, orchids; tall white wands supporting sheaves of palms stood at each aisle. the walls of the church were festooned with green wreathing. the bride was given away by her brother, theodore morgan, esq. she looked exceedingly handsome in an exquisite gown of heavy, ivory-white satin, with panel of filet lace, seeded with pearls. the long train was trimmed with lace and pearl seeding. with this was worn a costly lace veil, caught to her titian hair with a chaplet of orange blossoms, and she carried a shower bouquet of bridal roses. "the six bridesmaids were gowned in ivory taffeta silk, wearing picture hats; and each carried an immense bouquet of bride's-maid's roses." as is usual at american functions, the men did not seem to be of enough importance to mention anything more than their bare names. it all took place in _christ's_ church. was he there? grandmother says he is back in this world now in spirit. what did he think of it all? "grandmother," i said when it was all over--the church display, the reception, the eating and drinking, the dressing--"if i am ever married let it be in china." "my dear child," said grandmother in alarm, "why do you make such a wild request as that?" "seated at a table the bride is offered a tiny cup of wine," i replied, "of which she takes a sip, while the bridegroom in a seat opposite her also sips from a similar cup of wine. the cups are then exchanged, and again tasted, and the marriage service is completed. they have time to think about each other, instead of thinking of what a grand show they are making for the world." grandmother looked at me in silence a few moments, then she said: "your grandfather and i were married quietly in our own little home parlour. i was dressed in white muslin, and your grandfather in corduroy. we were thinking more about each other than anything else, my dear." the bride and groom, count and countess de pensier, started at once for the ancestral home in sunny france, i suppose to begin regilding the tarnished title uncle theodore spoke about. oh, be joyful! i shall not have to go to the "fashionable boarding school" any more! i shall not have to appear at a "coming out party!" i shall never come _out_ now; i shall always stay _in_! grandmother says i may stay in if i want to, and i _do_ want to. i shall never have to steal out the back door in grandmother's clothes any more, sing any more foreign songs, or pretend i am spanish! it is lovely to be able to act the truth! "it is an ill wind that blows nobody good." (this last is one of grandmother's familiar sayings.) cousin ned has lost one of his eyes! got it knocked out at the last "play." _may th, ----_ i have made a most astounding discovery. walking down the street yesterday i saw a great placard on a wall announcing a lecture; subject, "_the yellow peril_." what did it mean? i thought _i_ was the yellow pearl, and that nobody outside of the family knew it. but this was spelled p-e-r-i-l instead of p-e-a-r-l. what could it mean? i could go no farther, but returned at once to question grandmother. "grandmother!" i cried, entering her room, "what is the yellow peril?" dear grandmother's cheeks flushed, and she said, "my dear child, why bother yourself about that?" "why, grandmother, i thought when i overheard aunt gwendolin talk, that _i_ was the yellow pearl; she called me such the first day i came," i said. "but on the placard it is spelled p-e-r-i-l. what does it mean?" "i am sorry you saw it," said grandmother hesitatingly. "there is too much being said on that subject by a certain class of people--it is the _world_ god loves," she added as if talking to herself, "not the united states, great britain, germany; the yellow people are just as dear to god as we are. the gentle christ looked widely over the world, shed tears for it, shed blood for it." "what does the yellow peril mean, grandmother?" i repeated anxiously. "the mongolian races are more yellow than the caucasian races," said grandmother, when forced to answer. "they are also more numerous, and some people fear that if we allow them in the country they may get the upper hand, and become a menace to our people. do not think any more about it, pearl. our dear late phillips brooks," she added after a short pause, "said, 'no nation, as no man, has a right to take possession of a choice bit of god's earth, to exclude the foreigner from its territory, that it may live more comfortably and be a little more at peace. but if this particular nation has been given the development of a certain part of god's earth for universal purposes, if the world in the great march of centuries is going to be richer for the development of a certain national character, built up by a larger type of manhood here, then for the world's sake, for the sake of every nation that would pour in upon it that which would disturb that development, we have a right to stand guard over it.'" this was a long speech for dear grandmother, who is not given to speechifying, and i know the subject must have given her serious thought, or she would never have remembered it. "is america being built up by a larger type of manhood, grandmother?" i asked. "oh, my dear, i do not know, i do not know," returned grandmother. i stopped talking to grandmother, because she looked worried, but i could not stop _thinking_, i am both the yellow pearl, and the yellow peril! why am i here? what were four hundred millions of us born into the world for? is yellow badness any worse than white badness? _june th, ----_ what a heavenly time we are having, grandmother, uncle theodore, and myself, living our nice, quiet lives without distraction! sometimes we have professor ballington in to dinner, then he drops in evenings quite often when he is not formally invited. other old friends come too, enough to break the monotony. chauffeur graham was obliged to leave grandmother's employ some time ago; indeed he has never come back since we returned from mexico. he says it is his last term in the medical college, and he has to give all the time to his studies. it would be nicer if he were around. i do not seem to care about going out in the automobile now at all.--how is one to know whether this new chauffeur may not run the automobile into a telegraph pole, or something, and kill us all? _june th, ----_ chauffeur graham has graduated. he is now doctor graham. isn't that lovely! just like a story book! uncle theodore and i went up to see him take his degree. my! wasn't he fine looking! tall, beautiful figure, and, as i said before, a handsome face. uncle theodore is quite interested in him, as well as grandmother. on the evening of the day on which he received his degree, he overtook me as i was walking through the park, and told me that he had noticed me in the audience. he says he is going to put in a year's practice in the hospital before going to china. i was glad to hear that; it would seem rather lonesome in this big america without him, i really believe. poor cousin ned is standing behind a counter downtown, selling tacks and shingle nails. he had to give up his studies on account of his eyes--the one eye could not stand the strain. unluckily about that time his father lost his money in some speculation, and there was nothing for it but poor ned must go to work. _another june._ i have been so happy, and life has been so satisfactory that i have not written in my diary for many months. i believe it is only when one's heart is so sorrowful and distracted that it must overflow somewhere, that one pours it into a diary. i have so much to say now that i scarcely know where to begin. well, to begin at the beginning, one night uncle theodore asked doctor graham to dinner, along with professor ballington, and another gentleman. after that doctor graham began to call quite frequently evenings--he seemed to enjoy grandmother's company so much, and i am sure she enjoyed his. well--oh, i never can tell how it all came about, but i have promised to go to china with dr. graham, to help him learn the chinese language. it is an _awful_ language for a foreigner to learn, and i just could not bear the thought of the poor fellow having to wrestle with it alone. it was one evening we were alone in the drawing-room, grandmother having been unable to appear owing to a headache, that we came to the final arrangement. but suddenly i thought of something that was going to upset it all, i believed,--he didn't know who i was! "oh!" i cried, "i cannot go with you--you will not want me--you do not know--that--i--am the yellow peril!" he smiled down at me, and raised my chin in the palm of his left hand--for he had not let me go from his right, although i had tried to get away--and said, "i expect to be very proud of my yellow pearl." now i am receiving congratulations which are making me feel very happy and proud, with the exception of professor ballington's. i cannot help feeling sorry for that poor old bachelor. he came up to me and said: "my dear miss pearl, i had been vain enough to hope once that i might sometime call this pearl mine, but if i cannot do so, i do not know of any one that i would sooner see claim it than doctor graham. and so i say, god bless you! god bless you! you shall always have the love of an old bachelor. and in this world, obsessed with fever and noise, with the sham and superficial, may you always remain the genuine pearl you are." there were tears in his voice. why must every rose have a thorn? we are going to china, doctor graham and i, my native land; the land of flashing poppy-blossoms, red azaleas, purple wistarias, blue larkspur, yellow jasmine, oleanders, begonias, and flowering bamboos--the flowery kingdom. dr. graham is going to establish a hospital, to set broken legs and bind up broken heads; and i am going to try and prevent any more of those little chinese babies from being thrown out on the hillsides to die. grandmother says if we go to china it ought to be to tell the confucionists and buddhists about the great christ. but i believe if he went there himself he would be mending broken legs, binding up broken heads and hearts, and saving the little babies from being thrown out on the hillsides to die. dear grandmother is a standing proof to me that the christ means much more to the world than china's confucius or buddha. one day when she was seated in her rocking-chair i threw my arm around her and told her so. the dear old lady never seemed to accept my words as a personal compliment at all, but began, as once before, to sing in a low, quavering voice: "let every kindred every tribe on this terrestrial ball, to him all majesty ascribe, and crown him lord of all." the heritage of unrest [illustration: logo] the heritage of unrest by gwendolen overton new york the macmillan company london: macmillan & co., ltd. _all rights reserved_ copyright, , by the macmillan company. set up and electrotyped february, . reprinted april, twice, ; june, . norwood press j. s. cushing & co.--berwick & smith norwood mass. u.s.a. the heritage of unrest it is one thing to be sacrificed to a cause, even if it is only by filling up the ditch that others may cross to victory; it is quite another to be sacrificed in a cause, to die unavailingly without profit or glory of any kind, to be even an obstacle thrown across the way. and that was the end which looked cabot in the face. he stood and considered his horse where it lay in the white dust, with its bloodshot eyes turned up to a sky that burned like a great blue flame. its tongue, all black and swollen, hung out upon the sand, its flanks were sunken, and its forelegs limp. cabot was not an unmerciful man, but if he had had his sabre just then, he would have dug and turned it in the useless carcass. he was beside himself with fear; fear of the death which had come to the cow and the calf whose chalk-white skeletons were at his feet, of the flat desert and the low bare hills, miles upon miles away, rising a little above the level, tawny and dry, giving no hope of shelter or streams or shade. he had foreseen it all when the horse had stumbled in a snake hole, had limped and struggled a few yards farther, and then, as he slipped to the ground, had stood quite still, swaying from side to side, with its legs wide apart, until it fell. he gritted his teeth so that the veins stood out on his temples, and, going closer, jerked at the bridle and kicked at its belly with the toe of his heavy boot, until the glassy eye lighted with keener pain. the column halted, and the lieutenant in command rode back. he, too, looked down at the horse, pulling at his mustache with one gauntleted hand. he had played with cabot when they had been children together, in that green land of peace and plenty which they called the east. they had been schoolmates, and they had the same class sympathies even now, though the barrier of rank was between them, and the dismounted man was a private in landor's own troop. landor liked the private for the sake of the old times and for the memory of a youth which had held a better promise for both than manhood had fulfilled. "done up,--is it?" he said thoughtfully. his voice was hard because he realized the full ugliness of it. he had seen the thing happen once before. cabot did not answer. the gasping horse on the sand, moving its neck in a weak attempt to get up, was answer enough. he stood with his hands hanging helplessly, looking at it in wrath and desperation. landor took stock of the others. there had been five led horses twenty-four hours before, when they had started on a hot trail after the chief cochise. but they had taken the places of five others that had dropped in their tracks to feed the vultures that followed always, flying above in the quivering blue. they were a sorry lot, the two score that remained. in the spring of ' , when the handful of frontier troops was pressed with enemies red and brown and white, the cavalry was not well mounted. landor saw that his own horse was the best; and it bid very fair to play out soon enough. but until it should do so, his course was plain. he gathered his reins in his hands. "you can mount behind me, cabot," he said. the man shook his head. it was bad enough that he had come down himself without bringing others down too. he tried to say so, but time was too good a thing to be wasted in argument, where an order would serve. there was a water hole to be reached somewhere to the southwest, over beyond the soft, dun hills, and it had to be reached soon. minutes spelled death under that white hot sun. landor changed from the friend to the officer, and cabot threw himself across the narrow haunches that gave weakly under his weight. it went well enough for a time, and the hills seemed coming a little nearer, to be rougher on the surface. then the double-loaded horse fagged. cabot felt that it did, and grasped hard on the burning cantle as he made his resolve. when landor used his spurs for the first time, he loosed his hold and dropped to the ground. landor drew rein and turned upon him with oaths and a purpled face. "what the devil are you trying to do now?" he said. cabot told him that he was preparing to remain where he was. his voice was firm and his lips were set under the sun-bleached yellow of his beard, but his face was gray, for all the tan. he lapsed into the speech of other days. "no use, jack," he said; "it's worse than court-martial--what i've got to face here. just leave me some water and rations, and you go on." landor tried another way then, and leaned from his saddle in his earnestness. he put it in the light of a favor to himself. but cabot's refusal was unanswerable. it was better one than two, he said, and no horse in the command could carry double. "i will try to reach the water hole. leave a man there for me with a horse. if i don't--" he forced a laugh as he looked up at the buzzard which was dropping closer down above him. "you could take turns riding behind the men." "no," cabot told him, "i couldn't--not without delaying you. the trail's too hot for that. if you'll put a fourth and last bullet into cochise, the loss of a little thing like me won't matter much." he stopped short, and his chin dropped, weakly, undecided. "jack," he said, going up and running his hand in and out underneath the girths. he spoke almost too low to be heard, and the men who were nearest rode a few feet away. "jack, will you do something for me? will you--that is--there is a fellow named mcdonald up at the mescalero agency. he's got a little four-year-old girl he's taking care of." he hurried along, looking away from landor's puzzled face. "she's the daughter of a half-breed mescalero woman, who was killed by the mexicans. if i don't come out of all this, will you get her? tell mcdonald i told you to. i'm her father." he raised his eyes now, and they were appealing. "it's an awful lot to ask of you, jack, even for old sake's sake. i know that. but the little thing is almost white, and i cared for her mother--in a way. i can't let her go back to the tribe." his lips quivered and he bit at them nervously. "i kept meaning to get her away somehow." there was a sort of pity on landor's face, pity and half contempt. he had heard that from cabot so often for so many years, "i kept meaning to do this thing or the other, somehow, some day." "but it looks as though you might have to do it now. will you, lieutenant?" he tugged at the cinchings while he waited. landor was without impulses; the very reverse from boyhood of the man on the ground beside him, which was why, perhaps, it had come to be as it was now. he considered before he replied. but having considered, he answered that he would, and that he would do his best for the child always. once he had said it, he might be trusted beyond the shadow of a doubt. "thank you," said cabot, and drew his hand from the girths. he cut landor short when he tried to change him again. "you are losing time," he told him, "and if you stay here from now to next week it won't do any good. i'll foot it to the water hole, if i can. otherwise--" the feeble laugh once more as his eyes shifted to where a big, gray prairie wolf was going across the flat, stopping now and then to watch them, then swinging on again. they came around him and offered him their horses, dismounting even, and forcing the reins into his hands. "you don't know what you are doing," a corporal urged. "you'll never get out alive. if it ain't indians, it'll be thirst." then he looked into cabot's face and saw that he did know, that he knew very well. and so they left him at last, with more of the tepid alkali water than they well could spare from their canteens, with two days' rations and an extra cartridge belt, and trotted on once more across the plain. he stood quite still and erect, looking after them, a dead light of renunciation of life and hope in his eyes. they came in search of him two days later and scoured the valley and the hills. but the last they ever saw of him was then, following them, a tiny speck upon the desert, making southwest in the direction of the water hole. the big wolf had stopped again, and turned about, coming slowly after him, and two buzzards circled above him, casting down on his path the flitting shadows of their wings. i there was trouble at the san carlos agency, which was in no wise unusual in itself, but was upon this occasion more than ever discouraging. there had been a prospect of lasting peace, the noble red-man was settling down in his filthy rancheria to become a good citizen, because he was tagged with little metal numbers, and was watched unceasingly, and forbidden the manufacture of tizwin, or the raising of the dead with dances, and was told that an appreciative government was prepared to help him if he would only help himself. then some bull-teams going to camp apache had stopped over night at the agency. the teamsters had sold the bucks whiskey, and the bucks had grown very drunk. the representatives of the two tribes which were hereditary enemies, and which the special agent of an all-wise interior department had, nevertheless, shut up within the confines of the same reservation, therewith fell upon and slew each other, and the survivors went upon the warpath--metal tags and all. so the troops had been called out, and landor's was at san carlos. landor himself sat in his tent, upon his mess-chest, and by the light of a candle wrote a despatch which was to go by courier the next morning. gila valley mosquitoes were singing around his head, a knot of chattering squaws and naked children were peering into his tent, the air was oven-hot, coyotes were filling the night with their weird bark, and a papoose was bawling somewhere close by. yet he would have been sufficiently content could he have been let alone--the one plea of the body military from all time. it was not to be. the declared and standing foes of that body pushed their way through the squaws and children. he knew them already. they were stone of the tucson press, sent down to investigate and report, and barnwell, an agency high official, who would gladly assist the misrepresentations, so far as in his power lay. landor knew that they were come to hear what he might have to say about it, and he had decided to say, for once, just what he thought, which is almost invariably unwise, and in this particular case proved exceedingly so, as any one could have foretold. on the principle that a properly conducted fist fight is opened by civilities, however, he mixed three toddies in as many tin coffee cups. they said "how," and drank. after which stone asked what the military were going to do about certain things which he specified, and implied the inability of the military to do anything for any one. landor smiled indolently and said "quien sabe?" stone wished to be told if any one ever did know and suggested, acridly, that if the by-word of the mexican were poco-tiempo, that of the troops was certainly quien-sabe? between the two the citizen got small satisfaction. "i don't know," objected landor; "you get the satisfaction of beginning the row pretty generally--as you did this time--and of saying what you think about us in unmistakable language after we have tried to put things straight for you." stone considered his dignity as a representative of the press, and decided that he would not be treated with levity. he would resent the attitude of the soldiery; but in his resentment he passed the bounds of courtesy altogether, forgetting whose toddy he had just drunk, and beneath whose tent pole he was seated. he said rude things about the military,--that it was pampered and inefficient and gold laced, and that it thought its mission upon earth fulfilled when it sat back and drew princely pay. landor recalled the twenty years of all winter campaigns, dry camps, forced marches, short rations, and long vigils and other annoyances that are not put down in the tactics, and smiled again, with a deep cynicism. barnwell sat silent. he sympathized with stone because his interests lay that way, but he was somewhat unfortunately placed between the military devil and the political deep sea. stone was something of a power in tucson politics, and altogether a great man upon the territorial stump. he was proud of his oratory, and launched into a display of it now, painting luridly the wrongs of the citizen, who, it appeared, was a defenceless, honest, law-abiding child of peace, yet passed his days in seeing his children slaughtered, his wife tortured, his ranches laid waste, and himself shot down and scalped. landor tried to interpose a suggestion that though the whole effect was undoubtedly good and calculated to melt a heart of iron, the rhetoric was muddled; but the reporter swept on; so he clasped his hands behind his head and leaning back against a tent pole, yawned openly. stone came to an end at length, and had to mop his head with a very much bordered handkerchief. the temperature was a little high for so much effort. he met landor's glance challengingly. "well done!" the officer commended. "but considering how it has heated you, you ought to have saved it for some one upon whom it would have had its effect--some one who wasn't round at the time of the aravaypa cañon business, for instance." the agency man thought a question would not commit him. he had not been round at that time, and he asked for information. the lieutenant gave it to him. "it was a little spree they had here in ' . some tucson citizens and papago indians and greasers undertook to avenge their wrongs and show the troops how it ought to be done. so they went to aravaypa cañon, where a lot of peaceable indians were cutting hay, and surprised them one day at sunrise, and killed a hundred and twenty-five of them--mostly women and children." the reporter interposed that it was the act of men maddened by grief and their losses. "i dare say," landor agreed; "it is certainly more charitable to suppose that men who hacked up the bodies of babies, and abused women, and made away with every sort of loot, from a blanket to a string of beads, were mad. it was creditably thorough for madmen, though. and it was the starting-point of all the trouble that it took crook two years to straighten out." stone held that the affair had been grossly exaggerated, and that the proof thereof lay in the acquittal of all accused of the crime, by a jury of their peers; and landor said that the sooner that highly discreditable travesty on justice was forgotten, the better for the good fame of the territory. the press representative waxed eloquent once more, until his neck grew violet with suppressed wrath, which sputtered out now and then in profanity. the officer met his finest flights with cold ridicule, and the agency man improved the opportunity by pouring himself a drink from the flask on the cot. in little it was the reproduction of the whole situation on the frontier--and the politician profited. in those days some strange things happened at agencies. toilet sets were furnished to the apache, who has about as much use for toilet sets as the greenlander has for cotton prints, and who would probably have used them for targets if he had ever gotten them--which he did not. upon the table of a certain agent (and he was an honest man, let it be noted, for the thing was rare) there lay for some time a large rock, which he had labelled with delicate humor "sample of sugar furnished to this agency under--" but the name doesn't matter now. it was close on a quarter of a century ago, and no doubt it is all changed since then. by the same working out, a schoolhouse built of sun-baked mud, to serve as a temple of learning for the red-man, cost the government forty thousand dollars. the apache children who sat within it could have acquired another of the valuable lessons of ojo-blanco from the contractors. beef was furnished the indians on the hoof and calculated by the pound, and the weight of some of those long-horn steers, once they got upon the agency scales, would have done credit to a mastodon. by this method the indian got the number of pounds of meat he was entitled to _per capita_, and there was some left over that the agent might dispose of to his friends. as for the heavy-weight steers, when the apache received them, he tortured them to death with his customary ingenuity. it made the meat tender; and he was an epicure in his way. the situation in the territory, whichever way you looked at it, was not hopeful. when the moon rose, barnwell and stone went away and left landor again with the peeping squaws and the wailing papooses, the mosquitoes and the legacy of their enduring enmity,--an enmity not to be lightly despised, for it could be as annoying and far more serious than the stings of the river-bottom mosquitoes. as they walked across the gleaming dust, their bodies throwing long black shadows, two naked indian boys followed them, creeping forward unperceived, dropping on the ground now and then, and wriggling along like snakes. they were practising for the future. ii in the ' 's the frontier was a fact and not a memory, and a woman in the far west was a blessing sent direct from heaven, or from the east, which was much the same thing. lieutenants besought the wives of their brother officers to bring out their sisters and cousins and even aunts, and very weird specimens of the sex sometimes resulted. but even these could reign as queens, dance, ride, flirt to their hearts' content--also marry, which is not always the corollary in these days. the outbreak of a reservation full of indians was a small thing in comparison with the excitement occasioned by the expectation of a girl in the post. there was now at grant the prospect of a girl, and for days ahead the bachelors had planned about her. she was landor's ward,--it was news to them that he had a ward, for he was not given to confidences,--and she was going to visit the wife of his captain, mrs. campbell. when they asked questions, landor said she was eighteen years old, and that her name was cabot, and that as he had not seen her for ten years he did not know whether she were pretty or not. but the vagueness surrounding her was rather attractive than otherwise, on the whole. it was not even known when she would arrive. there was no railroad to arizona. from kansas she would have to travel by ambulance with the troops which were changing station. there was only mrs. campbell who knew the whole story. landor had gone to her for advice, as had been his custom since the days before she had preferred campbell to him. "felipa," he said, "writes that she is going to run away from school, if i don't take her away. she says she will, and she undoubtedly means it. i have always noticed that there is no indecision in her character." mrs. campbell asked where she proposed running to. landor did not know; but she was part apache, he said, and harry cabot's daughter, and it was pretty certain that with that blood in her veins she had the spirit of adventure. she asked what he had thought of doing about it. "i've thought of bringing her on here. but how can i? in a bachelor establishment? my sister won't have her at any terms. she suggested an orphan asylum from the first, and she hasn't changed her mind." mrs. campbell appliqued a black velvet imp on a green felt lambrequin, and thought. "do you ever happen to realize that you have your hands very full?" "yes," he said shortly, "i realize it." he sat staring over her head for a moment of silence. "i foresaw it when i told cabot i'd take her." "might not an orphan asylum have been best, after all?" "it might for me," he said, "but not for her, and i told cabot i'd do my best for her." it had seemed to him his plain duty, and he had done it, and he asked no approbation. mrs. campbell took it as he did, for a matter of course. she wasted no words in expressing admiration for what he had done, but kept to the main issue, making herself useful, as women are rarely content to do when they deal with men, without indulging her taste for the sentimental. "suppose i were to take her?" she suggested. he opposed drawbacks. "you can't keep her always." she smiled. "the chances that she will marry are excellent." he did not answer at once, but sat watching the trumpeter come out of the adjutant's office to sound recall. "yes, she will marry," he agreed; "if no one else marries her, i will. i am as old as her father would have been but it would save telling some fellow about her birth." "did the girl know her own story?" she asked. she did not. he had merely told her that her father was his friend and had died on the plains. "she thinks her mother died at stanton. it is so near the mescalero agency that i let it go at that." they argued it from all sides during the whole of a day, and campbell lent his advice, and the end of it was that felipa cabot came out to the land of her forbears. pending her arrival, landor brought himself to look upon it as his plain duty and only course to marry her. it would save her, and any man who might otherwise happen to love her, from learning what she was. that she might refuse to look at it in that way, did not much enter into his calculations. it required a strong effort for him to decide it so, but it was his way to pick out the roughest possible path before him, to settle within himself that it was that of duty, and to follow it without fagging or complaint. he dreaded any taint of apache blood as he dreaded the venom of a rattler. he had seen its manifestations for twenty odd years, had seen the hostile savage and the civilized one, and shrank most from the latter. but he had promised cabot to do his best by the waif, and the best he could see was to marry her. there was always before him, to urge him on to the sacrifice, the stalwart figure of his boyhood's friend, standing forsaken in the stretch of desert with the buzzards hovering over him in the burning sky. he permitted himself to hope, however, that she was not too obviously a squaw. when the day came he rode out with most of the garrison to meet her. he was anxious. he recalled anne of cleves, and had a fellow-feeling for the king. by the time they came in sight of the marching troops, he had worked himself to such an implicit faith in the worst that he decided that the wide figure, heavily blue-veiled, and linen-dustered, on the back seat of the dougherty was she. it is one of the strongest arguments of the pessimist in favor of his philosophy, that the advantage of expecting the disagreeable lies in the fact that, if he meets with disappointment, it is necessarily a pleasant one. felipa cabot proved to be a lithe creature, who rode beside the ambulance with the officers, and who, in spite of the dust and tan and traces of a hard march, was beautiful. in the reaction of the moment landor thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. but she froze the consequent warmth of his greeting with a certain indefinable stolidity, and she eyed him with an unabashed intention of determining whether he were satisfactory or not, which changed his position to that of the one upon approbation. if she had been less handsome, it would have been repellent. before they had reached the post, he had learned a good deal about her. the elderly major who had come with her from kansas told him that a lieutenant by the name of brewster was insanely in love with her, that the same brewster was a good deal of an ass,--the two facts having no connection, however,--that she was an excellent travelling companion, always satisfied and always well. what the major did not tell him, but what he gathered almost at once, was that the girl had not endeared herself to any one; she was neither loved nor disliked--the lieutenant's infatuation was not to be taken as an indication of her character, of course. but then she was beautiful, with her long, intent eyes, and strong brows and features cut on classic lines of perfection. so landor left the major and cantered ahead to join her, where she rode with brewster. "has the trip been hard?" he asked. she answered that she had enjoyed it all, every day of it, and brewster joined in with ecstatic praises of her horsemanship and endurance, finishing with the unlucky comment that she rode like an indian. "apaches ride badly, don't they?" she said, with calm matter of fact. "if you mean that i am hard on my horse, though, you are right." her voice was exquisitely sweet, without modulation. in the weeks that followed, landor spent days and some nights--those when he sat up to visit the guard, as a rule--attempting to decide why his ward repelled him. she seemed to be quite like any other contented and natural young girl. she danced, and courted admiration, within the bounds of propriety; she was fond of dress, and rather above the average in intelligence. usually she was excellent company, whimsical and sweet-humored. she rode well enough, and learned--to his intense annoyance--to shoot with a bow and arrow quite remarkably, so much so that they nicknamed her diana. he had remonstrated at first, but there was no reason to urge, after all. archery was quite a feminine sport. when his analysis of her failed, he went to mrs. campbell again. "do you grow fond of felipa?" he asked point blank. she tried to parry and evade, but he would not have it, and obliged her to admit that she did not. "not that i dislike her," she explained. "i like to have her round. i dare say it is a whim." he shook his head. "it is not a whim. it is the same with every one. of course brewster has lost his head, but that argues nothing. the endearing quality seems to be lacking in her." she sat considering deeply. she was rocking the baby, with its little fair head lying in the hollow of her shoulder, and landor found himself wondering whether felipa could ever develop motherliness. "it is quite intangible," mrs. campbell half crooned, for the baby's lids were drooping heavily. "i can't find that she lacks a good characteristic. i study her all the time. perhaps the fault is in ourselves, as much as anything, because we insist upon studying her as a problem, instead of simply a very young girl. she is absolutely truthful,--unless she happens to have a grudge against some one, and then she lies without any scruple at all,--and she is generous and unselfish, and very amiable with the children, too." landor asked, with a gleam of hope, if they were attached to her. "yes," she told him, "they are, and it is that makes me think that the fault may be ours. she is so patient with them." at that moment felipa herself came up the steps and joined them on the porch. she walked with the gait of a young athlete. her skirts were short enough to leave her movements unhampered, and she wore on her feet a pair of embroidered moccasins. she seemed to be drawing the very breath of life into her quivering nostrils, and she smiled on them both good-humoredly. "look," she said, going up to landor with a noiseless tread that made him shiver almost visibly. mrs. campbell watched them. she was sorry for him. felipa held out her hand and showed a little brown bird that struggled feebly. she explained that its leg was broken, and he drew back instinctively. there was not a trace of softness or pity in her sweet voice. then he took the bird in his own big hand and asked her how it had happened. "i did it with an arrow," said diana, unslinging her quiver, which was a barbaric affair of mountain-lion skin, red flannel, and beads. "i can't see why you should take pleasure in shooting these harmless things," he said impatiently; "the foot-hills are full of quail, and there are ducks along the creek. for that matter you might try your skill on prairie dogs, it seems to me." she looked down at the curled toe of her moccasin with a certain air of repentance, and answered his question as to what she meant to do with it by explaining that she meant to keep it for a pet. he stroked its head with his finger as it lay still, opening and shutting its bright little eyes. "it won't live," he told her, and then the thought occurred to him to put her to the test. he held the bird out to her. "wring its neck," he said, "and end its misery." she showed no especial repugnance at the idea, but refused flatly, nevertheless. "i can't do that," she said, dropping down into the hammock and swinging herself with the tip of her foot on the floor. "i fail to see why not. you can wound it." "but that is sport," she answered carelessly. he felt that he ought to dislike her cordially, but he did not. he admired her, on the contrary, as he would have admired a fine boy. she seemed to have no religion, no ideals, and no petty vanity; therefore, from his point of judgment, she was not feminine. perhaps the least feminine thing about her was the manner in which she appeared to take it for granted that he was going to marry her, without his having said, as yet, a word to that effect. in a certain way it simplified matters, and in another it made them more difficult. it is not easy to ask a woman to marry you where she looks into your eyes unhesitatingly. but landor decided that it had to be done. she had been in the post four months, and with the standing exception of brewster, whom she discouraged resolutely, none of the officers cared for her beyond the flirtation limit. so one night when they were sitting upon the campbells' steps, he took the plunge. she had been talking earnestly, discussing the advisability of filing off the hammer of the pistol he had given her, to prevent its catching on the holster when she wanted to draw it quickly. one of her long, brown hands was laid on his knee, with the most admirable lack of self-consciousness. he put his own hand upon it, and she looked up questioningly. she was unused to caresses from any but the two campbell children, and her frank surprise held a reproach that softened his voice almost to tenderness. "do you think you could love me, felipa?" he asked, without any preface at all. she said "yes" as frankly as she would have said it to the children. it was blighting to any budding romance, but he tried hard nevertheless to save the next question from absolute baldness. he had a resentful sort of feeling that he was entitled to at least a little idealism. as she would not give it, he tried to find it for himself, noting the grace of her long free neck, the wealth of her coarse black hair, and the beauty of her smiling mouth. but the smiling mouth answered his low-spoken "will you marry me then, dear?" with the same frank assent. "not for a good while, though," she added. "i am too young." that was all, and in a moment she was telling him some of brewster's absurdities, with a certain appreciation of the droll that kept it from being malicious. as he had made mrs. campbell his confidante from the first, he told her about this too, now, and finished with the half-helpless, half-amused query as to what he should do. "it may be any length of time before she decides that she is old enough, and it never seems to occur to her that this state of things can't go on forever, that she is imposing upon you." "and the most serious part of it," he added after a while, "is that she does not love me." "you don't love her, for that matter, either," mrs. campbell reminded him. but she advised the inevitable,--to wait and let it work itself out. so he waited and stood aside somewhat, to watch the course of brewster's suit. he derived some little amusement from it, too, but he wondered with rather a deeper tinge of anxiety than was altogether necessary what the final outcome would be. one morning brewster met felipa coming from the hospital and carrying a wide-mouthed bottle. he joined her and asked if the little lady were going to grow flowers in it. the little lady, who was quite as tall as and a good deal more imposing than himself, answered that it was for a vinagrone. he remonstrated. she was surely not going to make a pet of one of those villanous insects. no. she had caught a tarantula, too, and she was going to make them fight. "were you catching the tarantula yesterday when i saw you lying upon the ground by the dump heap?" "yes," she said, "did you see me? i dare say you thought i was communing with nature in the midst of the old tin cans and horseshoes. well, i wasn't. i was watching the trap of a tarantula nest, and i caught him when he came out. i've watched that hole for three days," she announced triumphantly. "as for the vinagrone, the cook found him in his tent, and i bottled him. come and see the fight," she invited amiably. presently she returned with two bottles. in one was the tarantula, an especially large and hideous specimen, hairy and black, with dull red tinges. in the other the vinagrone, yet more hideous. she went down to the side of the house and emptied both into the wide-mouthed bottle. brewster was in agony. he reached out and caught her hand. "my darling," he cried, "take care!" she turned on him quickly. "let me be," she commanded, and he obeyed humbly. then she corked the bottle and shook it so that the animals rolled on top of each other, and laying it on the ground bent over it with the deepest interest. brewster watched too, fascinated in spite of himself. it was so very ugly. the two wicked little creatures fought desperately. but after a time they withdrew to the sides of the bottle, and were quite still. the tarantula had left a leg lying loose. felipa turned from them and waited, clasping her hands and smiling up at brewster. he, misinterpreting, felt encouraged and begged her to leave the disgusting insects. he had something very different to talk about. she said that she did not want to hear it, and would he bet on the tarantula or the vinagrone? "don't bring them into it," he implored. "if you will not come away, i will tell you now, felipa, that i love you." he was more in earnest than landor had been. she felt that herself. his voice broke, and he paled. but she only considered the insects, which were beginning to move again, and answered absently that she knew it, that he had said it before. "oh! mr. brewster, bet quickly," she urged. he caught her by the arm, exasperated past all civility, and shook her. "do you hear me, felipa cabot? i tell you that i love you." she was strong, slender as she was, and she freed herself almost without effort. and yet he would not be warned. "don't you love me?" he insisted, as though she had not already made it plain enough. "no," she said shortly. "you had better bet." he made as if to kick the bottle away, but quick as a flash she was on her feet and facing him. "you touch that," she said resolutely, "and i'll let them both loose on you." he turned on his heel and left her. landor and the adjutant came by, and she called to them. the adjutant backed the vinagrone with a bag of sutler's candy, and felipa took the tarantula. it was mainly legless trunk, but still furious. landor studied her. she was quiet, but her eyes had grown narrow, and they gleamed curiously at the sight of the torn legs and feelers scattering around the bottle, wriggling and writhing. she was at her very worst. it ended in victory for the vinagrone, but he died from his wounds an hour later. felipa told landor so, as they started for a ride, early in the afternoon. "the vinagrone is dead," she said; "mr. brewster didn't like my fighting them." then she assumed the lofty dignity that contrasted so oddly sometimes with her childish simplicity. "he lacks tact awfully. think of it! he took the occasion to say that he loved me. as though he had not told me so a dozen times before." "and you--what did you say?" asked landor. he was a little surprised to find how anxiously he waited, and the extent of his relief when she answered, "i told him to let me be, or i would set them loose on him." official business called brewster to the agency next day. he stopped overnight, on the way, at a ranch whose owners depended more upon passing travellers than upon the bad soil and the thin cattle. and here fate threw in his way one whom he would have gone well out of that way to find. it was a civilian with whom he was obliged to share his room. he did not fancy having to share his room at all, in the first place, and this and other things made his temper bad. the civilian, on the other hand, was in good temper, and inclined to be communicative. he tried several ways of opening a conversation, and undaunted by rebuffs tried yet once more. like bruce and the spider, it was exactly the seventh time that he succeeded. "how's things up at grant?" he drawled through his beard, as he took off that sacred and ceremonious garment known to the true frontiersman as his vest, and without which he feels as lost as without his high-heeled boots. brewster mumbled out of a towel that he guessed they were all right, and implied what the dickens did it matter to him how they were. "i hear you got jack landor up there?" then brewster began to listen. "yes," he said, emptying the soap-caked water from the indian basket wash basin upon the earth floor; "why?"--"i used to know him in ' . he came up to the mescalero agency then, not long before the texans overran the place. i recollect there was a sort of blizzard and it was seventeen below. he came after a kid me and another feller'd been looking after. pretty little cuss, about four years old. i gave her her first bow'n arrow." brewster took on an elaborate and entirely unnecessary air of indifference, and yawned to heighten the effect. "what did he want of the child?" he asked negligently. "her father was dead. he left her to him." "who was her father?" brewster wanted to know. the man told him. "he'd been a private up to stanton, and had been killed by some of cochise's people that summer. her mother was a half-breed by the name of felipa. good-looking squaw, but dead, too--killed by mexicans. do you happen to know whatever became of the kid?" brewster told him that she was with landor at the post now. "she must be a woman by this time," reflected the civilian. "is she married to him?" brewster explained that she was visiting captain campbell's family. did she show the squaw? he asked. "not unless you knew it was there," the officer said tolerantly. then he went to bed and slept with that peace of mind which comes of a proud consciousness of holding the handle of the whip. in the morning he got the man's name and address before he went on up to the agency. there he heard of landor again. this time it was through barnwell, and the descriptions were picturesque. brewster encouraged them, paying a good deal more heed to them than to the little complaints of the indians he had been sent up to investigate. then he returned to grant, taking with him in the ambulance an enlisted man returning to receive his discharge. barnwell had told brewster about him also. "his name is cairness,--charles cairness,--and he's got a lot of fool theories too," he explained. "he goes in for art, makes some pretty good paintings of the indians, and has picked up some of their lingo. made himself agreeable to the squaws, i guess. the interpreter says there's one got her nose cut off by her buck, on his account." brewster suggested that he thought crook had put a stop to those mutilations, but the official shrugged his shoulders. "i don't know how true it was, and i certainly ain't going to look her up in her rancheria to find out." the hero of the episode rode in the ambulance, sitting on the front seat, holding his carbine across his knees, and peering with sharp, far-sighted blue eyes over the alkali flats. occasionally he took a shot at a jack rabbit and brought it down unfailingly, but the frontiersman has no relish for rabbit meat, and it was left where it dropped, for the crows. he also brought down a sparrow hawk wounded in the wing, and, having bound up the wound, offered it to brewster, who took it as an opening to a conversation and tried to draw him out. "barnwell tells me," he began, "that you have picked up a good deal of apache." "some sierra blanca, sir," said the soldier. it was respectful enough, and yet there was somewhere in the man's whole manner an air of equality, even superiority, that exasperated the lieutenant. it was contrary to good order and military discipline that a private should speak without hesitation, or without offence to the english tongue. brewster resented it, and so the next thing he said was calculated to annoy. "he says you are quite one of them." "he is mistaken, sir." "have you an indian policy?" cairness's eyes turned from a little ground owl on the top of a mound and looked him full in the face. "i really can't see, sir," he said, "how it can matter to any one." it did not in the least matter to brewster, but he was one of those trying people whom nature has deprived of the instinct for knowing when to stop. a very perceptible sneer twitched his lips. "you seem to be english," he said. "i am," announced the soldier. now it is a hazardous undertaking to question an englishman who does not care to be questioned. a person of good judgment would about as lief try to poke up a cross lion to play. but brewster persisted, and asked if cairness would be willing to live among the apaches. "they have their good traits, sir," said the man, civilly, "and chief among them is that they mind their own business." it was impossible to misunderstand, and brewster was vexed beyond the bounds of all wisdom. "the squaws have their good traits, too, i guess. i hear one had her nose cut off on your account." he should not have said it. he knew it, and he knew that the private knew it, but the man made no reply whatever. the remainder of the drive cairness devoted to caring for the broken wing of the hawk, and, during halts, to sketching anything that presented itself,--the mules, the driver, passing mexicans, or the cows trying to graze from ground where the alkali formed patches of white scum. he also accomplished a fine caricature of the lieutenant, and derived considerable silent amusement therefrom. the night of their return to the post, cairness, crossing the parade ground shortly before retreat, saw felipa. he had been walking with his eyes on the earth, debating within himself the question of his future, whether he should reënlist, succumb to the habit of the service, which is to ambition and endeavor what opium is to the system, or drop back into the yet more aimless life he had been leading five years before, when a fit of self-disgust had caused him to decide that he was good for nothing but a trooper, if even that. a long sunset shadow fell across his path, and he looked up. felipa was walking beside a little white burro, and holding mrs. campbell's golden-curled baby upon its back. she carried her head superbly erect, and her step, because of the moccasins, was quite noiseless. the glow of the sunset shone in her unflinching eyes, and lost itself in the dull black mass of her hair. she studied his face calmly, with a perfectly impersonal approval. cairness went on, back to the barracks, and sitting at the troop clerk's desk, made a memory sketch of her. it did not by any means satisfy him, but he kept it nevertheless. that night he sat upon the edge of his bunk, in the darkness, after taps, with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand, and thought the matter to a conclusion. the conclusion was that he would not reënlist, and the reason for it was the girl he had met on the parade ground. he knew the power that beauty had over him. it was as real, as irresistible, as a physical sensation. and he thought felipa cabot the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "she should be done in a heroic bronze," he told himself; "but as i can't do it, and as i haven't the right to so much as think about her, i shall be considerably happier at a distance, so i'll go." he went the next day but one, riding out of the post at daylight. and he saw felipa once more. she was standing by the creek, drawing an arrow from her quiver and fitting it to her bow. then she poised the toe of her left foot lightly upon the ground, bent back, and drew the bow almost to a semicircle. the arrow flew straight up into the shimmering air, straight through the body of a little jay, which came whirling, spinning down among the trees. felipa gave a quick leap of delight at having made such a shot, then she darted down in search of the bird. and cairness rode on. iii "hullo there!" cairness drew up his pinto pony in front of a group of log cabins, and, turning in his saddle, rested his hands upon the white and bay flanks. "hullo-o-o!" he repeated. a mule put its head over the wall of a corral and pricked interrogative ears. then two children, as unmistakably angles as those of gregory the great, came around the corner, hand in hand, and stood looking at him. and at length a man, unmistakably an angle too, for all his top boots and flannel shirt and cartridge belt, came striding down to the gate. he opened it and said, "hullo, cairness, old chap," and cairness said, "how are you, kirby?" which answered to the falling upon each other's neck and weeping, of a more effusive race. then they walked up to the corral together. kirby introduced him to his two partners, englishmen also, and finished nailing up the boards of a box stall which a stallion had kicked down in the night. after that he threw down his hammer, took two big nails from his mouth, and sat upon the tongue of a wagon to talk long and earnestly, after the manner of men who have shared a regretted past. "and so," said kirby, as he drew a sack of short cut from his pocket and filled his brier, "and so you have chucked up the army? what are you going to do next? going in for art?" "good lord! no," cairness's smile was rueful. "i've lost all ambition of that sort years since. i'm too old. i've knocked about too long, and i dare say i may as well knock about to the end." kirby suggested, with a hesitation that was born not of insincerity but of delicacy, that they would be awfully glad to have him stop with them and help run the circle k ranch. but cairness shook his head. "thanks. i'll stop long enough to recall the old times, though i dare say it would be better to forget them, wouldn't it? ranching isn't in my line. not that i am at all sure what is in my line, for that matter." after a while kirby went back to his work, directing several mexicans, in hopelessly bad spanish, and laboring with his own hands at about the proportion of three to one. cairness, talking to one of the other men, who was mending a halter, watched him, and recalled the youth in spotless white whom he had last seen lounging on the deck of an oriental liner and refusing to join the sports committee in any such hard labor as getting up a cricket match. it was cooler here in the arizona mountains, to be sure; but it was an open question if life were as well worth living. when the sun was at midheaven, and the shadows of the pines beyond the clearing fell straight, the clanging of a triangle startled the mountain stillness. the mexicans dropped their tools, and the white teamster left a mule with its galled back half washed. in a moment there were only the four englishmen in the corral. kirby finished greasing the nut of a wagon. then he went to the water trough and washed his hands and face, drying them upon a towel in the harness room. he explained that they didn't make much of a toilet for luncheon. "luncheon!" said cairness, as he smoothed his hair in front of a speckled and wavy mirror, which reflected all of life that came before it, in sickly green, "cabalistic word, bringing before me memories of my wasted youth. there was a chap from home in my troop, until he deserted, and when we were alone we would say luncheon below our breaths. but i haven't eaten anything except dinner for five years." at the house he met kirby's wife, a fair young woman, who clung desperately here in the wilderness, to the traditions, and to as many of the customs as might be, of her south-of-england home. the log cabin was tidy. there were chintz curtains at the windows, much of the furniture, of ranch manufacture, was chintz covered, the manta of the ceiling was unstained, there were pictures from london christmas papers on the walls, and photographs of the fair women at "home." there were also magazines and a few books in more than one language, wild flowers arranged in many sorts of strange jars, and in the corner, by an improvised couch, a table stacked with cups and plates of chelsea-derby, which were very beautiful and very much out of place. the log cabins were built, five of them, to form a square. the largest contained the sitting room and a bedroom, the three others, bedrooms and a storehouse, and the kitchen and dining room were in the fifth. when they went into this last, the ranch hands were already at a long oilcloth-covered table. the kirbys sat at a smaller one, laid with linen, and the lank wife of one of the men served them all, with the help of a mexican boy. cairness pitied mrs. kirby sincerely. but if she felt herself an object of sympathy, she did not show it. the woman fairly flung the ill-cooked food upon the table, with a spitefulness she did not try to conceal. and she manifested her bad will most particularly toward the pretty children. cairness felt his indignation rise against kirby for having brought a woman to this, in the name of love. "we have tea at five," mrs. kirby told him, as they finished, and her husband started out to superintend and help with the digging of an acequia. so at five o'clock cairness, coming again into that part of the cabin which his hostess persistently named the drawing-room, found the three englishmen taking their tea, and a little man in clerical garb observing the rite with considerable uncertainty. he would have no tea himself, and his tone expressed a deep distrust of the beverage. by the side of his chair stood a tall silk hat. it was in all probability the only one in the territories, or west of the missouri, for that matter, and it caught cairness's eye at once, the more especially as it was pierced by two round holes. as he stirred his tea and ate the thin slices of buttered bread, his glance wandered frequently to the hat. "lookin' at my stove-pipe?" asked the reverend mr. taylor. "only one in these parts, i reckon," and he vouchsafed an explanation of the holes. "them holes? a feller in tucson done that for me." what had he done to the fellow, if he might ask, cairness inquired. "what did i do? the same as he done unto me. let the air into his sombrero." he told them that he was studying the flora of the country, and travelling quite alone, with an indian pony, a pack-mule, and a dog--a prospector's outfit, in short. after tea the ranchers settled down to smoke and read. the reverend taylor brought out his collection of specimens and dilated upon them to cairness. "i put them in this here book," he said, "betwixt the leaves, and then i put the book under my saddle and set on it. i don't weigh so much, but it works all right," he added, looking up with a naïve smile that reached from one big ear to the other. "to-morrow," he told him later, "i'm going to ride over here to tucson again. what way might you be takin'?" "i think perhaps i'll go with you, if you'll wait over a day," cairness told him. he had taken a distinct fancy to the little botanist who wore his clerical garb while he rode a bronco and drove a pack-mule over the plains and mountains, and who had no fear of the apache nor of the equally dangerous cow-boy. cairness asked him further about the hat. "that chimney-pot of yours," he said, "don't you find it rather uncomfortable? it is hot, and it doesn't protect you. why do you wear it?" the little man picked it up and contemplated it, with his head on one side and a critical glance at its damaged condition. then he smoothed its roughness with the palm of his rougher hand. "why do i wear it?" he drawled calmly; "well, i reckon to show 'em that i can." at six o'clock kirby knocked the ashes from his pipe, the other two men, who had buried themselves in the last _cornhill_ and _punch_ with entire disregard of the rest of the room, put down the magazines, and all of them rose. "we dine at seven," mrs. kirby said to taylor and cairness as she passed through the door, followed by her husband. "where are they all goin' to?" the reverend taylor asked in plaintive dismay. he had risen to his feet because he had seen cairness do it, and now he sat again because cairness had dropped back on the couch. he was utterly at sea, but he felt that the safest thing to do would be that which every one else did. he remembered that he had felt very much the same once when he had been obliged to attend a funeral service in a roman catholic church. all the purple and fine linen of the scarlet woman and the pomp and circumstance surrounding her had bewildered him in about this same way. cairness reached out for the discarded _cornhill_, and settled himself among the cushions. "they're going to dress, i rather think," he said. the minister almost sprang from his chair. "good lord! i ain't got any other clothes," he cried, looking ruefully at his dusty black. "neither have i," cairness consoled him, from the depths of a rehearsal of the unwisdom of ismaïl pasha. the reverend taylor sat in silence for a time, reflecting. then he broke forth again, a little querulously. "what in thunderation do they dine at such an hour for?" cairness explained that it was an english custom to call supper dinner, and to have it very late. "oh!" said taylor, and sat looking into the fire. a few minutes before seven they all came back into the sitting room. the men wore black coats, by way of compromise, and mrs. kirby and the children were in white. "like as not she does up them boiled shirts and dresses herself, don't you think?" was the minister's awed comment to cairness, as they went to bed that night in the bare little room. "like as not," cairness agreed. "she's mighty nice looking, ain't she?" cairness said "yes" rather half heartedly. that fresh, sweet type was insipid to him now, when there was still so fresh in his memory the beauty of a black-haired girl, with eagle eyes that did not flinch before the sun's rays at evening or at dawn. "i'll bet the help don't like the seven o'clock dinner." cairness suggested that they were given their supper at six. "i know that. but they don't like it, all the same. and i'll bet them cutaways riles them, too." cairness himself had speculated upon that subject a good deal, and had noticed with a slight uneasiness the ugly looks of some of the ranch hands. "they are more likely to have trouble in that quarter than with the indians," he said to himself. for he had seen much, in the ranks, of the ways of the disgruntled, free-born american. before he left with taylor on the next morning but one, he ventured to warn kirby. but he was met with a stolid "i was brought up that way," and he knew that argument would be entirely lost. "over here to tucson" was a three days' ride under the most favorable circumstances; but with the enthusiastic botanist dismounting at short intervals to make notes and press and descant upon specimens, it was five days before they reached, towards nightfall, the metropolis of the plains. they went at once for supper to the most popular resort of the town, the great western saloon and restaurant. it was a long adobe room, the whitewash of which was discolored by lamp smoke and fly specks and stains. there were also bullet holes and marks of other missiles. at one end was a bar, with a tin top for the testing of silver coins. several pine tables were set out with cracked sugar bowls, inch-thick glasses, bottles of pickles and condiments, still in their paper wrappings, and made filthy by flies, dust, and greasy hands. already there were half a dozen cow-boys and mexicans, armed to the teeth, standing about. they glanced sideways at the big englishman, who appeared to be one of themselves, and at the little minister. on him, more especially on his hat, their eyes rested threateningly. they had heard of him before, most of them. they answered his genial greeting surlily, but he was quite unruffled. he beamed upon the room as he seated himself at one of the tables and ordered supper, for which, in obedience to a dirty sign upon the wall, he paid in advance. having finished, he left cairness to his own devices, and dragging a chair under a bracket lamp, set peacefully about reading the newspapers. for fully an hour no one heeded him. cairness talked to the bartender and stood treat to the aimless loungers. he had many months of back pay in his pocket, and to save was neither in his character nor in the spirit of the country. the ill-smelling room filled, and various games, chiefly faro and monte, began. at one table two men were playing out a poker game that was already of a week's duration. the reek of bad liquor mingled with the smell of worse tobacco and of mexican-cured leather--like which there is no odor known to the senses, so pungent and permeating and all-pervading it is. several of the bracket lamps were sending up thin streams of smoke. the reverend taylor gradually became aware that the air was very bad. he laid down the newspaper and looked round. then a big cow-boy left the bar and loitering over, with a clink of spurs, touched him on the shoulder. "the drinks are on you," he menaced. the minister chose to ignore the tone. he rose, smiling, and stretching his cramped arms. "all right, my friend, all right," he said, and going with the big fellow to the bar he gave a general invitation. in the expectation of some fun the men gathered round. those at the tables turned in their chairs and sat watching and pulling at their fierce mustaches as they peered from under the brims of their sombreros. in the midst of them all the little parson looked even smaller than he was. but he was sweetly undaunted and good-humored. when the barkeeper had served the others, he turned to him. "what'll you take?" he demanded, not too courteously. "i'll take a lemon soda, thanks," said taylor. there followed one of those general pauses as explosive as a pistol shot. then the cow-boy who had touched him on the shoulder suggested that he had better take a man's drink. but he was not to be changed. "i'll take lemon soda," he said to the tender, with an amiability that the cow-boy made the mistake of taking for indecision. "you better do what i say!" he was plainly spoiling for a fight. but the minister still refused to see it. he looked him very squarely in the eyes now, however. "see here, i am going to take lemon pop, my friend," he said. the friend swore earnestly that he would take what he was told to. "you are mistaken, my good fellow, because i won't." there was not the shadow of hesitation in his voice, nor did he lower his mild blue eyes. the cow-boy broadened the issue. "you will, and you'll take off that plug, too, or i'll know what for." "i reckon you'll know what for, then," beamed taylor, immovably. cairness had been standing afar off, with his hands in his pockets, watching with a gleam of enjoyment under his knitted brows, but he began to see that there threatened to be more to this than mere baiting; that the desperado was growing uglier as the parson grew more firmly urbane. he drew near his small travelling companion and took his hands suddenly from his pockets, as the cow-boy whipped out a brace of six-shooters and pointed them at the hat. slowly, with no undue haste whatever, the reverend taylor produced from beneath the skirts of his clerical garb another revolver. there was a derisive and hilarious howl. when it had subsided, he turned to the barkeeper. "got my lemon pop ready?" he asked. the man pushed it over to him, and he took it up in his left hand. "drop that!" called the cow-boy. "here's how," said the parson, and raised his glass. a bullet shattered it in his grasp. cairness, his hand on the butt of his own pistol, wondered, a little angrily, if taylor were never going to be roused. he had looked down at the broken glass and the stream of water, and then up quite as calmly but a little less smilingly. "if you do that again, i'll shoot," he said. "give me another pop." there was a chuckle from the group, and a chorus to the effect that they would be eternally condemned, the truth of which was patent in their faces. "leave the little codger be," some one suggested; "he ain't skeered worth a sour apple." it would have become the sentiment of the crowd in another moment, but the little codger took up the second glass, and raised it again. then it fell smashing to the floor. a second bullet had broken his wrist. cairness started forward and levelled his colt, but the divine was too quick for him. he fired, and the cow-boy sank down, struggling, shot through the thigh. as he crouched, writhing, on the ground, he fired again, but cairness kicked the pistol out of his hand, and the bullet, deflected, went crashing in among the bottles. "now," said taylor, distinctly, "oblige me with another lemon pop, mister." a cheer went up, and the minister standing above his fallen enemy raised the third glass. "here's to your better judgment next time, my friend. 'tain't the sombrero makes the shot," he said. his seamed, small face was pale underneath its leathery skin, but by not so much as a quiver of an eyelid did he give any further sign of pain. "the gentleman who broke them glasses can settle for his part of the fun," he said, as he paid his reckoning. then he drew cairness aside and held out the limp wrist to be bound, supporting it with his other hand. and presently they went out from the restaurant, where the powder smoke was added to the other smells, and hung low, in streaks, in the thick atmosphere, to hunt up a surgeon. the surgeon, whose lore was not profound, and whose pharmacy exhibited more reptiles in alcohol than drugs, set the bones as best he knew how, which was badly; and, taking a fancy to taylor, offered him and cairness lodgings for the night,--the hospitality of the west being very much, in those times, like that of the days when the preachers of a new gospel were bidden to enter into a house and there abide until they departed from that place. in the morning cairness left them together and started for the san carlos agency. he was to meet a prospector there, and to begin his new fortunes by locating some mines. iv it was a bitterly cold january morning. there had been a rain in the night, and the clouds yet hung gray over mt. graham and the black gap. the wet wind went howling over the valley, so that the little flag at the top of the staff snapped and whipped as though it would be torn from the halyards. sunday inspection and guard mounting had been chilling ceremonies, performed in overcoats that were hardly more blue than the men's faces. having finished them, brewster hurried across the parade to captain campbell's quarters. he found felipa curled on the blanket in front of a great fire, and reading by the glare of the flames, which licked and roared up the wide chimney, a history of the jesuit missionaries. it was in french, and she must have already known it by heart, for it seemed to be almost the only book she cared about. she had become possessed of its three volumes from a french priest who had passed through the post in the early winter and had held services there. he had been charmed with felipa and with her knowledge of his own tongue. it was a truly remarkable knowledge, considering that it had been gained at a boarding-school. "you speak with the utmost fluency, my daughter," he had commended, and she had explained that she found expression more easy in french. "it is curious," she said, "but it has always seemed as though english were not my native tongue." when the father returned to tucson, he had sent her the history, and she had read and reread it. in a way she was something of a linguist, for she had picked up a good deal of spanish from mexicans about the post, chiefly from the nurse of the campbell children. there is a certain class of persons to whom it is always irritating to find any one reading a book. it rubs them the wrong way instantly. they will frequently argue that their own, and the best, manner of studying life is from nature--an excellent theory in sound, and commonly accepted as unanswerable, but about as practical in fact as the study of music on the instrument alone, without primer or method. the mere sight of felipa on the buffalo robe before the fire, poring over the old history, exasperated brewster. "that book again?" he said crossly, as he drew up a chair and held out his hands to the flames; "you must know it by heart." "i do," she answered, blinking lazily. he reflected that it is a trait of the semi-civilized and of children that they like their tales often retold. but he did not say so. he was holding that in reserve. instead, he changed the subject, with an abrupt inquiry as to whether she meant to ride to-day. "i suppose not?" he added. "i do, though," she said perversely, as she bent her head and tried to put into order the tumbled mass of her hair. "i am going at eleven o'clock." "alone?" "no, not alone." "it is bitterly cold." "i don't mind, and neither does captain landor." her guardian had recently gotten his captaincy. brewster's irritation waxed. "landor again?" he queried suggestively. "landor again," she yawned, ignoring his meaning-fraught tone. but she watched his face from under her long lashes. he glanced over his shoulder at the door. it was closed; so he leaned forward and spoke in a lower voice. "felipa, are you going to marry landor, or are you not?" it was more than a mere impertinent question, and she did not pretend to ignore it any longer. she clasped her hands slowly about her knees and looked straight at him. but he was unabashed, "what is he to you?" he insisted. she thought for a moment before she answered. then she spoke deliberately, and there was a purring snarl under her voice. "it is none of your business that i can see. but i will tell you this much, he is a man i respect; and that is more than i have said of you when i have been asked the same question." "it is not only my business," he said, overlooking the last, and bending more eagerly forward, "it is not only my business, it is the business of the whole post. you are being talked about, my dear young lady." she sprang to her feet so suddenly that her arm struck him a blow in the face, and stood close in front of him, digging her nails into her palms and breathing hard. "if you--if you dare to say that again, i will kill you. i can do it. you know that i can, and i will. i mean what i say, i will kill you." and she did mean what she said, for the moment, at any rate. there was just as surely murder in her soul as though those long, strong hands had been closed on his throat. her teeth were bared and her whole face was distorted with fury and the effort of controlling it. she drew up a chair, after a moment, and sat in it. it was she who was leaning forward now, and he had shrunk back, a little cowed. "i know what you are trying to do," she told him, more quietly, her lips quivering into a sneer, "you are trying to frighten me into marrying you. but you can't do it. i never meant to, and now i would die first." he saw that the game had reached that stage where he must play his trump card, if he were to have any chance. "you are a mean little thing," he laughed. "it is the apache blood, i suppose." she sat for a moment without answering. it was less astonishment than that she did not understand. she knitted her brow in a puzzled frown. but he mistook her silence for dismay, and went on. "it is only what one might expect from the daughter of a drunken private and a mescalero squaw." she was still silent, but she leaned nearer, watching his face, her lips drawn away from her sharp teeth, and her eyes narrowing. she understood now. in his growing uneasiness he blundered on rashly. "you didn't know it? but it is true. ask your guardian. do you think he would have you for a wife?" he gave a short laugh. "he hates an apache as he does a gila monster. very few men would be willing to risk it." she leaned back in her chair, tapping her foot upon the floor. it was the only sign of excitement, but the look of her face was not good. brewster avoided it, and became absorbed in making the tips of his fingers meet as he pressed his hands together. "still," said felipa, too quietly, "i would rather be the daughter of a drunken private and a mescalero squaw than the wife of a coward and sneak." he stood up and went nearer to her, shaking his finger in her face. he knew that he had lost, and he was reckless. "you had better marry me, or i will tell your birth from the housetops." but he was making the fatal mistake of dealing with the child that had been, instead of with the woman he had aroused. she laughed at him--the first false laugh that had ever come from her lips. "you had better go now," she said, rising and standing with her arms at her side, and her head very erect. he hesitated, opening his mouth to speak and shutting it again irresolutely. "i told you to go," she repeated, raising her brows. he took up his cap from the table, and went. when landor came in half an hour later he found her in her riding habit, sitting in front of the fire. she was still alone, and he felt instantly that there was more softness than ever before in the smile she gave him, more womanliness in the clinging of her hand. altogether in her attitude and manner there was less of the restlessly youthful. he drew a chair beside hers, and settled back comfortably. "mr. brewster has just been here," she said at length, and she played with the lash of her whip, avoiding his eyes, which was also a new way for her. "i wish brewster would not come so often," he said. for answer she put out her hand and laid it upon his, not as she had often done it before, in the unattentive eagerness of some argument, but slowly, with a shadow of hesitation. he was surprised, but he was pleased too, and he took the long fingers in his and held them gently. "do you still want me to marry you?" she asked him. he told her that he most certainly did, and she went on. "is it because you think you ought to, or because you really want me?" she was looking at him steadily now, and he could not have lied to her. but the slender hand was warm and clinging, the voice low and sweet, the whole scene so cosey and domestic, and she herself seemed so much more beautiful than ever, that he answered that it was because he wanted her--and for the moment it was quite true. had so much as a blush come to her cheek, had she lowered her earnest gaze, had her voice trembled ever so little, it might have been true for all time. but she threw him back upon himself rudely, with an unfeminine lack of tact that was common with her. "then i will marry you whenever you wish," she said. "i began to tell you," she resumed directly, "that mr. brewster was here, and that he informed me that my mother was a squaw and my father a drunken private." landor jumped up from his chair. "felipa!" he cried. at first he was more shocked and sorry for her than angry with brewster. "i don't mind," she began; and then her strict truthfulness coming uppermost, she corrected herself: "at least, i don't mind very much, not so much as you thought i would." he strode up and down, his face black with rage, expressing his violent opinion of brewster. then he came to a stop, in front of her. "how did he happen to tell you?" he asked. she explained. "he says he will tell it broadcast," she ended, "but he won't. it wouldn't be safe, and he knows it." her cool self-possession had its effect on him. he studied her curiously and began to calm down. she asked him about her father and mother. going back to his chair he told her everything that he knew, save only the manner of cabot's death. "then i took you to yuma," he finished, "and from there to the east, via panama." there was a pause. and then came the question he had most dreaded. "did my father leave me any money?" she asked. there was nothing for it but to admit that from the day of her father's death she had been utterly landor's dependant,--at a cost to him of how many pleasures, she, who knew the inadequacy of a lieutenant's pay, could easily guess. she sat thinking, with her chin in her palm, and a quite new look of loneliness deep in her eyes. he could see that in the last hour she had grasped almost the fulness of her isolation--almost, but not all; only the years could bring forth the rest. she gave a heavy sigh. "well, i am glad i love you," she said. but he knew that she did not love him. she was grateful. it was sometimes an apache trait. he realized that it was his curse and hers that he could not for an instant forget the strain. he read her character by it, half unconsciously. he saw it in her honesty, her sinewy grace, her features, her fearlessness, her kindness with children,--they were all apache characteristics; and they were all repellent. from his youth on, he had associated the race with cruelty and every ghastly sight he had come upon, on the plains and in the mountains. it was a prejudice with more than the force of a heritage. he went on with his study of her, as she sat there. he was always studying her. but he could not decide whether it was that she lacked sensitiveness and was really not greatly disturbed, or a savage sort of pride in concealing emotions. he rose to his feet, shaking off an impatience with her and with himself. "come," he said peremptorily; and they went out and mounted and rode away in the face of a whipping wind up the gradual slope to the mountains, black and weird beneath the heavy, low-hanging rain clouds. felipa had taught her horse to make its average gait a run, and she would have started it running now, but that landor checked her. it was high time, he said, that he should teach her to ride. now she was more than a little proud of her horsemanship, so she was annoyed as well as surprised. but he went on, instructing her how it was not all of riding to stick on, and rather a question of saving and seat and the bit. "you give your horse a sore back whenever you go far, and you always bring him back in a lather." it was half because she felt it would prick him, and half in humility, that she answered, "i suppose that is the indian in me." his horse started. he had dug it with the rowels. then he reined it in with a jerk that made it champ its curb. "don't dwell on that all the time," he said angrily; "forget it." and then it flashed across him, the irreparable wrong he would be doing her if he taught her to consider the apache blood a taint. she gave him an odd, furtive glance and did not answer for a time. he was never quite able to divine with her just how much of his thoughts she understood, and it put him at some disadvantage. presently she said: "i can't forget. and you can't. as for other people--they don't matter anyway." in her scheme of things other people rarely did matter. she hedged herself round with a barrier of indifference that was very nearly contempt, and encouraged no intimacies--not even with landor. and he knew it. she made it plainer to him by and by, as she went on to advise his course about brewster. "if i were you, i would ignore his having told me, jack. i ought to have pretended that i knew it, but i was taken by surprise. he must not think you resent it as though it were an insult, though. as for me, i won't have anything more to do with him; but that is for reasons of my own." he demanded that he be told the reasons, but she refused very sweetly and very decidedly. and he was forced to accept the footing upon which she placed him, for all time. * * * * * * * * it was quite in keeping with everything that had gone before that, the day after a passing franciscan priest had married them, landor should have been ordered off upon a scout, and felipa should have taken it as a matter of course, shedding no tears, and showing no especial emotion beyond a decent regret. they had not gone upon a wedding trip for the excellent reason that there was no place to go; and as they sat at dinner together in their sparsely furnished quarters, there was a timid ring at the door-bell, and landor's chinaman, the cook of his bachelor days, ushered in the commanding officer, who looked humble apology for the awkwardness of a visit he could not delay. he went straight to the matter in hand, in spite of the tactful intentions that had made him come himself instead of sending a subordinate. "i say, landor," he began, after having outwardly greeted felipa and inwardly cursed his luck at being obliged to tear a man away from so fair a bride, "i say, there's been the dickens of a row up at the agency." landor went on with his dinner coolly enough. "there's quite likely to be that at any time," he said, "so long as a pious and humane indian bureau sends out special agents of the devil who burn down the agency buildings of peaceful apaches as a means of inducing them to seek illness and death in malarious river bottoms." "that," objected the major, testily, "is ancient history. this trouble started the way of most of the troubles of this age--whiskey." in his agitation he carefully spilled a spoonful of salt on the cloth and scraped it into a little mound with a knife. then recollecting that spilled salt causes quarrels, he hurriedly threw a pinch of it over his left shoulder. "and--and, the worst of the whole business is, old man, that you've got to go. your troop and one from apache are ordered out. i'm awfully sorry." he would not look at felipa at all. but he stared landor fairly out of countenance, as he waited for a storm of tears and protestations. when, therefore, mrs. landor said, with the utmost composure, that it was too bad, his gasp was audible. the captain knitted his thick brows and interposed quickly, talking against time. "if the tucson ring and the indian bureau had one head, i should like the detail of cutting it off." his annoyance seemed to be of an impersonal sort, and the commandant began to feel that he must have handled the thing rather well, after all. he gained in self-esteem and equanimity. felipa rose from the table, and going over to her husband laid her hand on his shoulder. she asked when he must go. "to-night, my dear lady, i am afraid," soothed the commandant. but she appeared to be in no need of humoring, as she turned to landor and offered to do what she might to help him. he had dreaded a scene, but he was not so sure that this was not worse. "you are the wife for a soldier," he said somewhat feebly; "no tears and fuss and--all that kind of thing." landor winced as he folded his napkin and stood up. "i am ready," he said, and going into the long hallway took his cap from the rack and went with the major out into the night. in half an hour he was back, and having produced his scouting togs from the depths of a sky-blue chest, smelling horribly of tobacco and camphor, he fell to dressing. felipa sat on the edge of the bunk and talked to him, a little excited, and very anxious to try what a scout was like for herself. as he put on his faded blouse he went and stood before her, holding out his arms. she moved over to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "are you not sorry to have me go?" he asked, in the tones of one having a grievance. he felt that he was entitled to something of the sort. of course she was sorry, she protested, a little indignant that he should ask it. she would be horribly lonesome. he tried hard to warm her to something more personal. "i might never come back, you know, dear." he realized that he was absolutely begging for affection, most futile and unavailing of all wastes of energy. but she only answered that that was unlikely and slipped her arm around his neck, as she added that if anything were to happen to him, she would not have one real friend in the world. there was something pathetic in the quiet realization of her loneliness. he stroked her hair pityingly. after all, she was only a half-savage creature bound to him by the ties of gratitude. he had seen the same thing in a chiricahua girl baby he had once rescued, horribly burned, from the fire of an abandoned indian camp, where she had been thrown by the fleeing hostiles, because she was sickly and hampered their progress. the hideous, scarred little thing had attached herself to him like a dog, and had very nearly pined herself to death when he had had to leave her for good. afterward she had married--at the ripe age of twelve--a buck of her own tribe. he thought of how she also had slipped her hard, seamed arm around his neck, and he drew away from felipa. when, in the darkness of a cloudy night, he said good-by to her on the road before his quarters, bending to kiss the warm mouth he could not see, he knew that it would have been possible for him to have loved her, had she been nearly all that she was not. then he mounted the horse the orderly held for him, and trotted off. v the gila river cutting straight across the southern portion of arizona, from the alkali flats on the east to the colorado at yuma on the west, flowed then its whole course through desolation. sometimes cottonwoods and sycamore trees rose in the bottom, and there was a patch of green around some irrigated land. but, for the most part, the basin was a waste of glittering sand and white dust, and beyond, the low hills, bare of every plant save a few stunted wild flowers, cacti and sage, greasewood and mesquite, rolled for miles and miles of barrenness. the chicken hawk and crow sailed through the fiercely blue sky, the air waved and quivered with incredible heat. at night malaria rose from the ground, the coyote barked and whined at the light of the brilliant stars, and the polecat prowled deliberately. here, toward the eastern part of the territory, the government had portioned off the san carlos agency for its apache wards, and some thirty miles away, not far from the banks of the river, camp thomas for its faithful soldiery. on a day when the mercury registered degrees, felipa landor drove into the camp. her life, since her marriage three years before, had been the usual nomadic one of the place and circumstances, rarely so much as a twelvemonth in one place, never certain for one day where the next would find her. recently landor had been stationed at the headquarters of the department of arizona. but felipa had made no complaint whatever at having to leave the gayest post in the territories for the most god-forsaken, and she refused flatly to go east. "i can stand anything that you can," she told her husband when he suggested it, which was apparently true enough, for now, in a heat that was playing out the very mules, covered as she was with powdery, irritating dust, she was quite cheerful as he helped her from the ambulance. she stood looking round the post, across the white-hot parade ground, to the adobe barracks and the sutler's store. then she turned and considered the officers' quarters. they were a row of hospital, wall, and a tents, floored with rough boards and sheltered by ramadas of willow branches. in the middle of the line there was a one-room mud hut. this, with the tents back of it, was her home. landor had fitted up the hut with navajo blankets, indian baskets, dolls, saddle bags, war bonnets, and quivers; with stuffed birds and framed chromos, camp-chairs and some rough quartermaster's furniture. a gray blanket, with a yellow q. m. d. in the centre, kept the glare out at the window, and the room was cool enough. one advantage of adobe--and it has others--is that it retains all summer the winter cold, and all winter the summer heat. felipa expressed decided approval, and set to work making herself comfortable at once. within ten minutes she had changed her travelling things for a white wrapper, had brushed the dust from her hair, and left it hanging straight and coarse and dead black, below her waist,--she was given to loosing it whenever the smallest excuse offered,--and had settled herself to rest in a canvas lounging chair. landor had come to agree with the major at grant, that she was an excellent wife for a soldier. her tastes were simple as those of a hermit. she asked only a tent and a bunk and enough to eat, and she could do without even those if occasion arose. she saw the best of everything, not with the exasperating optimism which insists upon smiling idiotically on the pleasant and the distinctly disagreeable alike, and upon being aggressively delighted over the most annoying mishaps, but with a quiet, common-sense intention of making the objectionable no more so for her own part. there were wives who made their husbands' quarters more dainty and attractive, if not more neat; but in the struggle--for it was necessarily a struggle--lost much peace of mind and real comfort. upon the whole, landor was very well satisfied, and felipa was entirely so. she was utterly indifferent to being set down at a three-company post, where her only companion was to be a woman she disliked from the first, openly and without policy, as was her way. the woman called early in the blazing afternoon, appearing clad in silks, waving a gorgeous fan of plumes, and sinking languidly into a chair. felipa sat bolt upright on a camp-stool, and before the close of an hour they were at daggers' points. the commandant's wife used cheap french phrases in every other breath, and felipa retaliated in the end by a long, glib sentence, which was not understood. she seemed absolutely dense and unsmiling about it, but landor was used to the mask of stolidity. he got up and went to the window to arrange the gray blanket, and hide a smile that came, even though he was perfectly aware of the unwisdom of making an enemy of the c. o.'s wife. from thenceforth the elegant creature troubled felipa as little as the nature of things would permit. she said that mrs. landor was _une sauvage_ and so _brune_; and mrs. landor said she was a fool and dyed her hair. she was not given to mincing words. and she had small patience with a woman who lay in bed until the sun was high, and who spent her days lounging under the ramada, displaying tiny, satin-shod feet for the benefit of the enlisted men and the indians who wandered over from the reservation. she herself was up before dawn, riding over the hills with her husband, watching the sun rise above the blue mountains on the far-away horizon, and strike with lights of gold and rose the sands and the clumps of sage, visiting the herd where it struggled to graze, under well-armed guard, and gathering the pitiful wild flowers from the baked, lifeless soil. she shot quail and owls, and dressed their skins. she could endure any amount of fatigue, and she could endure quite as well long stretches of idleness. having no children of her own, she took for protégé a small white mountain, son of a buck who hung about the post most of the time, bought him candy and peanuts at the sutler's store, taught him english, and gathered snatches of his tribe's tongue in return. landor humored her, but did not quite approve. "if you begin that, every papoose at the agency will be brought down to us," he suggested; and once when he had grown a little tired of having the noiseless, naked little savage forever round, he offered him a piece of canned lobster. whereupon the boy fled wildly, and would not be coaxed back for many days. felipa seemed really to miss him, so landor never teased him after that, making only the reasonable request that the youngster be not allowed to scratch his head near him. another of her pets was a little fawn a soldier had caught and given to her. it followed her tamely about the post. one morning, shortly before dinner call, she sat under the ramada, the deer at her feet, asleep, the little apache squatted beside her, amusing himself with a collection of gorgeous pictorial labels, soaked from commissary fruit and vegetable cans. the camp was absolutely silent, even the drowsy scraping of the brooms of the police party having stopped some time before. landor was asleep in his tent, and presently she herself began to doze. she was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the gravel in front of the ramada, and in another moment a tall figure stood in the opening, dark against the glare. instantly she knew it was the man with whom she had come face to face long before on the parade ground at grant, though from then until now she had not thought of him once, nor remembered his existence. she rose to her feet, standing slender and erect, the roused fawn on one side and the naked savage on the other. and they faced each other, disconcerted, caught mute in the reverberation, indefinite, quivering, of a chord which had been struck somewhere in the depths of that nature to which we are willing enough to grant the power of causing the string of an instrument to pulse to the singing of its own note, but whose laws of sympathetic vibration we would fain deny beyond material things. the man understood, and was dismayed. it is appalling to feel one's self snatched from the shifting foothold of individuality and whirled on in the current of the force of things. felipa did not understand. and she was annoyed. she crashed in with the discord of a deliberate commonplace, and asked what she could do for him, speaking as to an inferior; and he, with a stiff resentment, answered that he wished to see captain landor. she did not return to the ramada, but before long her husband came in search of her. "that man is going to stay to luncheon," he told her. she echoed "to luncheon!" in amazement. "but, jack, he was a soldier, wasn't he?" "he was, but he isn't. i sent for him about some business, and he is a very decent sort of a fellow. he has a little ranch on the reservation." "a squaw-man?" she asked. "i dare say," he answered carelessly. "come and meet him. you'll like him." she went, with none too good a grace. cairness said to himself that she was regal, and acknowledged her most formal welcome with an ease he had fancied among the arts he had long since lost. "i have seen you before, mrs. landor," he said after a while. "yes?" she answered, and stroked the head of the fawn. "yes," he persisted, refusing to be thwarted, "once when you were crossing the parade at grant, at retreat, and two days afterward when you shot a blue jay down by the creek." she could not help looking at him now, and his eyes held hers through a silence that seemed to them so enduring, so unreasonable, that landor must wonder at it. but he had seen men put at a disadvantage by her beauty before, and he had grown too used to her lack of conventionality to think much about it, one way or the other. "can't we send the hostile away?" he suggested, glancing at the small apache, who was digging viciously at his head and watching cairness with beady orbs. felipa spoke to him, and he went. "do you like his kind?" the englishman asked curiously. "they have their good points," she answered, exactly as he himself had answered brewster's baiting long ago. then she fastened her gaze on the roof of the ramada. it was evident that she had no intention of making herself agreeable. landor had learned the inadvisability and the futility of trying to change her moods. she was as unaffected about them as a child. so he took up the conversation he and cairness had left off, concerning the indian situation, always a reliable topic. it was bad that year and had been growing steadily worse, since the trouble at the time of his marriage, when arizona politicians had, for reasons related to their own pockets, brought about the moving of the white mountain band to the san carlos agency. the white mountains had been peaceable for years, and, if not friendly to the government, at least too wise to oppose it. they had cultivated land and were living on it inoffensively. but they were trading across the territorial line into new mexico, and that lost money to arizona. so they were persuaded by such gentle methods as the burning of their agency buildings and the destruction of their property, to move down to san carlos. the climate there was of a sort fatal to the mountain apaches,--the thing had been tried before with all the result that could be desired, in the way of fevers, ague, and blindness,--and also the white mountains were hereditary enemies of the san carlos tribes. but a government with a policy, three thousand miles away, did not know these things, nor yet seek to know them. government is like the gods, upon occasions: it first makes mad, then destroys. and if it is given time enough, it can be very thorough in both. in the period of madness, more or less enduring, of the victim of the great powers' policy, somebody who is innocent usually suffers. sometimes the powers know it, oftener they do not. either way it does not worry them. they set about doing their best to destroy, and that is their whole duty. not having had enough of driving to madness in ' and ' , they tried it again three years later. they were dealing this time with other material, not the friendly and the cowed, but with savages as cruel and fierce and unscrupulous as those of the days of coronado. victorio, juh, and geronimo were already a little known, but now they were to have their names shrieked to the unhearing heavens in the agony of the tortured and the dying. the powers said that a party of indians had killed two american citizens, and had thereby offended against their sacred laws. to be sure the americans had sold the indians poisonous whiskey, so they had broken the laws, too. but there is, as any one should be able to see, a difference between a law-breaking chiricahua and a law-breaking territorial politician. cairness refused to see it. he said things that would have been seditious, if he had been of any importance in the scheme of things. as it was, the great powers did not heed them, preferring to take advice from men who did not know an apache from a sioux--or either from the creation of the shilling shocker. "i am not wasting any sympathy on the apaches, nor on the indians as a whole. they have got to perish. it is in the law of advancement that they should. but where is the use in making the process painful? leave them alone, and they'll die out. it isn't three hundred years since one of the biggest continents of the globe was peopled with them, and now there is the merest handful left, less as a result of war and slaughter than of natural causes. nature would see to it that they died, if we didn't." "the philanthropist doesn't look at it that way. he thinks that we should strive to preserve the species." "i don't," cairness differed; "it's unreasonable. there is too much sympathy expended on races that are undergoing the process of extinction. they have outgrown their usefulness, if they ever had any. it might do to keep a few in a park in the interests of science, and of that class of people which enjoys seeing animals in cages. but as for making citizens of the indians, raising them to our level--it can't be done. even when they mix races, the red strain corrupts the white." landor glanced at his wife. she seemed to take it without offence, and was listening intently. "it's the old saying about a dog walking on its hind legs, when you come to civilizing the indian. you are surprised that he civilizes at all, but he doesn't do it well, for all that. he can be galvanized into a temporary semblance of national life, but he is dead at the core, and he will decay before long." "they could kill a good many of us before they died out, if we would sit still and take it," landor objected. "it's six one, and half a dozen the other. they'd be willing enough to die out in peace, if we'd let them. even they have come to have a vague sort of instinct that that's what it amounts to." landor interrupted by taking the slipper from felipa's foot and killing with it a centipede that crawled up the wall of the abode. "that's the second," he said, as he put the shoe on again. "i killed one yesterday; the third will come to-morrow." then he went back to his chair and to the discussion, and before long he was called to the adjutant's office. felipa forgot her contempt for cairness. she was interested and suddenly aroused herself to show it. "how do you come to be living with the indians?" she asked. it was rarely her way to arrive at a question indirectly. "have you married a squaw?" he flushed angrily, then thought better of it, because after all the question was not impertinent. so he only answered with short severity that he most certainly had not. felipa could not help the light of relief that came on her face, but realizing it, she was confused. he helped her out. "i have drifted in a way," he went on to explain. "i left home when i was a mere boy, and the spirit of savagery and unrest laid hold of me. i can't break away. and i'm not even sure that i want to. you, i dare say, can't understand." yet he felt so sure, for some reason, that she could that he merely nodded his head when she said briefly, "i can." "then, too," he went on, "there is something in the indian character that strikes a responsive chord in me. i come of lawless stock myself. i was born in sidney." then he stopped short. what business was it of hers where he had been born? he had never seen fit to speak of it before. nevertheless he intended that she should understand now. so he made it quite plain. "sidney was a convict settlement, you know," he said deliberately, "and marriages were promiscuous. my grandfather was an officer who was best away from england. my grandmother poisoned her first husband. that is on my mother's side. on my father's side it was about as mixed." he leaned back, crossing his booted legs and running his fingers into his cartridge belt. his manner asked with a certain defiance, what she was going to do about it, or to think. and what she did was to say, with a deliberation equal to his own, that her mother had been a half-breed mescalero and her father a private. he looked at her steadily, in silence. it did not seem that there was anything to say. he would have liked to tell her how beautiful she was. but he did not do it. instead, he did much worse. for he took a beaded and fringed leather case from his pocket and held out to her the drawing he had made of her four years before. she gave it back without a word, and bent to play with the buckskin collar on the neck of the fawn. cairness put the sketch back in the case and stood up. "will you tell captain landor that i found that i could not wait, after all?" he said, and bowing went out from the ramada. she sat staring at the white glare of the opening, and listening to his foot-falls upon the sand. vi landor said that he had put in a requisition for kippered mackerel and anchovy paste, and that the commissary was running down so that one got nothing fit to eat. he was in an unpleasant frame of mind, and his first lieutenant, who messed with him, pulled apart a broiled quail that lay, brown and juicy, on its couch of toast and cress, and asked wherein lay the use of taking thought of what you should eat. "every prospect is vile, and man is worse, and the sooner heaven sends release the better. what is there in a life like this? six weeks from the nearest approach to civilization, malaria in the air by night and fire by day. even mrs. landor is showing it." "i didn't know that i had made any complaint," she said equably. "you haven't, but the summer has told on you just the same. you are thin, and your eyes are too big. look at that!" he held out a hand that shook visibly. "that's the gila valley for you." "sometimes it's the gila valley, and sometimes it's rum," said landor. "it's rum with a good many." "why shouldn't it be? what the deuce has a fellow got to do but drink and gamble? you have to, to keep your mind off it." the lieutenant himself did neither, but he argued that his mind was never off it. felipa thought it was not quite so bad as that, and she poured herself another cup of the rio, strong as lye, with which she saturated her system, to keep off the fever. "you might marry," landor suggested. "you can always do that when all else fails." "who is there to marry hereabouts? and always supposing there were some one, i'd be sent off on a scout next day, and have to ship her back east for an indefinite time. it would be just my blamed luck." the breakfast humor when the thermometer has been a hundred and fifteen in the shade for long months, is pessimistic. "don't get married then, please," said felipa, "not for a few days at any rate. i don't want captain landor to go off until he gets over these chills and things." there was a knock at the door of the tent, and it opened. the adjutant came in. "i say, landor--" "i say, old man, shut that door! look at the flies. now go on," he added, as the door banged; and he rose to draw a chair to the table. "can't stay," said the adjutant, all breathless. "the line's down between here and the agency; but a runner has just come in, and there's trouble. the bucks are restless. want to join victorio in new mexico. you've both got to get right over there." it was the always expected, the never ceasing. landor looked at his wife and stroked his mustache with a shaking hand. his face was yellow, and his hair had grown noticeably grayer. "you are not fit to go," felipa said resignedly, "but that doesn't matter, of course." "no," he agreed, "it doesn't matter. and i shall do well enough." then the three went out, and she finished her breakfast alone. in less than an hour the troop was ready, the men flannel-shirted and gauntleted, their soft felt hats pulled over their eyes, standing reins in hand, foot in stirrup, beside the fine, big horses that crook had substituted for the broncos of the plains cavalry of former years. down by the corrals the pack-mules were ready, too, grunting under their aparejos and packs. a thick, hot wind, fraught with sand, was beginning, presaging one of the fearful dust storms of the southwest. the air dried the very blood in the veins. the flies, sticky and insistent, clung and buzzed about the horses' eyes and nostrils. bunches of tumbleweed and hay went whirling across the parade. landor came trotting over from his quarters, followed by his orderly, and the troops moved off across the flat, toward the river. felipa stood leaning listlessly against the post of the ramada, watching them. after a time she went into the adobe and came out with a pair of field-glasses, following the course of the command as it wound along among the foot-hills. the day dragged dully along. she was uneasy about her husband, her nerves were shaken with the coffee and quinine, and she was filled, moreover, with a vague restlessness. she would have sent for her horse and gone out even in the clouds of dust and the wind like a hot oven, but landor had forbidden her to leave the post. death in the tip of a poisoned arrow, at the point of a yucca lance, or from a more merciful bullet of lead, might lurk behind any mesquite bush or gray rock. she set about cleaning the little revolver, self-cocking, with the thumb-piece of the hammer filed away, that her husband had given her before they were married. to-night she wanted no dinner. she was given to eating irregularly; a good deal at a time, and again nothing for a long stretch. that, too, was in the blood. so she sent the soldier cook away, and he went over to the deserted barracks. then she tried to read, but the whisper of savagery was in the loneliness and the night. she sat with the book open in her lap, staring into a shadowy corner where there leaned an indian lance, surmounted by a war bonnet. presently she stood up, and stretched her limbs slowly, as a beast of prey does when it shakes off the lethargy of the day and wakens for the darkness. then she went out to the back of the tents. the stars were bright chips of fire in a sky of polished blue. the wind of the day had died at dusk, and the silence was deep, but up among the bare graves the coyotes were barking weirdly. as she looked off across the low hills, there was a quick, hissing rattle at her feet. she moved hastily, but without a start, and glanced down at a rattler not three feet away. landor's sabre stood just within the sitting room, and she went for it and held the glittering blade in front of the snake. its fangs struck out viciously again and again, and a long fine stream of venom trickled along the steel. then she raised the sabre and brought it down in one unerring sweep, severing the head from the body. in the morning she would cut off the rattle and add it to the string of close upon fifty that hung over her mirror. but now the night was calling to her, the wild blood was pricking in her veins. running the sabre into the ground, she cleaned off the venom, and went back to the adobe to put it in its scabbard. after she had done that she stood hesitating for just a moment before she threw off all restraint with a toss of her head, and strapped about her waist a leather belt from which there hung a bowie knife and her pistol in its holster. then slipping on her moccasins, she glided into the darkness. she took the way in the rear of the quarters, skirting the post and making with swift, soundless tread for the river. her eyes gleamed from under her straight, black brows as she peered about her in quick, darting glances. not a week before--and then the agency had been officially at peace--a mexican packer had been shot down by an arrow from some unseen bow, within a thousand yards of the post, in broad daylight. the indians, caking their bodies with clay, and binding sage or grass upon their heads, could writhe unseen almost within arm's reach. but felipa was not afraid. straight for the river bottom she made, passing amid the dump-heaps, where a fire of brush was still smouldering, filling the air with pungent smoke, where old cans and bottles shone in the starlight, and two polecats, pretty white and black little creatures, their bushy tails erect, sniffed with their sharp noses as they walked stupidly along. their bite meant hydrophobia, but though one came blindly toward her, she barely moved aside. her skirt brushed it, and it made a low, whining, mean sound. down by the river a coyote scudded across her path as she made her way through the willows, and when he was well beyond, rose up on his hind legs and looked after her. at the water's edge she stopped and glanced across to the opposite bank. the restlessness was going, and she meant to return now, before she should be missed--if indeed she were not missed already, as was very probable. yet still she waited, her hands clasped in front of her, looking down at the stream. farther out, in the middle, a ripple flashed. but where she stood among the bushes, it was very dark. the water made no sound, there was not a breath of air, yet suddenly there was a murmur, a rustle. felipa's revolver was in her hand, and cocked and pointed straight between two eyes that shone out of the blackness. and so, for an appreciable time, she stood. then a long arm came feeling out; but because she was looking along the sight into the face at the very end of the muzzle, she failed to see it. when it closed fast about her waist, she gave a quick gasp and fired. but the bullet, instead of going straight through the forehead beneath the head band, as she had meant it to do, ploughed down. the grasp on the body relaxed for an instant; the next it had tightened, and a branch had struck the pistol from her hand. and now it was a struggle of sheer force and agility. she managed to whip out the knife from her belt and to strike time and time again through sinewy flesh, to the bone. the only noise was the dragging of their feet on the sand, the cracking of the willows and the swishing of the blade. it was savage against savage, two vicious, fearless beasts. the apache in felipa was full awake now, awake in the bliss of killing, the frenzy of fight, and awake too, in the instinct which told her how, with a deep-drawn breath, a contraction, a sudden drop and writhing, she would be free of the arms of steel. and she was free, but not to turn and run--to lunge forward, once and again, her breath hissing between her clenched, bared teeth. the buck fell back before her fury, but she followed him thrusting and slashing. yet it might not, even then, have ended well for her, had there not come from somewhere overhead the sound most dreaded as an omen of harm by all apaches--the hoot of an owl. the indian gave a low cry of dismay and turned and darted in among the bushes. she stood alone, with the sticky, wet knife in her hand, catching her breath, coming out of the madness. then she stooped, and pushing the branches aside felt about for her pistol. it lay at the root of a tree, and when she had picked it up and put it back in the holster, there occurred to her for the first time the thought that the shot in the dead stillness must have roused the camp. and now she was sincerely frightened. if she were found here, it would be more than disagreeable for landor. they must not find her. she started at a swift, long-limbed run, making a wide detour, to avoid the sentries, bending low, and flying silently among the bushes and across the shadowy sands. she could hear voices confusedly, men hurriedly calling and hallooing as she neared the back of the officers' line and crept into her tent. the door was barely closed when there came a knock, and the voice of the striker asking if she had heard the shot across the river. "yes," she said, "i heard it. but i was not frightened. what was it?" he did not know, he said, and she sent him back to the barracks. then she lit a lamp and took off her blood-stained gown. there was blood, too, on the knife and its case. she cleaned them as best she could and looked into the chamber of her revolver with a contemplative smile on the lips that less than half an hour before had been curled back from her sharp teeth like those of a fighting wolf. she wondered how badly the buck had been hurt. and the next day she knew. when she came out in front of her quarters in the morning, rather later than usual, there was a new tent beside the hospital, and when she asked the reason for it, they told her that a wounded apache had been found down by the river soon after the shot had been fired the night before. he was badly hurt, with a ball in his shoulder, and he was half drunk with tizwin, as well as being cut in a dozen places. she listened attentively to the account of the traces of a struggle among the willows, and asked who had fired the shot. it was not known, they said, and the sullen buck would probably never tell. when she saw the post surgeon come out from his house and start over to the hospital, she called to him. "may i see your new patient?" she asked. he told her that he was going to operate at once, to remove the ball and the shattered bone, but that she might come if she wished. his disapproval was marked, but she went with him, nevertheless, and sat watching while he picked and probed at the wound. the apache never quivered a muscle nor uttered a sound. it was fine stoicism, and appealed to felipa until she really felt sorry for him. but presently she stood up to go away, and her eyes caught the lowering, glazed ones of the indian. half involuntarily she made a motion of striking with a knife. neither the doctor nor the steward caught it, but he did, and showed by a sudden start that he understood. he watched her as she went out of the tent, and the surgeon and steward worked with the shining little instruments. vii landor came in a few weeks later. he had had an indecisive skirmish in new mexico with certain bucks who had incurred the displeasure of the paternal government by killing and eating their horses, to the glory of their gods and ancestors, and thereafter working off their enthusiasm by a few excursions beyond the confines of the reservation, with intent to murder and destroy. being shaved of the thick iron-gray beard, and once again in seemly uniform, and having reported to the commandant, he sat down to talk with his wife. she herself lay at full length upon a couch she had devised out of packing cases. it occurred to landor that she often dropped down to rest now, and that she was sallow and uneasy. he looked at her uncomfortably. "i am going to get you out of this, up into the mountains somewhere," he said abruptly; "you look peaked." she did not show the enthusiasm he had rather expected. "i dare say it is my bad conscience," she answered with some indifference. "i have a sin to confess." he naturally did not foresee anything serious, and he only said, "well?" and began to fill his pipe from a buckskin pouch, cleverly sketched in inks with indian scenes. "by the way," he interrupted as she started to speak, "what do you think of this?" he held it out to her. "that fellow cairness, who wouldn't stay to luncheon that day, did it for me. we camped near his place a couple of days. and he sent you a needle-case, or some such concern. it's in my kit." she looked at the pouch carefully before she gave it back; then she clasped her hands under her head again and gazed up at the manta of the ceiling, which sagged and was stained where the last cloud-burst had leaked through the roof. "well?" repeated landor. "i disobeyed orders," said felipa. "did you, though?" "and i went outside the post the night after you left, down to the river. some one will probably tell you about a wounded sierra blanca found down among the bushes in the river bottom that same night. i shot him, and then i hacked him up with my knife." he had taken his pipe from his mouth and was looking at her incredulously, perplexed. he did not understand whether it was a joke on her part, or exactly what it was. but she sat up suddenly, with one of her quick movements of conscious strength and perfect control over every muscle, clasped her hands about her knees, and went on. "it was very curious," and there came on her face the watchful, alert, wild look, with the narrowing of the eyes. "it was very curious, i could not have stayed indoors that night if it had cost me my life--and it very nearly did, too. i had to get out. so i took my revolver and my knife, and i went the back way, down to the river. while i was standing on the bank and thinking about going home, an indian stole out on me. i had an awful struggle. first i shot. i aimed at his forehead, but the bullet struck his shoulder; and then i fought with the knife. as soon as i could slip out of his grasp, i went at him and drove him off. but i didn't know how badly he was hurt until the next day. the shot had roused them up here, and they went down to the river and found him bleeding on the sand. "they put him in a tent beside the hospital, and the next morning i went over with the doctor to see him. he was all cut up on the arms and neck and shoulders. i must have been very strong." she stopped, and he still sat with the puzzled look on his face, but a light of understanding beginning to show through. "are you joking," he asked, "or what?" "indeed, i am not joking," she assured him earnestly. "it is quite true. ask any one. only don't let them know it was i who wounded him. they have never so much as suspected it. fortunately i thought of you and ran home all the way, and was in my tent before it occurred to any one to come for me." she burst into a low laugh at his countenance of wrath and dismay. "oh! come, jack dear, it is not so perfectly, unspeakably horrible after all. i was disobedient. but then i am so sorry and promise never, never to do it again." "you might have killed the indian," he said, in a strained voice. it did not occur to either of them, just then, that it was not the danger she had been in that appalled him. she was astonished in her turn. "killed him! why, of course i might have killed him," she said blankly, frowning, in a kind of hopeless perplexity over his want of understanding. "i came very near it, i tell you. the ball made shivers of his shoulder. but he was brave," she grew enthusiastic now, "he let the doctor probe and pick, and never moved a muscle. of course he was half drunk with tizwin, even then." "you didn't stay to see the operation?" his voice was ominously quiet. "for a while, yes. and before i came away i made a sign to show him it was i. you should have seen his surprise." there followed a fury-fraught silence. landor's face was distorted with the effort he was making to contain himself, and felipa began to be a little uneasy. so she did the most unwise thing possible, having been deprived by nature of the good gift of tact. she got up from the couch and drew the knife from its case, and took it to him. "that," she said, showing the red-brown stains on the handle, "that is his blood." he snatched it from her then, with a force that threw her to one side, and sent it flying across the room, smashing a water jug to bits. then he pushed her away and going out, banged the door until the whitewash fell down from the cracks. felipa was very thoroughly frightened now. she stood in wholesome awe of her husband, and it was the first time she had ever made him really angry, although frequently he was vaguely irritated by her. she had had no idea the thing would infuriate him so, or she would probably have kept it to herself. and she wished now that she had, as she went back to the couch and sat on the edge of it, dejectedly. when he returned at the end of a couple of hours she was all humility, and she had moreover done something that was rare for her: made capital of her beauty, putting on her most becoming white gown, and piling her hair loosely on the top of her head, with a cap of lace and a ribbon atop of it. landor liked the little morning caps, probably because they were a sort of badge of civilization, but they were incongruous for all that, and took from the character of her head. his anger was well in leash, and he gave her the mail which had just come in by the stage, quite as though nothing had occurred. "and now," he commenced, when he had glanced over the eastern papers, "i have seen the c. o.; he wants the line between here and apache fixed. he will give me the detail if you care to go." he plainly meant to make no further reference to her confession, but she would have been more than woman if she had known when to let a matter drop. her face lighted with the relief of a forgiven child, and she went to him and put her arms around his neck. "you are so good to me," she said penitently, "and i was so disobedient." he bit his lip and did not reply, either to the words or to the caress. "you need a month of the mountains, i think," he said. the telegraph between thomas and apache always gave something to think about. the indians had learned the use of the white-eye's talking wire very promptly. in the early ' 's, when it first came to their notice, they put it to good use. as when an apache chief sent to a yuma chief the message that if the yumas did not hold to a certain promise, the apaches would go on the war-path and destroy them, root and branch. the indians and the cow-boys used the insulators to try their marksmanship upon, and occasionally--in much the same spirit that the college man takes gates from their hinges and pulls down street signs--the young bucks cut the wires and tied the ends with rubber bands. also trees blown down by storms fell crashing across the line, and some scheme for making it a little less tempting and a little more secure was much needed. landor had long nursed such an one. so a week later he and felipa, with a detail of twenty men and a six-mule wagon, started across the gila valley to the white mountains. by day felipa was left in camp with the cook, while landor and the men worked on ahead, returning at sundown. at times she went with them, but as a rule she wandered among the trees and rocks, shooting with pistol and bow, but always keeping close to the tents. she had no intention of disobeying her husband again. sometimes, too, she read, and sometimes cooked biscuits and game over the campfire in the dutch oven. her strength began to return almost from the first, and she had gone back, for comfort's sake, to the short skirts of her girlhood. the indians who came round talked with her amicably enough, mainly by signs. she played with the children too, and one day there appeared among them her protégé of the post, who thereafter became a camp follower. and on another morning there lounged into the space in front of the tents, with the indolent swing of a mountain lion, a big sierra blanca buck. he was wrapped from neck to moccasins in a red blanket, and carried an elaborate calf's-hide quiver. he stopped in front of felipa, who was sitting on the ground with her back against the trunk of a fallen tree reading, and held out the quiver to her. "how," he said gruffly. "how," answered felipa, as unconcernedly as though she had not recognized him almost at once for the buck she had last seen in the a tent beside the hospital, with the doctor picking pieces of bone and flesh from his shoulder. then she took the quiver and examined it. there was a bow as tall as herself, and pliable as fine steel, not a thing for children to play with, but a warrior's arm. also there were a number of thin, smooth, gayly feathered arrows. "_malas_," he told her, touching the heads. "_venadas_" and she knew that he meant that they were poisoned by the process of dipping them in putrid liver, into which a rattler had been made to inject its venom. even then the sort was becoming rare, though the arrow was still in use as a weapon and not merely as an attraction for tourists. the buck sat down upon the ground in front of felipa and considered her. by the etiquette of the tribe she could not ask him his name, but the boy, her protégé, told her that it was alchesay. all the afternoon he hung around the camp, taciturn, apparently aimless, while she went about her usual amusements and slept in the tent. once in a way he spoke to her in spanish. and for days thereafter, as they moved up along the rough and dangerous road,--where the wagon upset with monotonous regularity, big and heavy though it was,--he appeared from time to time. for some days felipa had noticed a change, indefinable and slight, yet still to be felt, in the manner of the indians all about. not that they were ever especially gracious, but now the mothers discouraged the children from playing hide-and-seek with her, and although there were quite as many squaws, fewer bucks came around than before. but alchesay could always be relied upon to stalk in, at regular intervals, and seat himself near the fire, or the hot ashes thereof. they had been four days camping on black river, a mountain stream rushing between the steep hills, with the roar of a niagara, hunting deer and small game, fishing with indifferent success,--to the disgust of the apaches, who would much rather have eaten worms than fish,--and entertaining visitors. there were any number of these. one party had come out from fort apache, another from a camp of troops on the new mexico road, and some civilians from boston, who were in search of a favorable route for a projected railway. in the opinion of landor, who knew the impracticable country foot for foot, they were well-intentioned lunatics. but they were agreeable guests, who exchanged the topics of the happy east for the wild turkey and commissary supplies of the far west, and in departing took with them a picturesque, if inexact, notion of army life on the frontier, and left behind a large number of books for felipa, who had dazzled their imaginations. she had read one of the books one afternoon when she was left alone, until the sun began to sink behind the mountain tops, and the cook to drag branches to the fire preparatory to getting supper. then she marked her place with a twig, and rose up from the ground to go to the tent and dress, against landor's return. the squaws and bucks who had been all day wandering around the outskirts of the camp, speaking together in low voices, and watching the cook furtively, crowded about the opening. she warned them off with a careless "_ukishee_." but they did not go. some ten pairs of eyes, full of unmistakable menace, followed her every movement. she let down the tent flaps and tied them together, taking her time about it. she was angry, and growing angrier. it was unendurable to her to be disobeyed, to have her authority put at naught on the few occasions when she chose to exercise it. she could keep her temper over anything but that. and her temper was of the silent sort, rolling on and on, like a great cold swell at sea, to break finally against the first obstacle with an uncontrollable force. she had never been really angry but twice in her life. once when she was in school, and when a teacher she liked, judging her by her frequent and unblushing lies to a teacher she disliked, doubted her word upon an occasion when she was really speaking the truth. it was after that that she had written to her guardian that she would run away. the second time had been when brewster had tried to bully her. she knew that it would soon be a third time, if the indians went on annoying her. and she was far more afraid of what she might do than of what they might do. but she took off the waist of her gown and began to brush her hair, not being in the least squeamish about letting the apaches see her fine white arms and neck, if they were to open the flaps again. which was what they presently did. she expected it. a long, wrinkled hand reached in, feeling about for the knots of the tape. she stood still with the brush in her hands, watching. another hand came, and another. she caught up her quirt from the cot, then realizing that the sting of the lash would only prove an exasperation and weaken her authority, if she had any whatever,--and she believed that she had,--she threw it down. the cook was probably in the kitchen tent and did not know what was going on. and she would have died before she would have called for help. the lean hands found the knots, untied them, and threw back the flaps defiantly. the ten pairs of eyes were fastened on her again. she returned the gaze steadily, backing to a little camp table and slipping her hand under a newspaper that lay upon it. "_ukishee, pronto_," she commanded, in the accepted argot. they stood quite still and unyielding; and she knew that if she were to be obeyed at all, it must be now. or if she were to die, it must be now also. but the hand that drew from beneath the newspaper the little black-butted smith and wesson, which was never out of her reach, did not so much as tremble as she aimed it straight between the eyes of the foremost buck. "_ukishee_," she said once again, not loudly, but without the shadow of hesitation or wavering. there answered a low muttering, evil and rising, and the buck started forward. her finger pressed against the trigger, but before the hammer had snapped down, she threw up the barrel and fired into the air, for a big, sinewy arm, seamed with new scars, had reached out suddenly and struck the buck aside. it was all done in an instant, so quickly that felipa hardly knew she had changed her aim, and that it was alchesay who had come forward only just in time. the cook came running, six-shooter in hand, but alchesay was driving them away and lowering the canvas flaps. felipa told the cook that it was all right, and went on with her dressing. although she had no gifts for guessing the moods and humors of her father's race, she understood her mother's considerably better, and so she did not even call a "_gracias_" after alchesay. she merely nodded amicably when she went out and found him sitting on the ground waiting for her. he returned the nod, a degree less graciously, if possible, and began to talk to her in bad spanish, evidently putting small faith in her command of the white mountain idiom, marvellous, to be sure, in a white-eye squaw, for such were of even greater uselessness than the average woman, but of no account whatever in a crisis. and such he plainly considered this to be. "_usted, vaya prontisimo_," he directed with the assumption of right of one to whom she owed her life. she looked down at him in a somewhat indignant surprise. "_pues porque?_" she asked, maintaining the haughtiness of the dominant race, and refusing to acknowledge any indebtedness. "why should i go away?" "_hombre!_" grunted the indian, puffing at a straw-paper cigarette, "_excesivamente peligroso aqui_." "why is it dangerous?" she wanted to know, and shrugged her shoulders. she was plainly not to be terrorized. "_matarán á usted._" "they will kill me? who will kill me, and what for?" he gave another grunt. "go away to-morrow. go to the fort." he pointed with the hand that held the bit of cigarette in the direction of apache. "tell your man." she threw him an indifferent "i am not afraid, not of anything." it was a boast, but he had reason to know that it was one she could make good. he rolled another cigarette, and sat smoking it unmoved. and she went into the mess tent. nevertheless she decided that it might be best to tell her husband, and she did so as they sat together by the fire after the moon had risen into the small stretch of sky above the mountain peaks. they had bought a live sheep that day from a mexican herder who had passed along the road, and they were now cutting ribs from the carcass that hung from the branch of a near-by tree, and broiling them on the coals. felipa finished an unimpassioned account of the afternoon's happenings and of alchesay's advice, and landor did not answer at once. he sat thinking. of a sudden there was a rustle and a step among the pines, and from behind a big rock a figure came out into the half shadow. felipa was on her feet with a spring, and landor scrambled up almost as quickly. the figure moved into the circle of red firelight and spoke, "it is cairness." felipa started back so violently that she struck against the log she had been sitting upon, and lost her balance. cairness jumped forward, and his arm went around her, steadying her. for a short moment she leaned against his shoulder. then she drew away, and her voice was quite steady as she greeted him. he could never have guessed that in that moment she had learned the meaning of her life, that there had flashed burningly through her brain a wild, unreasoning desire to stand forever backed against that rock of strength, to defy the world and all its restrictions. there was a bright i. d. blanket spread on the ground a little way back from the fire, and she threw herself down upon it. all that was picturesque in his memories of history flashed back to cairness, as he took his place beside landor on the log and looked at her. boadicea might have sat so in the depths of the icenean forests, in the light of the torches of the druids. so the babylonian queen might have rested in the midst of her victorious armies, or she of palmyra, after the lion hunt in the deserts of syria. her eyes, red lighted beneath the shadowing lashes, met his. then she glanced away into the blackness of the pine forest, and calling her dog to lie down beside her, stroked its silky red head. "i knew," cairness said, turning to landor after a very short silence, "that you and mrs. landor were somewhere along here. so i left my horse at a rancheria across the hill there," he nodded over his shoulder in the direction of the looming pile just behind, "and walked to where i saw the fire. i saw you for some time before i was near, but i ought to have called out. i really didn't think about startling you." "that's all right," landor said; "are you hunting?" he hesitated. "i have done some shooting. i am always shooting more or less, for that matter." landor went to the tree and cut another rib from the mutton and threw it on the coals. then he walked across the clearing to the tent. cairness and felipa were alone, and he leaned nearer to her. "do you know," he asked in a low voice, "that there have been all sorts of rumors of trouble among the indians for some time?" she nodded. "i have kept near you for a week, to warn you, or to help you if necessary." her lips parted, and quivered, and closed again. the winds from the wide heavens above the gap whined through the pines, the river roared steadily down below, and the great, irresistible hand of nature crushed without heeding it the thin, hollow shell of convention. the child of a savage and a black sheep looked straight and long into the face of the child of rovers and criminals. they were man and woman, and in the freemasonry of outlawry made no pretence. "you know that i love you?" he said unevenly. "i know it," she whispered, but she took her shaking hand from the dog's head, and, without another word, pointed to the shadow of landor's figure, thrown distorted by the candle light against the side of the tent. and he understood that the shadow must rise always between them. he had never expected it to be otherwise. it was bound to be so, and he bowed his head in unquestioning acceptance. the shadow was swallowed up in darkness. the candle had been blown out, and landor came back to the fire. "you must get mrs. landor into the post to-morrow," cairness said abruptly; "victorio's band is about." landor asked him to spend the night at the camp, and he did so, being given a cot in the mess tent. about an hour after midnight there came thundering through the quiet of the night the sound of galloping hoofs along the road at the foot of the ravine. cairness, lying broad awake, was the first to hear it. he sprang up and ran to the opening of the tent. he guessed that it was a courier even before the gallop changed to a trot, and a voice called from the invisible depths below, "captain landor?" with a rising intonation of uncertainty. "yes," cairness called back. "is that captain landor's camp?" a score of voices answered "yes." they were all aroused now. landor went down to meet the man, who had dismounted and was climbing up toward him, leading his horse. it was a courier, sent out from apache, as cairness had supposed. "sixty of victorio's hostiles have been at the agency, and are on their way back to new mexico. will probably cross your camp," the captain read aloud to the men, who crowded as near as was compatible with discipline. then he went off to inspect the stock and the pickets, and to double the sentries. "you had better sleep on your arms," he told the soldiers, and returned to his cot to lie down upon it, dressed, but feigning sleep, that felipa might not be uneasy. he need not have resorted to deception. felipa had not so much as pretended to close her eyes that night. before dawn cairness was out, hastening the cook with the breakfast, helping with it himself, indeed, and rather enjoying the revival of the days when he had been one of the best cooks in the troop and forever pottering about the mess chests and the dutch oven, in the field. as the sun rose,--though daybreak was fairly late there in the cañon,--the cold, crisp air was redolent of coffee and bacon and broiling fresh meat. felipa, lifting her long riding skirt, stepped out from the tent, and stood with hand upraised holding back the flap. a ray of sun, piercing white through the pines, fell full on her face. she had the look of some mysterious priestess of the sun god, and cairness, standing by the crackling fire, prodding it with a long, charred stick, watched her without a word. then she came forward, holding out her hand in the most matter-of-fact way, if, indeed, any action of a very beautiful woman can be matter of fact. "i shall ride into apache with you in captain landor's stead, if he will allow me," he told her, and added, "and if you will." she bowed gravely, "you are very kind." at the instant a cloud floated over the sun, and soon a black bank began to fill up the sky above the cañon. as they ate their breakfast in the tent, the morning darkened forebodingly. felipa finished the big quart cup of weak coffee hurriedly, and stood up, pushing back her camp-stool. her horse and four others were waiting. landor had agreed to trust her to cairness and an escort of three soldiers. he could ill spare time from the telegraph line, under the circumstances; it might be too imperatively needed at any moment. he mounted his wife quickly. "you are not afraid?" he asked. but he knew so well that she was not, that he did not wait for her answer. cairness mounted, and looked up anxiously at the sky, as he gathered his reins between his fingers. the wind had begun to howl through the branches of the trees. it promised to be a wild ride. "i will be back to-night, landor, to report," he said; "that is, if the storm doesn't delay us." and they started off down the hill. he rode beside mrs. landor along the road in the ravine bed, and the soldiers followed some twenty yards in the rear. they were making as much haste as was wise at the outset, and felipa bent forward against the ever rising wind, as her horse loped steadily on. there was a mutter of thunder and a far-off roar, a flame of lightning through the trees, and the hills and mountains shook. just where they rode the cañon narrowed to hardly more than a deep gulch, and the river ran close beside the road. "we must get out of this," cairness started to say, urging his little bronco; but even as he spoke there was a murmur, a rustle, a hissing roar, and the rain fell in one solid sheet, blinding them, beating them down. "take care!" yelled cairness, as felipa, dazed and without breath, headed straight for the stream. he bent and snatched at her bridle, and, swerving, started up the sheer side of the hill. she clung to the mane instinctively, but her horse stumbled, struggled, slipped, and scrambled. she had lost all control of it, and the earth and stones gave way beneath its hoofs just as a great wall of water bore down the bed of the river, sweeping trees and rocks away, and making the ground quiver. "let go your stirrup!" cried cairness, in her ear; and as she kicked her foot loose, he leaned far from the saddle and threw his arm around her, swinging her up in front of him across the mclellan pommel, and driving the spurs into his horse's belly. it had the advantage of her horse in that it was an indian animal, sure of foot as a burro, and much quicker. with one dash it was up the hillside, while the other rolled over and over, down into the torrent of the cloud burst. cairness slid to the ground, still holding her close, and set her upon her feet at once. he had not so much as tightened the grasp of his arm about her, nor held her one-half second longer than there was absolute need. he tried to see if the soldiers were safe, but though they were not a hundred feet away, the trunks and the mist of water hid them. the rain still pounded down, but the rush of the wind was lessening sensibly. felipa leaned against the tree under which they were, fairly protected from the worst of the storm; and cairness stood beside her, holding his winded horse. there was nothing to be said that could be said. she had lost for once her baffling control of the commonplace in speech, and so they stood watching the rain beat through the wilderness, and were silent. when the storm had fairly passed, they found felipa's gray lodged in the root of a tree some distance down the creek; in no way hurt, oddly enough, but trembling and badly frightened. the saddle, even, was uninjured, though the pigskin was water-soaked and slippery. cairness sent one of the soldiers back to report their safety to landor, and they mounted and hurried on again, swimming the river twice, and reaching the post some time after noon. the commandant's wife took mrs. landor in, and would have put her to bed with hot drinks and blankets, but that felipa would have nothing more than some dry clothes and a wrapper in place of her wet habit. the clothes were her own, brought by one of the men, safe in a rubber poncho, but the wrapper belonged to her hostess, who was portly, whereas felipa was slender. but to cairness, who had stopped for luncheon, she seemed, in the voluminous dull red draperies, more splendid than ever before. he rode away at once after they had lunched. and felipa went to her room, and dropped down shivering beside the little red-hot iron stove, moaning between her clenched teeth. viii six years of fighting, of bloodshed, of heavy loss in blood and treasure to the government, the careers of the incarnate devils juh, victorio, and geronimo--all the evils let loose on the southwest from ' to ' were traceable primarily to the selling of bad whiskey to a hunting party of chiricahuas by two storekeepers, greedy of gain. of course there were complications following, a long and involved list of them. of course the indians only sought the excuse, and very probably would have made it if it had not been made for them. and of course the interior department bungled under the guidance of politicians, of whom the best that possibly can be said is that they were stupid tools of corrupt men in the territories, who were willing to turn the blood of innocent settlers into gold for their own pockets. and still, those who hated the apache most--officers who had fought them for years, who were laboring under no illusions whatever; the commanders of the department of arizona and of the division of the missouri--reported officially that victorio and his people had been unjustly dealt with. and these were men, too, who had publicly expressed, time and again, their opinion that the apaches were idle and worthless vagabonds, utterly hopeless, squalid, untrustworthy; robbers and thieves by nature. they had none of crook's so many times unjustified faith in the red savage,--that faith which, wantonly betrayed, brought him to defeat and bitter disappointment at the last. since crook had gone to the northern plains, in the spring of ' , the unrest among the apaches had been steadily growing, until five years later it was beyond control, and there began the half decade which opened with victorio on the war-path, and closed with the closing of the career of the unfortunate general--most luckless example of the failing of failure--and the subjection of geronimo. the never ending changes of the service, which permitted no man to remain in one spot for more than two years at the utmost limit, had sent landor's troop back to grant, and it was from there that he was ordered out at the beginning of the summer. the curtain-raiser to the tragedy about to come upon the boards was a little comedy. one fine afternoon the post was moving along in its usual routine--that quiet which is only disturbed by the ever recurring military formalities and the small squabbles of an isolated community. there had been a lull in the war rumors, and hope for the best had sprung up in the wearied hearts of the plains service, much as the sun had that day come out in a scintillating air after an all-night rain-storm. mrs. landor sat on the top step of her porch. landor was with her, also his second lieutenant ellton, and brewster, who in the course of events had come into the troop. there had been, largely by felipa's advice, an unspoken agreement to let the past be. a troop divided against itself cannot stand well on the inspector general's reports. and as brewster was about to marry the commanding officer's daughter, it was well to give him the benefit of the doubt of his entire sanity when he had been under the influence of what had been a real, if short-lived, passion for felipa. they were all discussing the feasibility of getting up an impromptu picnic to the foot-hills. "miss mclane will go, i suppose?" asked felipa. brewster answered that she would, of course. he was rather annoyingly proprietary and sure of her. "but you have no jill," she said, smiling at ellton. his own smile was very strained, but she did not see that, nor the shade of trouble in his nice blue eyes. there fell a moment's pause. and it was broken by the sound of clashing as of many cymbals, the clatter of hoofs, the rattle of bouncing wheels, and around the corner of the line there came tearing a wagon loaded with milk tins. a wild-eyed man, hatless, with his hair on end, lashed his ponies furiously and drew up all of a heap, in front of the commanding officer's quarters. landor and his lieutenant jumped up and ran down the walk. "what's all this, dutchy?" they asked. dutchy was a little german, who kept a milk ranch some seven miles from the post. "apachees, apachees," he squealed, gasping for breath. "where?" the commandant asked. "i see dem pass by my ranch. dey weel run off all my stock, seexty of dem, a hundred mebee. i come queek to tell you." "you came quick all right enough," said landor, looking at the lathered broncos. but major mclane was inquiring, and the result of his inquiries was that two troops were hurried in hot pursuit. the post was tremendously excited. as the cavalry trotted off up the slope toward the foot-hills, the men left behind went to the back of the post and watched, women looked through field-glasses, from the upper windows, children balanced upon the fences of the back yards, and chinese cooks scrambled to the top of chicken coops and woodsheds, shading their eyes with their hands and peering in the direction of the gap. dogs barked and hens cackled and women called back and forth. down at the sutler's store the german was being comforted with beer at a dollar a bottle. in the storm-cleared atmosphere the troops could be seen until they turned into the gap, and shortly thereafter they reappeared, coming back at a trot. the milk ranch and the stock were unhurt, and there were not even any indian signs. it was simply another example, on the milkman's part, of the perfection to which the imagination of the frontier settler could be cultivated. "i see him, i see him all the same," he protested, with tears and evident conviction. "i guess not," said landor, tolerantly, as he turned his horse over to his orderly; "but, anyway," he added to ellton, "we had a picnic--of a sort." and before the next morning the picnic that kept the southwest interested for five years had begun. victorio and two hundred hostiles had left the mescalero agency for good and all, killing, burning, torturing, and destroying as they went, and troops from all the garrisons were sent out post haste. at noon landor got his orders. he was to leave at four o'clock, and when he told felipa she planned for dinner at three, with her usual manner of making all things as pleasant as possible, and indulging in no vain and profitless regrets. "we may as well have mr. brewster and nellie mclane, too," she decided, and went off in search of them, bareheaded and dancing with excitement. she dearly loved rumors of war. the prospect of a scout was always inspiriting to her. ellton messed with them regularly, but he was not to go out, because he was acting adjutant. to his intense disgust and considerable mortification--for he was young and very enthusiastic and burdened with ideals--he was obliged to appear spick and span in irreproachable undress, beside his superiors in their campaign clothes. "they're out from apache, two troops under kimball and dutton; morris has a band of scouts, bayard has sent two troops, wingate one. oh! it's going to be grim-visaged war and all that, this time, sure," brewster prophesied. ellton could not eat. he bewailed his hard fate unceasingly. "shut up," said brewster, with malicious glee. "they also serve who only stand and wait, you know," he chuckled. "you can serve your admiring and grateful country quite as well in the adjutant's office as summering on the verdant heights of the mogollons." ellton retaliated with more spirit. "or guarding a water hole on the border for two or three months, and that's quite as likely to be your fate." "true, too," brewster admitted perforce. "i've been talking to a fellow down at the q. m. corral," landor said, "englishman named cairness,--charley cairness. he's going as a scout. he can't resist war's alarms. he used to be in my troop a few years ago, and he was a first-rate soldier--knew his place a good deal better than if he had been born to it, which he very obviously wasn't." "squaw-man, isn't he?" brewster asked. landor shrugged his shoulder, but felipa would not have it so. "you know he is not, jack," she said a little petulantly, which was noticeably unwonted on her part. "i don't know anything whatever about it," he answered; "that is none of my affair. i should be surprised if he were, and i must say i am inclined to think he is not." "i know he is not," she said decisively. "i beg pardon," said brewster, pointedly, accentuating the slight awkwardness. but landor was not aware that there was any. "cairness is a very decent sort of a fellow," he said good-humoredly. "and, personally, i am indebted to him for having saved mrs. landor's life up black river way." ellton filled in the pause that threatened, with a return to the dominant topic. "this not having any pack-train," he opined, "is the very deuce and all. the only transportation the q. m. can give you is a six-mule team, isn't it?" "yes; but it happens to be enough for the next few weeks. we are going to camp around san tomaso to afford the settlers protection. we can't follow any trails, those are our orders, so the pack-train doesn't matter anyway. by that time they will have scared up one." as they came out from dinner the orderlies had the horses at the door. landor gave his wife parting instructions the while brewster took an ostentatiously affectionate farewell of miss mclane, who was herself neither so affectionate nor so sorrowful as she might have been expected to be. the adjutant watched them, furtively and unhappily. felipa herself was not as unmoved as usual. when landor had trotted off, and she and the girl were left alone, she went into the house and came back with a pair of field-glasses. through them she could see her husband riding at the head of the column, along the road, and another figure beside him, mounted on a bony little pinto bronco. so he was near her again. she had not seen him in many months, but she had felt that he must be always, as he had been through those days in the fastnesses of the sierra blanca, following her afar off, yet near enough to warn her, if need arose. she was too superstitious to watch him out of sight, and she turned back into the house, followed by miss mclane, just as stable call sounded, and the white-clad soldiers tramped off to the corrals. ix under the midnight sky, misty pale and dusted with glittering stars, the little shelter tents of landor's command shone in white rows. the campfires were dying; the herd, under guard, was turned out half a mile or more away on a low mesa, where there was scant grazing; and the men, come that afternoon into camp, were sleeping heavily, after a march of some forty miles,--all save the sentry, who marched up and down, glancing from time to time at the moving shadows of the herd, or taking a sight along his carbine at some lank coyote scudding across the open. but presently he saw, coming from down the road, two larger bodies, which showed themselves soon, in the light of the stars against the sands, to be a pair of horsemen and evidently no apaches. he watched them. they rode straight up to the camp and answered his challenge. they wished, they said, to speak to the officer in command. the sentry was of the opinion that it was an unseemly hour to arouse a man who had marched all day, but it was not for him to argue. he walked deliberately, very deliberately indeed, that the citizens might be impressed, over to landor's tent and awoke him. "there's two citizens here, sir, asking to see you, sir." his tone plainly disclaimed any part in the affair. landor came out, putting on his blouse, and went over to the horsemen. one of them dismounted and raised his hat. "my name, sir, is foster." landor expressed pleasure, without loss of words. "i represent, sir, the citizens of san tomaso." "yes?" said landor. he knew the citizens of the district, and attached no particular sacredness to the person of their envoy. "they have expressed the desire that i should convey to you, colonel--" "i am captain--captain landor." "captain landor," he corrected urbanely, "pleased to meet you, sir. they have expressed the desire that i should convey to you, sir, their wish to accompany you in the search for hostile apaches." that was evidently how it was to go into the papers. the officer knew it well enough, but he explained with due solemnity that he was acting under instructions, and was not to follow indians into the hills. "i am only to camp here to protect the citizens of the valley against possible raids." the civilian protested. "but there is a big company of us, sir, thirty or thirty-five, who can put you on the trail of a large band." landor explained again, with greater detail, vainly trying to impress the nature of a military order on the civilian brain. "it would not do for me to disobey my instructions. and besides there are several officers who are to follow trails, out with larger commands. i have no pack-train, and i can't." it did not seem to strike the representative of the citizens of san tomaso that that was much of an argument. he continued to urge. "of course," said the officer, "i understand that the hostiles are not in the immediate vicinity?" "well, not in the immediate vicinity," he admitted. "no; but they passed along the foot-hills, and stole some stock, an' killed three men no later than this evening." "say we were to get off at sun-up, then," objected landor, "they would even in that way have twelve hours' start of us." "yes, sir. but they ain't likely to travel fast. they'll think themselves safe enough up there in the mountains. we could easy overtake them, being as we wouldn't be hampered with drove stock. they stole about fifty head, an' we could most likely get it back if we started at once. it is the wish of the citizens of san tomaso, ain't it?" he turned to the man who had remained mounted, and who had not opened his mouth. the man nodded. "i couldn't follow more than two days," landor expostulated hopelessly. "as i tell you, i've no pack-train. the men would have to carry their rations in their saddle pockets." foster hastened to assure him that two days would easily do it. "we know the country round here, colonel, know it better than the hostiles themselves; and a big party of us volunteers to put you on the trail and bring you to them. you can't hardly refuse, seein' as you say you are here to protect us, and this is the protection we ask, to get back the stock we've lost." landor stood considering and pulling at his mustache, as his way was. then he turned on his heel and went back to the tent for brewster. he explained the matter to him. "i tell mr. foster," he said, "just what risk i would take if i acted contrary to orders, but the force of my argument doesn't seem to strike him. if any harm were to come to the citizens around here, i'd be responsible." "you won't, i don't guess, if it was the citizens' own wish," insisted the indomitable one. "you wouldn't be gone more than two days at the outside. and a big party of us will go with you." "how many did you say?" he wanted to know, having the laudable intention of committing the man before brewster. and foster answered him that there would be thirty or forty. was he quite certain that the trail was of hostiles, and not of cow-boys or of other troops? "certain, dead sure. it's a band of apaches that went across the river. why, half a dozen seen them." landor consulted with his lieutenant. "very well," he said in the end, "i'll go. i take serious risks, but i understand it to be the wish of the citizens hereabouts." their envoy assured him that it most certainly was, and became profuse in acknowledgments; so that landor shut him off. he had come many miles that day and must be on the march again at dawn, and wanted what sleep he could get. "when and where will you meet me?" he demanded with the curtness of the military, so offensive to the undisciplined. "at eight o'clock, sir," he answered resentfully, "in front of the dry-goods store on the main street. if that is convenient for your men." "that will do," said landor. "see there is no delay," and he wheeled about and went back to his tent with brewster. the citizens rode off. "they won't be ready. no use making haste, captain," cairness suggested at daybreak, as landor hurried the breakfast and saddling. they knew that the chances were ten to one that it would be a wild goose chase, and the captain already repented him. but at seven the men were mounted, with two days' rations in their saddle bags, and trotting across the flat in the fragrance of the yet unheated day, to the settlement of san tomaso. two aimless citizens lounged on their horses, rapt in argument and the heavy labor of chewing--so much so that they barely took notice of the troops. landor rode up to them and made inquiries for foster. "foster?" one drawled, "he'll be along presently, i reckon." landor went back to his command and waited. another man rode up and joined the two. ten minutes passed, and the troops grew restless. landor went forward again. "can you, gentlemen, tell me," he demanded a trifle wrathfully, "where i can find mr. foster?" they reckoned, after deliberation, that he might be in bob's saloon. which might bob's saloon be? the man pointed, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, and went on with his conversation and his quid. a dozen or more loafers, chiefly mexicans, had congregated in front of the dry-goods store. landor rode over to bob's place, and giving his horse to the trumpeter, strode in. there were eight men around the bar, all in campaign outfit, and all in various stages of intoxication. foster was effusive. he was glad to see the general. general landor, these were the gentlemen who had volunteered to assist uncle sam. he presented them singly, and invited landor to drink. the refusal was both curt and ungracious. "if we are to overtake the hostiles, we have got to start at once," he suggested. but it was full two hours, in the end, before they did start. flasks had to be replenished, farewell drinks taken, wives and families parted from, the last behests made, of those going upon an errand of death. citizens burning with ardor to protect their hearths and stock were routed out of saloons and dance halls, only to slip away again upon one pretext or another. the sun was now high and blazing down into the one street of the mud settlement. the enlisted men were angry that landor, fearing they, too, would be led astray into dives, would not dismount them. sitting still in the full sun, when even in the shade the mercury is many degrees above the hundreds, is not calculated to improve the disposition. but at length the volunteers were herded together. the thirty-five promised had dwindled to eight, and foster was not of the number. he came lurching up at the last moment to explain that he would be unable to go. his wife was in hysterics, he said. so the troops and the volunteers rode away without him, and a few miles off, among the foot-hills, struck the trail. here landor, giving ear to the advice of the citizens, found himself whirled around in a very torrent of conflicting opinions. no two agreed. the liquor had made them ugly. he dismounted the command for rest, and waited, filled with great wrath. "i ought to have known better than to come at all," he told brewster, as they stood beside their horses; "it is always like this." brewster nodded. he had seen the same thing himself. the territorial citizen was a known quantity to both of them. cairness came up. "are we going into camp, captain?" he wanted to know, "or are those fellows going to follow the trail?" landor took his arm from the saddle and stood upright, determinedly. "we are going to stop this mob business, that's what we are going to do," he said, and he went forward and joined in a discussion that was upon the verge of six-shooters. he set forth in measured tones, and words that reverberated with the restrained indignation behind them, that he had come upon the assurance that he was to strike indians, that his men had but two days' rations in their saddle bags, and that he was acting upon his own responsibility, practically in disobedience of orders. if the indians were to be hit, it must be done in a hurry, and he must get back to the settlements. he held up his hands to check a flood of protests and explanations. "there has got to be a head to this," his drill-trained voice rang out, "and i propose to be that head. my orders have got to be obeyed." there was a murmur. they had elected a captain of their own; they were indian fighters of experience themselves. landor suggested his own experience of close on two decades, and further that he was going to command the whole outfit, or going to go back and drop the thing right there. they assented to the first alternative, with exceedingly bad grace, and with worse grace took the place of advance guard he detailed them to, four hundred yards ahead. "you know the country. you are my guides, and you say you are going to lead me to the indians. now do it." there was nothing conciliating in his speech, whatever, and he sat on his horse, pointing them to their positions with arm outstretched, and the frown of an offended jove. when they had taken it, grumbling, the column moved. "it's only a small trail, anyway," cairness informed them as a result of a minute examination he had made, walking round and leading his bronco, bending double over the signs, "just some raiding party of twelve or fifteen bucks. shot out from the main body and ran into the settlements to steal stock probably." landor agreed with him, "i told the citizens so, but they knew better." "they are travelling rapidly, of course. we shan't overtake them." "i dare say not," said landor, his face growing black again; "they'll cover fifty or seventy-five miles a day. we can't do that, by a good deal. we couldn't even if those damned civilians would keep their distance ahead." but this the civilians were very plainly not minded to do. they dropped back, now to cinch up, now to take a drink from the flasks, now to argue, once for one of their number to recover from an attack of heart disease. landor swore. he would keep them their proper distance ahead, if he had to halt at all their halts from now to sunset. they were high among the mountains, and here and there in the shadows of the rocks and pines were patches of snow, left even yet from the winter. by all the signs the trail was already more than half a day old. landor's fear of leaving the settlements unguarded grew. "we will get up among these mountains and be delayed, and we are in no condition whatever to travel, anyway," he told brewster, as the advance guard halted again, and landor, with curses in his heart but a civil tongue withal, trotted up to them. they were fighting. "captain, what do you say to following this trail?" they clamored. landor explained to them that he was not doing the thinking, that it was their campaign. "you are my guides. you know the country, and i don't." he reminded them again that they had promised to lead him to indians, and that he was ready to be led. if they thought the hostiles were to be reached by following the trail, he would follow it. some of them did think so. some of them thought on the contrary, that it would be surer to make a detour, leaving the trail. they knew the spot, the bed of an ancient mountain lake, where the hostiles were sure to camp. landor sat and heard them out, silence on his lips and wrath upon his brow. "we will go wherever you say," he reiterated immovably. the captain they had elected for themselves was for following; the seven others agreed upon a detour. they had ideas of their own concerning obedience to superiors. they left the trail in spite of the vehement assurance of their captain that they would without doubt get all manner of profanity knocked out of them, and hasten their inevitable journey to gehenna if they went into the timber. the advance guard advanced less and less. half drunk and ever drinking, in quaking fear of the timber, it kept falling back. "i'll be hanged," opined landor, as his own horse bit at the croup of a citizen's horse, eliciting a kick and a squeal, "i'll be hanged if you shall demoralize my column like this. you'll keep ahead if i have to halt here all night to make you. i've given you the post of honor. if i put my men in the van, i'd choose the best ones, and they'd be flattered, too. you wouldn't catch them skulking back on the command." they spurred forward unwillingly, thus urged. at sundown they came to the old lake bed and camped there. according to the citizens it was a regular indian camping-place for the hostiles, since the days of cochise. the horses were tied to a ground line, to avoid the embarrassment of a loose herd, in the event of an engagement. pickets were sent out to give warning at the approach of indians. it was winter here in the mountains, while it was hot summer in the alkali flats below, but the men were forbidden fires. and it was a fierce grievance to the citizens, as was also that they were not allowed to go out to shoot wild turkeys. they remonstrated sulkily. landor's patience was worn out. "it's a confoundedly curious thing," he told them, "for men who really want to find indians, to go shooting and building fires." and he sent them to rest upon their arms and upon the cold, damp ground. but there was no night alarm, and at daybreak it began to be apparent to the troops that they had been led directly away from all chance of one. they made fires, ate their breakfast, resaddled, and took their way back to the settlements, doubling on their own trail. they came upon signs of a yet larger band, and it was more probable than ever that the valley had been in danger. landor cursed the malpais and the men who were leading him over it. "how much more of this rough country is there going to be?" he demanded, as they stopped to shoe two horses that had come unshod on the sharp rocks. "colonel," they made answer with much dignity, "we are more anxious than you to get back to our defenceless women and children." the defenceless women and children were safe, however: a captain, ranking landor, reported to that effect when he met them some dozen miles outside san tomaso. he reported further that he had a pack-train for landor and orders to absorb his troop. landor protested at having to retrace their trail at once. his men and his stock were in no state to travel. the men were footsore and blistered. they had led their horses, for the most part, up and down rough hills for two days. but the trail was too hot and too large to be abandoned. they unsaddled, and partaking together of coffee and bacon and biscuits, mounted and went off once more. their bones ached, and the feet of many of them bled; but the citizens had gone their way to their homes in the valley, and they felt that, on the whole, they had reason to be glad. x it was tea time at the circle k ranch. but no one was enjoying the hour of rest. kirby sat on the couch and abstractedly ate slice after slice of thin bread and butter, without speaking. mrs. kirby made shift to darn the bunch of stockings beside her, but her whole attention was strained to listening. the children did not understand, though they felt the general uneasiness, and whispered together as they looked at the pictures in the illustrated paper, months old. kirby's assistants, the two young englishmen, had not come back when they were due. one had gone to the mail station in the valley, three days before, and he should have returned at noon, at the furthest limit. by three o'clock, the other had jumped on a horse and gone out to look for him. and now, one was lying in the road five miles from the ranch, with an arrow through his eye. the other, a mile nearer home, was propped against a pine trunk, so that the ragged hole beneath his shoulder blade, where a barb had been torn out, did not show. his wide eyes, upon the lid of one of which the blood from a head wound had clotted, looked up sightless through the branches, at a patch of blue sky. their end had been a common enough one, and had come to them both without a moment of warning. at noon that day a cow-boy had ridden from the hills with a rumor that victorio's people were about. but kirby had kept it from his wife. it might not be true. and even if it were, the danger was really small. with the hands and the two englishmen, the quadrangle of log cabins, well stocked with food and ammunition, could withstand any attack. it had been built and planned to that end. the silence, cut by the nervous whispering of the children, became unendurable. "are you very uneasy about them?" mrs. kirby asked. "it's not so much that," he evaded, getting up to put a lump of sugar he did not need into his tea, "it's not so much that as it is the everlasting strain of fighting the hands. it would be easier to meet an open rebellion than it is to battle against their sullen ugliness." mrs. kirby could understand that very well. she had the same thing to oppose day after day with the woman, and of late it had been more marked. out in the corral the cow-boy was holding forth. the men had stopped work on the instant that kirby had turned his back. if kirby could loll on soft cushions and drink tea, as free-born americans and free-souled irishmen they might do the same. "it's all right," said the cow-boy, with a running accompaniment of profanity, as he cleaned his brutal mexican bit. "johnny bull don't have to believe in it if he don't like. but all the same, i seen a feller over here to the c range, and he told me he seen the military camped over to san tomaso a week ago, and that there was a lot of stock, hundred head or so, run off from the settlements. you see, them apaches is making for the southern chiricahuas over in sonora to join the mexican apaches, and they're going to come this here way. you see!" and he rubbed at the rust vigorously with a piece of soft rawhide. the woman joined her voice. she had a meat cleaver in her hand, and there was blood on her apron where she had wiped the roast she was now leaving to burn in the stove. "like as not we'll all be massacred. i told bill to get off this place two weeks ago, and he's such an infernal loafer he couldn't make up his mind to move hisself." she flourished her cleaver toward the big texan, her husband, who balanced on the tongue of a wagon, his hands in his pockets, smiling ruefully and apologetically, and chewing with an ardor he never put to any other work. "we been here four years now," she went on raspingly, "and if you all feel like staying here to be treated like slaves by these john bulls, you can do it. but you bet i know when i've got enough. to-morrow i quits." her jaws snapped shut, and she stood glaring at them defiantly. the words of a woman in a community where women are few carry almost the weight of inspiration. be she never so hideous or so vile, she is in some measure a deborah, and the more yet, if she be moved to the lust and love of revenge of the prophetess who sang in the frenzy of blood drunkenness, "blessed above women shall jael the wife of heber, the kenite, be. blessed shall she be above women in the tent." the declaration of independence roused the screeching eagle of freedom in the breasts of all the white men. with the mexicans it was a slightly different sentiment. at best they could never be relied upon for steady service. a couple of months' pay in their pockets, and they must rest them for at least six. it is always to be taken into consideration when they are hired. they had been paid only the day before. and, moreover, the greaser follows the gringo's lead easily--to his undoing. the murmurs in the corral rose louder. it was not that kirby and his partners underpaid, underfed, or overworked the american citizens. it was that their language was decent and moderate; and the lash of the slave driver would have stung less than the sight of the black coats and the seven o'clock dinner. in the midst of white savages and red, the four clung to the forms of civilization with that dogged persistence in the unessential, that worship of the memory of a forsaken home, for which the englishman, time and again, lays down his life without hesitation. that was the grievance. while kirby went through the oppressive rite of afternoon tea within the slant-roofed log cabin, and tried to hide from his wife the fear which grew as the shadows lengthened across the clearing out in the corral, the men had reached open mutiny. the smouldering sullenness had at last burst into flaming defiance, blown by the gale of the woman's wrath. after he had had his tea kirby got up, went out to the corral, and called to one of the men, who hesitated for a moment, then slouched over, kicking with his heavy booted toe as he passed at the hocks of a horse in one of the stalls. kirby saw him do it, but he checked his wrath. he had learned to put up with many things. "don't you think," he suggested, "that it might be a good idea for you and some other man to ride down the road a bit--" the man interrupted, "i ain't going daown the road, nor anywheres else before supper--nor after supper neither, if i don't feel like it." he was bold enough in speech, but his eyes dropped before kirby's indignant ones. it was a fatal want of tact perhaps, characteristic of the race, but then the characteristic is so fine. "you will do whatever i tell you to do," the voice was low and strained, but not wavering. it reached the group by the harness-room door. with one accord they strode forward to the support of their somewhat browbeaten brother. what they would do was exactly as they pleased, they told the tyrant. they shook their fists in his face. it was all in the brutal speech of the frontier, mingled with the liquid ripple of argot spanish, and its vicious, musical oaths. the deep voice of the woman carried above everything, less decent than the men. it was a storm of injury. kirby was without fear, but he was also without redress. he turned from them, his face contracted with the pain of his impotence, and walked back to the house. "i could order them off the ranch to-night," he told his wife, as he dropped on a chair, and taking up the hearth brush made a feint of sweeping two or three cinders from the floor; "but it's ten to one they wouldn't go and it would weaken my authority--not that i have any, to be sure--and besides," he flung down the brush desperately and turned to her, "i didn't want to tell you before, but there is a pretty straight rumor that victorio's band, or a part of it, is in these hills. we may need the men at any time." neither spoke of the two who should have been back hours ago. the night closed slowly down. the texan woman went back to the kitchen and finished cooking the supper for the hands--a charred sort of saturnalian feast. "she can git her own dinner if she wants to," she proclaimed, and was answered by a chorus of approval. while the men sat at the long table, shovelling in with knife and three-pronged fork the food of the master their pride forbade them to serve, a horse came at a run, up to the quadrangle, and a cow-boy rushed into the open doorway. "apaches!" he gasped, clutching at the lintel, wild-eyed, "apaches!" they sprang up, with a clatter of dishes and overturning of benches and a simultaneous cry of "whereabouts?" he had seen a large band heading for the ranch, and had found a dead white man on the north road, he said, and he gesticulated madly, his voice choked with terror. had it been all arranged, planned, and rehearsed for months beforehand, the action could not have been more united. they crowded past him out of the door and ran for the corrals, and each dragged a horse or a mule from the stalls, flinging on a halter or rope or bridle, whatever came to hand, from the walls of the harness room. but there was more stock than was needed. "turn the rest loose," cried the woman, and set the example herself. kirby, hurrying from the house to learn the cause of the new uproar, was all but knocked down and trodden under the hoofs of all his stock, driven from the enclosure with cracking of whips and with stones. then a dozen ridden horses crowded over the dropped bars, the woman in the lead astride, as were the men. "what is this?" he shouted, grabbing at a halter-shank and clinging to it until a knife slashed down on his wrist. "apaches on the north road," they called back; and the woman screamed above it all a devilish farewell, "better have 'em to dinner in claw-hammer coats." it was a sheer waste of good ammunition, and it might serve as a signal to the indians as well; kirby knew it, and yet he emptied his six-shooter into the deep shadows of the trees where they had vanished, toward the south. then he ran into the corral, and, snatching up a lantern from the harness room, looked around. it was empty. there was only a pack-burro wandering loose and nosing at the grains in the mangers. he turned and went back to the cabin, where his wife stood at the door, with the children clinging to her. from down the north road there came a blood-freezing yell, and a shot, reverberating, rattling from hill to hill, muffling into silence among the crowding pines. as he shut the door and bolted it with the great iron rods, there tore into the clearing a score of vague, savage figures. it looked, when he saw it for an instant, as he put up the wooden blinds, like some phantom dance of the devils of the mountains, so silent they were, with their unshod ponies, so quick moving. and then a short silence was broken by cries and shots, the pinge of bullets, and the whizz of arrows. there were two rooms to the cabin where they were, the big sitting room and the small bedchamber beyond. kirby went into the bedroom and came out with two rifles and a revolver. he put the revolver into his wife's hands. "i'll do my best, you know, dear. but if i'm done for, if there is no hope for you and the children, use it," he said. and added, "you understand?" of a truth she understood only too well, that death with a bullet through the brain could be a tender mercy. "not until there is no hope," he impressed, as he put the barrel of his rifle through a knot hole and fired at random. she reloaded for him, and fired from time to time herself, and he moved from the little round hole in the wall to one in the window blind, in the feeble, the faithless hope that the indians might perhaps be deceived, might fancy that there was more than the one forsaken man fighting with unavailing courage for the quiet woman who stayed close by his side, and for the two children, huddled whimpering in one corner, their little trembling arms clasped round each other's necks. twenty, yes ten, of those who, as the sound of the firing reached their ears, were making off at a run down the south road for the settlement in the valley, could have saved the fair-haired children and the young mother, who helped in the fruitless fight without a plaint of fear. ten men could have done it, could have done it easily; but not one man. and kirby knew it now, as the light of flames began to show through the chinks of the logs, and the weight of heavy bodies thudded against the door. it was a strong door, built of great thick boards and barred with iron, but it must surely cede before fire and the blows. it wrenched on its huge hinges. kirby set down his gun and turned to his wife, holding out his arms. she went to him and he kissed her on the forehead and the lips, in farewell. "good-by," he said; "now take the children in there." no need to tell her that her courage must not falter at that last moment, which would soon come. he knew it, as he looked straight into those steadfast, loving eyes. she clung to his hand and stooped and kissed it, too; then she went to the children and took them, quivering and crying, into the other room, and closed the dividing door. kirby, with a revolver in each hand, placed himself before it. it would avail nothing. but a man must needs fight to the end. and the end was now. there was a stronger blow at the door, as of a log used by way of a ram. it gave, swayed, and fell crashing in, and the big room swarmed with screaming fiends, their eyes gleaming wildly in the light of the burning hay and the branches piled against the cabin, as they waved their arms over their feathered heads. the one man at bay whirled round twice, with a bullet in his heart and an arrow through his neck. "now!" he made one fierce effort to cry, as he staggered again and dropped on his face, to be trampled under forty feet. it was the signal to the woman in that other room behind the locked door, and above all the demoniacal sounds it reached her. only an instant she hesitated, until that door, too, began to give. then a cold muzzle of steel found, in the darkness, two little struggling, dodging faces--and left them marred. and once again the trigger was unflinchingly pulled, as greedy arms reached out to catch the white, woman's figure that staggered and fell. * * * * * * * * cairness and landor and a detachment of troops that had ridden hard all through the night, following an appalling trail, but coming too late after all, found them so in the early dawn. there was a mutilated thing that had once been a man's body on the floor in the half-burned log cabin. and in another room lay two children, whose smooth, baby foreheads were marked, each with a round violet-edged hole. beside them was their mother, with her face turned to the rough boards--mercifully. for there had been no time to choose the placing of that last shot, and it had disfigured cruelly as it did its certain work. xi it was not quite an all-summer campaign. the united states government drove the hostiles over the border into the provinces of the mexican government, which understood the problem rather better than ourselves, and hunted the apache, as we the coyote, with a bounty upon his scalp. thereafter some of the troops sat down at the water-holes along the border to watch, and to write back pathetic requests for all the delicacies supplied by the commissariat, from anchovy paste and caviare to tinned mushrooms and cove oysters. a man may live upon bacon and beans and camp bread, or upon even less, when his duty to his country demands, but it is not in the articles of war that he should continue to do so any longer than lack of transportation compels. others of the troops were ordered in, and among them was landor's. it had gone out for a twenty days' scout, and had been in the field two months. it was ragged and all but barefoot, and its pack-train was in a pitiable way. weeks of storm in the mogollons and days of quivering heat on the plains had brought its clothing and blankets to the last stages. moreover, landor was very ill. in the mogollons he had gathered and pressed specimens of the gorgeous wild flowers that turn the plateaux into a million-hued eden, and one day there had lurked among the blossoms a sprig of poison weed, with results which were threatening to be serious. he rode at the head of his column, however, as it made for home by way of the aravaypa cañon. were the cañon of the aravaypa in any other place than arizona, which, as the intelligent public knows, is all one wide expanse of dry and thirsty country, a parched place in the wilderness, a salt land, and not inhabited; were it in any other place, it would be set forth in railway folders, and there would be camping privileges and a hotel, and stages would make regular trips to it, and one would come upon groups of excursionists on burros, or lunching among its boulders. already it has been in a small way discovered, and is on the road to being vulgarized by the camera. the lover of nature, he who loves the soul as well as the face of her, receives when he sees a photograph of a fine bit of scenery he had felt in a way his own property until then, something the blow that the lover of a woman does when he learns that other men than he have known her caresses. but in the days of victorio and his predecessors and successors, aravaypa cañon was a fastness. men went in to hunt for gold, and sometimes they came out alive, and sometimes they did not. occasionally apaches met their end there as well. there was one who had done so now. the troops looking up at him, rejoiced. he was crucified upon an improvised cross of unbarked pine branches, high up at the top of a sheer peak of rock. he stood out black and strange against the whitish blue of the sky. his head was dropped upon his fleshless breast, and there was a vulture perched upon it, prying its hooked bill around in the eye sockets. two more, gorged and heavy, balanced half asleep upon points of stone. it was all a most charming commentary upon the symbol and practice of christianity, in a christian land, and the results thereof as regarded the heathen of that land--if one happened to see it in that way. but the men did not. it was hardly to be expected that they should, both because the abstract and the ethical are foreign to the major part of mankind, in any case; and also because, with this particular small group of mankind, there was too fresh a memory of a dead woman lying by the bodies of her two children in a smouldering log cabin among the mountains and the pines. they rode on, along the trail, at a walk and by file, and directly they came upon the other side of the question. landor's horse stopped, with its forefeet planted, and a snort of fright. landor had been bent far back, looking up at a shaft of rock that rose straight from the bottom and pierced the heavens hundreds of feet above, and he was very nearly unseated. but he caught himself and held up his hand as a signal to halt. there were two bodies lying across the trail in front of him. he dismounted, and throwing his reins to the trumpeter went forward to investigate. it was not a pleasant task. the men had been dead some time and their clothing was beginning to fall away in shreds. some of their outfit was scattered about, and he could guess from it that they had been prospectors. a few feet away was the claim they had been working. only their arms had been stolen, otherwise nothing appeared to be missing. there was even in the pockets considerable coin, in gold and silver, which landor found, when he took a long knife from his saddle bags, and standing as far off as might be, slit the cloth open. the knife was one he had brought from home, seizing it from the kitchen table at the last minute. it was very sharp and had been felipa's treasured bread cutter. it came in very well just now, chiefly because of its length. he called the first sergeant to his aid. brewster was in the rear of the command, and, as had occurred with increasing frequency in the last two months, showed no desire to be of any more use than necessary. as for cairness, who had been more of a lieutenant to landor than the officer himself, he had left the command two days before and gone back to the san carlos reservation. so the captain and the first sergeant took up the money and the loose papers, together with a couple of rings from the hands, and wrapping them in a poncho, carried them off to serve as possible means of identification, for it had got beyond all question of features. then two men moved the bodies from the trail, with long sticks, and covered them with a pile of stones. landor found a piece of board by the mouth of the claim and drew on it, with an end of charred stick, a skull and cross bones with a bow and arrow, and stood it up among the stones, in sign to all who might chance to pass thereby that since men had here died at the hands of the apaches, other men might yet meet a like fate. on the next day they were in the flat, nearing the post. there was a dust storm. earlier in the morning the air had grown suddenly more dry, more close and lifeless than ever, suffocating, and a yellow cloud had come in the western sky. then a hot wind began to blow the horses' manes and tails, to snarl through the greasewood bushes, and to snap the loose ends of the men's handkerchiefs sharply. the cloud had thinned and spread, high up in the sky, and the light had become almost that of a sullen evening. black bits floated and whirled high overhead, and birds beat about in the gale. gradually the gale and the dust had dropped nearer to the earth, a sand mist had gone into every pore and choked and parched. and now the tepid, thick wind was moaning across the plain, meeting no point of resistance anywhere. landor still rode at the head of his column, but his chin was sunk down on his red silk neckerchief, his face was swollen and distorted under its thick beard, and his eyes were glazed. they stared straight ahead into the sand whirl and the sulphurous glare. he had sent brewster on ahead some hours before. "you will want to see miss mclane as soon as possible," he had said, "and there is no need of both of us here." brewster had taken an escort and disappeared down the vista of white sands and scrub growth, though it was landor himself who should have gone. he swayed now in the saddle, his thick lips hung open, and he moved in a mental cloud as dense as the one of dust that poured round him. brewster reached the post some eighteen hours ahead of him. he reported, and saw miss mclane; then he made himself again as other men and went down to the post trader's, with a definite aim in view, that was hardly to be guessed from his loitering walk. there were several already in the officers' room, and they talked, as a matter of course, of the campaign. "seen the way landor's been catching it?" they asked. and brewster said he had not. they went on to tell him that it was all in the tucson papers, which brewster knew, however, quite as well as they did themselves. he had made friends among the citizen volunteers of san tomaso on the night they had camped by the old lake bed, and they had seen that he was kept supplied with cuttings. but he pleaded entire ignorance, and the others were at considerable pains to enlighten him. it appeared that landor was accused of cowardice, and that his name was handled with the delicate sarcasm usual with western journalism--as fine and pointed as a stone-age axe. brewster poured himself a glass of beer and drank it contemplatively and was silent. then he set it down on the bare table with a sharp little rap, suggesting determination made. it was suggestive of yet more than this, and caused them to say "well?" with a certain eagerness. he shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject, refusing pointedly to be brought back to it, and succeeding altogether in the aim which had brought him down there. but that same night he picked two for their reputation of repeating all they knew, and took them into his own rooms and told his story to them. and he met once again with such success that when landor rode into the post the next day at about guard-mounting, three officers, meeting him, raised their caps and passed on. it struck even through landor's pain-blurred brain that it was odd. but the few faculties he could command still were all engaged in keeping himself in the saddle until he could reach his own house, where ellton and felipa were waiting to get him to his room. he went upon the sick report at once, and for three days thereafter raved of crucified women with fair hair, of children lying dead in the cañon, of the holes in his boot soles, and a missing aparejo, also of certain cursed citizens, and the bad quality of the canned butter. then he began to come to himself and to listen to all that felipa had to tell him of the many things she had not put in her short and labored letters. he saw that she looked more beautiful and less well than when he had left her. there was a shadow of weariness on her face that gave it a soft wistfulness which was altogether becoming. he supposed it was because she had nursed him untiringly, as she had; but it did not occur to him to thank her, because she had done only what was a wife's duty, only what he would have done for her if the case had been reversed. toward the end of the day he began to wonder that no one had been to see him, and he spoke of it. "mr. ellton was here this morning," felipa told him, "and he will be in again before retreat." but he was not satisfied. his entry into the post and the cool greeting of the three officers began to come back to him. felipa could be untruthful with an untroubled soul and countenance to those she disliked. in her inherited code, treachery to an enemy was not only excusable, but right. but not even in order to save her husband worry could she tell him a shadow of an untruth. she did her best, which was far from good, to evade, however. the others would probably come, now that he could see them. but had they come? he insisted. the commandant had sent his orderly with a note. he raised himself from the pillows too abruptly for a very weak man. "what is the matter, felipa?" he demanded. she told him that she did not know, and tried to coax him back to quietness. "there is something," he insisted, dropping his head down again wearily. "perhaps there is," she admitted unwillingly. he lay thinking for a while, then had her send the striker for ellton, who promptly, and awkwardly, replied to the anxious question as to what might be the trouble, that he was not quite sure, but perhaps it had to do with these--"these" being a small roll of newspaper clippings he took from his portfolio. landor looked them over and gave them back contemptuously. "well?" he said, "there's nothing new in all that. it's devilish exasperating, but it's old as hamilcar. i made an enemy of a fellow from tucson, reporter named stone, over at the san carlos agency a few years ago. he's been waiting to roast me ever since. there must be something else." the adjutant agreed reluctantly. "i think there is. it wouldn't surprise me if some one had been talking. i can't get at it. but you must not bother about it. it will blow over." as an attempt at consolation, it failed. landor fairly sprang into a sitting posture, with a degree of impulsiveness that was most unusual with him. his eyes glistened from the greenish circles around them. "blow over! good lord! do you suppose i'll let it blow over? it's got to be sifted to the bottom. and you know that as well as i do." he lay weakly back again, and felipa came to the edge of the bed and, sitting upon it, stroked his head with her cool hand. ellton ventured some assistance. "i do know this much, that the c. o. got a telegram from some eastern paper, asking if the reports of your cowardice as given in the territorial press were true." landor asked eagerly what he had answered. "i didn't see the telegram, but it was in effect that he had no knowledge of anything of the sort, and put no faith in it." "doesn't he, though? then why doesn't he come around and see me when i'm lying here sick?" he was wrathful and working himself back into a fever very fast. felipa shook her head at ellton. "don't get yourself excited about it, jack dear," she soothed, and ellton also tried to quiet him. "he will come, i dare say. and so will the others, now that you are able to see them. brewster inquired." the captain's lips set. ellton wondered, but held his peace. and the commandant did go to landor's quarters within the next few hours. which was ellton's doings. "i don't know what has been said, major, but something more than just what's in the papers must have gotten about. that sort of mud-slinging is too common to cause comment, even. it must be some spite work. there's no reason to suppose, surely, that after a quarter of a century of gallant service he's been and shown the white feather. he's awfully cut up, really he is. he's noticed it, of course, and it's too deuced bad, kicking a man when he's down sick and can't help himself." the major stopped abruptly in his walk to and fro and faced him. "do you know more about it, then, than brewster who was with him?" ellton fairly leaped in the air. "brewster! so it's brewster! the in--" then he recollected that brewster was going to be the major's son-in-law, and he stopped short. "no wonder he keeps away from there," he simmered down. "he told me it was because he and landor had had some trouble in the field, and weren't on the best of terms." "i say, major, if he's got any charges to prefer why doesn't he put them on paper and send them in to you, or else shut up his head?" he was losing his temper again. the major resumed his walk and did not answer. ellton went on, lapsing into the judicial. "in the meantime, anyway, a man's innocent until he's proven guilty. i say, do go round and see him. the others will follow your lead. he's awfully cut up and worried, and he's sick, you know." so that evening when all the garrison was upon its front porches and the sidewalk, the major and the lieutenant went down the line to landor's quarters. and their example was followed. but some hung back, and constraint was in the air. because of which landor, as soon as he was up, went in search of the commanding officer, and found him in the adjutant's office, and the adjutant with him. he demanded an explanation. "if any one has been saying anything about me, i want to know it. i want to face him. it can't be that newspaper rot. we are all too used to it." "it seems, landor," the major said, "to be rather that which is left unsaid." landor asked what he meant by that. "i'm sick of all this speaking in riddles," he said. the major told him a little reluctantly. "well, it's this, then: brewster will not, or cannot, defend your conduct in the matter of the san tomaso volunteers." landor sat speechless for a moment. then he jumped up, knocking over a pile of registers. he seized a bone ruler, much stained with official inks, red and blue, and slapped it on the palm of his hand for emphasis. "i'll demand a court of inquiry into my conduct. this shan't drop, not until the strongest possible light has been turned on it. why doesn't brewster prefer charges? either my conduct was such that he can defend it openly, or else it was such as to call for a court-martial, and to justify him in preferring charges. certainly nothing can justify him in smirching me with damning silence. that is the part neither of an officer nor of a man." he kicked one of the registers out of the way, and it flapped across the floor and lay with its leaves crumpled under the fair leather covers. "by george! mclane, it strikes me as devilish odd that you should all give ear to the insinuations of a shave-tail like brewster, against an old hand like myself. be that as it may, however, until this thing has been cleared up, i shall thank all of you to continue in your attitude of suspicion, and not in any way draw on your charity by extending it to me. i shall demand a court of inquiry." he laid the ruler back on the desk. "i report for duty, sir," he added officially. it was the beginning of a self-imposed coventry. he sent in a demand for a court of inquiry, and brewster, with much show of reluctance and leniency, preferred charges. the post talked it over unceasingly, and commented on landor's attitude. "he stalks around in defiant dignity and makes everybody uncomfortable," they said. "everybody ought to be uncomfortable," ellton told them; "everybody who believed the first insinuation he heard ought to be confoundedly uncomfortable." he resigned from the acting adjutancy and returned to his troop duties, that landor, who had relieved brewster of most of the routine duties, and who was still fit for the sick list himself, might not be overburdened. so the demand and the charges lay before the department commander, and there was a lull, during which landor came upon further trouble, and worse. he undertook the examination of the papers he had found in the dead men's pockets. they had been buried in earth for two weeks. he found that it had been father and son come from the eastern states in search of the wealth that lay in that vague and prosperous, if uneasy, region anywhere west of the missouri. and among the papers was a letter addressed to felipa. landor held it in the flat of his hand and frowned, perplexed. he knew that it was cairness's writing. more than once on this last scout he had noticed its peculiarities. they were unmistakable. why was cairness writing to felipa? and why had he not used the mails? the old, never yet justified, distrusts sprang broad awake. but yet he was not the man to brood over them. he remembered immediately that felipa had never lied to him. and she would not now. so he took the stained letter and went to find her. she was sitting in her room, sewing. of late she had become domesticated, and she was fading under it. he had seen it already, and he saw it more plainly than ever just now. she looked up and smiled. her smile had always been one of her greatest charms, because it was rare and very sweet. "jack," she greeted him, "what have you done with the bread knife you took with you, dear? i have been lost without it." "i have it," he said shortly, standing beside her and holding out the letter. she took it and looked from it to him, questioningly. "what is this?" she asked. then it was the first, at any rate. his manner softened. "it smells horribly," she exclaimed, dropping it on the floor, "it smells of hospitals--disinfectants." but she stooped and picked it up again. "it is from cairness," said landor, watching her narrowly. her hand shook, and he saw it. "from cairness?" she faltered, looking up at him with frightened eyes; "when did it come?" her voice was as unsteady as her hands. she tore it open and began to read it there before him. he stood and watched her lips quiver and grow gray and fall helplessly open. if she had been under physical torture, she could have kept them pressed together, but not now. "where did you--" she began; but her voice failed, and she had to begin again. "where did you get this?" he told her, and she held it out to him. he started to take it, then pushed it away. she put down her work and rose slowly to her feet before him. she could be very regal sometimes. brewster knew it, and cairness guessed it; but it was the first time it had come within landor's experience, and he was a little awed. "i wish you to read it, john," she said quietly. he hesitated still. "i don't doubt you," he told her. "you do doubt me. if you did not, it would never occur to you to deny it. you doubt me now, and you will doubt me still more if you don't read it. in justice to me you must." it was very short, but he held it a long time before he gave it back. "and do you care for him, too?" he asked, looking her straight in the eyes. it was a very calm question, put--he realized it with exasperation--as a father might have put it. she told him that she did, quite as calmly. her manner and her tone said it was very unfortunate, that the whole episode was unfortunate, but that it was not her fault. he went over to the window and stood looking out of it, his hands clasped behind his back. some children were playing tag around the flag-staff, and he watched a long-limbed small daughter of the frontier dodging and running, and was conscious of being glad that she touched the goal. it was characteristic of felipa that she forgot him altogether and reread the letter, her breath coming in audible gasps. "i give this to a friend," it ran, "to be delivered into your own hands, because i must tell you that, though i should never see you again--for the life i lead is hazardous, and chance may at any time take you away forever--i shall love you always. you will not be angry with me, i know. you were not that night by the campfire, and it is not the unwaveringly good woman who resents being told she is loved, in the spirit i have said it to you. i do not ask for so much as your friendship in return, but only that you remember that my life and devotion are yours, and that, should the time ever come that you need me, you send for me. i will come. i will never say this to you again, even should i see you; but it is true, now and for all time." landor turned away from the window and looked at her. it was in human nature that she had never seemed so beautiful before. perhaps it was, too, because there was warmth in her face, the stress of life that was more than physical, at last. it struck him that he was coolly analytical while his wife was reading the love-letter (if that bald statement of fact could be called a love-letter) of another man, and telling him frankly that she returned the man's love. why could not he have had love, he who had done so much for her? there was always the subconsciousness of that sacrifice. he had magnified it a little, too, and it is difficult to be altogether lovable when one's mental attitude is "see what a good boy am i." but he had never reflected upon that. he went on telling himself what--in all justice to him--he had never thrown up to her, that his life had been one long devotion to her; rather as a principle than as a personality, to be sure, but then-- and yet she loved the fellow whom she had not known twenty-four hours in all--a private, a government scout, unnoticeably below her in station. in station, to be sure; but not in birth, after all. it was that again. he was always brought up face to face with her birth. he tried to reason it down, for the hundredth time. it was not her fault, and he had taken her knowingly, chancing that and the consequences of her not loving him. and these were the consequences: that she was sitting rigid before him, staring straight ahead with the pale eyes of suffering, and breathing through trembling lips. but she would die before she would be faithless to him. he was sure of that. only--why should he exact so much? why should he not make the last of a long score of sacrifices? he had been unselfish with her always, from the day he had found the little child, shy as one of the timid fawns in the woods of the reservation, and pretty in a wild way, until now when she sat there in front of him, a woman, and his wife, loving, and beloved of, another man. he went and stood beside her and laid his hand upon her hair. she looked up and tried hard to smile again. "poor little girl," he said kindly. he could not help it that they were the words of a compassionate friend, rather than of an injured husband. she shook her head. "it is the first you have known of it, jack," she said; "but i have known it for a long while, and i have not been unhappy." "and you care for him?" she nodded. "are you certain of it? you have seen so very little of him, and you may be mistaken." if he had had any hope, it vanished before her unhesitating, positive, "no; i am not mistaken. oh, no!" he took a chair facing her, as she put the letter back in its envelope and laid it in her work-basket. it was very unlike anything he had ever imagined concerning situations of the sort. but then he was not imaginative. "should you be glad to be free to marry him?" he asked, in a spirit of unbiassed discussion. she looked at him in perplexity and surprise. "how could i be? there is no use talking about it." he hesitated, then blurted it out, in spite of the inward warning that it would be unwise. "i could let you free yourself." his glance fell before hers of dismay, disapproval, and anger--an anger so righteous that he felt himself to be altogether in the wrong. "do you mean _divorce_?" she said it like an unholy word. he had forgotten that the laws and rites of the church of rome had a powerful hold upon her, though she was quite devoid of religious sentiment. he admitted apologetically that he had meant divorce, and she expressed her reproach. in spite of himself and what he felt ought properly to be the tragedy of the affair, he smiled. the humor of her majestic disapproval was irresistible under the circumstances. but she had little sense of humor. "what would you suggest, then, if i may ask?" he said. he had to give up all pathos in the light of her deadly simplicity. "nothing," she answered; "i can't see why it should make any difference to you, when it hasn't with me." she had altogether regained the self-possession she had been surprised out of, with an added note of reserve. and so he had to accept it. he rose, with a slight sigh, and returned to the examination of his spoils. but when he was away from felipa and her blighting matter of fact, the pathos of it came uppermost again. troubles seemed to thicken around him. his voluntary coventry was making him sensitive. he had thought that his wife was at least giving him the best of her cool nature. cool! there was no coldness in that strained white face, as she read the letter. the control she had over herself! it was admirable. he thought that most women would have fainted, or have grown hysterical, or have made a scene of some sort. then he recalled the stoicism of the apache--and was back at her birth again. he realized for the first time the injury his thought of it did her. it was that which had kept them apart, no doubt, and the sympathy of lawlessness that had drawn her and cairness together. yet he had just begun to flatter himself that he was eradicating the savage. she had been gratifyingly like other women since his return. but it was as brewster had said, after all,--the apache strain was abhorrent to him as the venom of a snake. yet he was fond of felipa, too. someway it had not occurred to him to be any more angry with cairness than he had been with her. the most he felt was resentful jealousy. there was nothing more underhand about the man than there was about felipa. sending the note by the prospectors had not been underhand. he understood that it had been done only that it might make no trouble for her, and give himself no needless pain. cairness would have been willing to admit to his face that he loved felipa. that letter must have been written in his own camp. he heard his wife coming down the stairs, and directly she stood in the doorway. "will you let me have that knife, jack dear?" she asked amiably. he turned his chair and studied her in a kind of hopeless amusement. "felipa," he said, "if you will insist upon being told, i cut open the pockets of those dead men's clothes with it." "but i can have it cleaned," she said. he turned back abruptly. "you had better get another. you can't have that one," he answered. was it possible that twenty minutes before he had risen to the histrionic pitch of self-sacrifice of offering her her freedom to marry another man? xii it was unfortunate for landor, as most things seemed to be just then, that the department commander happened to have an old score to settle. it resulted in the charges preferred by brewster being given precedence over the request for a court of inquiry. the department commander was a man of military knowledge, and he foresaw that the stigma of having been court-martialled for cowardice would cling to landor through all his future career, whatever the findings of the court might be. an officer is in the position of the wife of cæsar, and it is better for him, much better, that the charge of "unsoldierly and unofficer-like conduct, in violation of the sixty-first article of war," should never come up against him, however unfounded it may be. it was a very poor case, indeed, that brewster made out, despite a formidable array of specifications. as it progressed, the situation took on a certain ludicrousness. the tale of woe was so very trivial; it seemed hardly worth the trouble of convening twelve officers from the four corners of the department to hear it. and there was about brewster, as he progressed, a suggestion of dragging one foot after the other, leaving out a word here, overlooking an occurrence there, cutting off a mile in one place, and tacking on an hour in another. landor's wrath was mighty, but he smiled as he sat balancing a ruler on his fingers and hearing how the citizens of san tomaso, eager to avenge their wrongs, had met him at early morning, had gone bravely forward, keen on the scent, had implored him to hasten, while he halted on worthless pretexts, and had, towards evening, reluctantly left a hot trail, going from it at right angles, "and camping," said brewster, regretfully, "as far away as it was possible to get, considering the halts." at one moment it appeared that landor had given his command into the hands of the citizens, at another that he had flatly refused to follow them into danger, that he had threatened and hung back by turns, and had, in short, made himself the laughing-stock of civilians and enlisted men, by what brewster called "his timid subterfuges." yet somehow "timid subterfuges" seemed hardly the words to fit with the hard, unswerving eye and the deep-lined face of the accused. it struck the court so. there were other things that struck the court, notably that brewster had criticised his captain to civilians and to enlisted men. the judge advocate frowned. the frown settled to a permanency when brewster sought out that honorable personage to complain, unofficially, that his case was being neglected. it was about upon a par with an accusation of bribery against a supreme judge in civil life, and naturally did not do the plaintiff much good when the judge advocate rose, terrible in his indignation, to repeat the complaint officially to the assembled court at the next sitting. the court was resentful. it listened and weighed for six days, and then it acquitted landor on every charge and specification "most honorably," to make it more strong, and afterward went over, in a body, to his quarters, to congratulate him. the rest of the post followed. landor was in the dining room, and felipa stood in the sitting room receiving the praises of her husband with much tact. if he were the hero of the hour, she was the heroine. the officers from far posts carried their admiration to extravagance, bewitched by the sphinx-riddle written somehow on her fair face, and which is the most potent and bewildering charm a woman can possess. when they went away, they sent her boxes of fresh tomatoes and celery and lemons, from points along the railroad, which was a highly acceptable and altogether delicate attention in the day and place. the garrison gave a hop in her honor and landor's. it was quite an affair, as many as five and thirty souls being present, and it was written up in the _army and navy_ afterward. the correspondent went into many adjectives over mrs. landor, and her fame spread through the land. brewster stood in his own window, quite alone, and watched them all crowding down to landor's quarters. the beauty of the triumph of virtue did not appeal to him. he was very uneasy. countercharges were looming on his view. to be sure, he had not lied, not absolutely and in so many words, but his citizen witnesses had not been so adroit or so careful. it would not have taken much to make out a very fair case of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. practical working texts, anent looking before leaping, and being sure you are right ere going ahead, occurred to him with new force. his morality at the moment was worthy the law and the prophets. he was experience in person, and as such would have been an invaluable teacher, if there had been any seeking instruction. but there was none. they were all with landor, drinking his wine and helping success succeed, than which one may find less pleasant occupations. yet there came a rap at his door directly. it was the mclane's striker, bearing a note from miss mclane. brewster knew what was in it before he opened it. but he went back to the window and read it by the fading light. when he looked up it was to see miss mclane and ellton going up the walk together, returning from landor's house. and at another window felipa also stood looking out into the dusk. there had been a shower in the afternoon, and the clouds it had left behind were like a soft moss of fire floating in the sky. a bright golden light struck slantwise from the sunset. they had all gone away to dine and to dress for the hop; landor had walked down to the post trader's for the mail, and she was left alone. she watched the figure of a man coming down the line. because of the dazzling, low light behind him, the outline was blurred in a shimmer. at first she thought without any interest in it, one way or another, that he was a soldier, then she could see that he was in citizen's clothes and wore a sombrero and top boots. even with that, until he was almost in front of the house, she did not realize that it was cairness, though she knew well enough that he was in the post, and had been one of landor's most valuable witnesses. he had remained to hear the findings, but she had kept close to the house and had not seen him before. he was a government scout, a cow-boy, a prospector, reputed a squaw-man, anything vagrant and unsettled, and so the most he might do was to turn his head as he passed by, and looking up at the windows, bow gravely to the woman standing dark against the firelight within. the blaze of glory had gone suddenly from the clouds, leaving them lifeless gray, when she turned her eyes back to them; and the outlook across the parade ground was very bare. she went and stood by the fire, leaning her arm on the mantel-shelf and setting her determined lips. three weeks later she left the post and the west. landor's health was broken from the effects of the poisonweed and the manifold troubles of the months past. in lieu of sick leave, he was given a desirable detail, and sent on to washington, and for a year and a half he saw his wife fitted into a woman's seemly sphere. she was heralded as a beauty, and made much of as such, and the little vanities that had rarely shown before came to the surface now. he was proud of her. sought after and admired, clothed in purple and scarlet and fine linen, within the limits of a captain's pay, a creature of ultra-civilization, tamed, she was a very charming woman indeed. there seemed to be no hint of the apache left. he all but forgot it himself. there was but one relapse in all the time, and it chanced that he had no knowledge of that. yet, in the midst of her little triumph, felipa fell ill, failing without apparent cause, and then the uneasiness that had only slept in landor for eighteen months came awake again. he did not believe when the doctors told him that it was the lassitude of the moist, warm springtime which was making the gray circles about her eyes, the listlessness of her movements. when she lay, one day, with her face, too white and sharp, looking out from the tangle of hair upon the pillow, he asked her almost abruptly if she had rather go back to the west. he could not bring himself to ask if she were longing to be near cairness. he shrank too much from her frank, unhesitating assent. the face on the pillow lighted quickly, and she put out her hand to him impulsively. "could we go back, jack, even before the detail is up?" she said. and yet her life of late had surely been one that women would have thought enviable--most women. he himself had never dreamed how it irked her until now. it was many years since he had been in the east, not, indeed, since felipa had been a small child. keeping his promise to cabot, as he understood it, had left him little for such pleasures as that. but he had done his duty then; he would do it again, and reap once more what seemed to him the inevitable reward, the reward which had been his all through his life,--sheer disappointment, in all he prized most, ashes and dust. "i can throw up the detail," he said indifferently, "i dare say i might as well. there is only half a year more of it. some one will be glad enough to take that." "but you," said felipa, wistfully, "you do not want to go back?" for a moment he stood looking straight into her eyes, yet neither read the other's thoughts. then he turned away with a baffled half laugh. "why should it matter to me?" he asked. xiii cairness rode at a walk round and round the crowding, snorting, restless herd of cattle that was gathered together in the pocket of the foot-hills under the night sky. there were five other cow-boys who also rode round and round, but they were each several hundred yards apart, and he was, to all intents, alone. now and then he quickened the gait of his bronco and headed off some long-horned steer or heifer, that forced itself out of the huddled, dark mass, making a break for freedom. but for the most part he rode heavily, lopsided in his saddle, resting both hands on the high pommel. he had had time to unlearn the neat horsemanship of the service, and to fall into the slouchy manner of the cow-boy, skilful but unscientific. it was a pitchy night, in spite of the stars, but in the distance, far off across the velvety roll of the hills, there was a forest fire on the top of a range of mountains. it glowed against the sky and lighted the pocket and the prairie below, making strange shadows among the cattle, or bringing into shining relief here and there a pair of mighty horns. a wind, dry and hot, blew down from the flames, and made the herd uneasy. not far from where those flames were licking up into the heavens, cairness thought as he watched them, had been the circle k ranch. in among the herd, even now, were circle k cattle that had not yet been cut out. those six people of his own race had been all that was left to him of his youth. to be sure, he had seen little of them, but he had known that they were there, ready to receive him in the name of the home they had all left behind. and since that gray dawn when he had picked his way through the ashes and charred logs, and had bent over the bodies of his friend and the dead mother and the two children, he had been possessed by a loathing that was almost physical repulsion for all indians. that was why he had left the stone cabin he had built for himself in the white mountains, forsaking it and the apaches who had been, in a way, his friends. but he had done it, too, with the feeling that now he had nowhere to lay his head; that he was driven from pillar to post, buffeted and chased; that he was cursed with the curse of the wanderer. if it had not been that he had an indefinite theory of his own concerning the kirby massacre, as it was known throughout the country, and that he meant to, some day, in some way, avenge it upon the whites who had abandoned them to their fate, he would have killed himself. he had been very near it once, and had sat on the edge of his bunk in the cabin with a revolver in his hand, thinking it all out for an entire evening, before deciding dispassionately against it. he was not desperate, merely utterly careless of life, which is much worse. desperation is at the most the keen agony of torture at the stake; but indifference toward all that is held by this world, or the next, is dying in a gradual vacuum. he believed that he had no ties now, that friendships, the love of woman, and the kiss of children all had missed him, and that his, thenceforth, must be but vain regret. so far as he knew, felipa had gone away without ever having received his letter. the man he had intrusted it to had been killed in the aravaypa cañon: that he was certain of; and it never entered his head that his papers might have fallen into other hands, and the note have finally been delivered to her. she was leading the sort of life that would most quickly put him entirely out of her mind. he was taking the washington papers, and he knew. she had gone away, not even sure that he had given her a thought since the night in the sierra blanca when black river had roared through the stillness, and they had been alone in all the wild world. what a weird, mysterious, unearthly scene it had been, quite outside the probabilities of anything he had imagined or contemplated for a single minute. he had never regretted it, though. he believed in impulses, particularly his own. two steers, locking their horns, broke from the herd and swaying an instant so, separated and started side by side across the prairie. he settled in his saddle and put his cow-pony to a run, without any preliminary gait, going in a wide circle to head them back. running across the ground, thick with coyote and dog holes, was decidedly perilous; men had their necks broken in that way every few days; but it would not have mattered to him especially to have ended so. wherefore he did not, but drove the steers back to the herd safely. and then he returned to the monotonous sentry work and continued thinking of himself. what had he done with four and thirty years, putting it at the very highest valuation? he had sunk so far below the standard of his youth that he would not be fit for his old companions, even if he had wanted to go back to them, which, except in certain fits of depression, he did not. his own mother cared very little what became of him. at christmas time she always sent him a letter, which reached him much later, as a rule, and he answered it. his brothers had forgotten him. his sister, of whom he had been very fond once, and for whom he had hoped a great deal, had married well enough and gone to london; but she, too, had forgotten him long since. so much for his past. as for his present. his only friends were treacherous savages and some few settlers and cow-boys. they would none of them miss him if he were to be laid under a pile of stones with a board cross at his head anywhere by the roadside, in the plains or among the hills. some of them were honest men, some were desperadoes; none were his equals, not one understood the things that meant life to him. he had no abode, not so much as the coyote over there on the top of the little swell. he made his living in divers and uncertain ways. sometimes he sent pictures to the east, studies of the things about him. they sold well. sometimes he was a scout or a guide. sometimes he prospected and located claims with more or less good luck. sometimes he hired himself out as a cow-boy at round-ups, as he was doing now. on the whole, he was, from the financial standpoint, more of a success than from any other. also he was in love with the wife of a man he liked and respected--and who trusted him. yet in spite of that, he had come near--so near that it made him cold to think about it--to following in the way of many frontiersmen and marrying a mexican. it had been when he had first learned that felipa landor had gone east for two years; and the mexican had been very young and very pretty, also very bad. it was not a nice outlook. but he found it did not grow any better for the thought that felipa might have forgotten all about him, though that would unquestionably have been the best thing that could have happened for all concerned, from the standpoint of common sense. but there were two chances, of a sort, that made it worth while worrying along. one was that felipa might some day, in the working out of things, come into his life. the other was that he could ferret out the truth of the kirby massacre. love and revenge are mighty stimulants. as for the kirby affair, there had been no hint of treachery in the published or verbal accounts of it. the ranch hands who had escaped had told a plain enough tale of having fled at the approach of the indians, vainly imploring the kirbys to do the same. it seemed that the most they could be accused of was cowardice. it had all been set forth in the papers with much circumstance and detail. but cairness doubted. he remembered their dogged ugliness, and that of the raw-boned texan woman. that very day the doubt had attained the proportions of a certainty. the sight of a circle k cow had called up the subject of the massacre, and a cow-boy had said, "them are the property of bill lawton, i reckon." cairness asked who bill lawton might be, and was told that he had been one of the kirby men, "big fellow with a big wife. if you was ever there, you'd ought to remember her. she was a venus and a cleopatrer rolled into one, you bet." the cow-boy was not devoid of lore for all his lowly station. cairness did remember, but he did not see fit to say so. a half dozen cow-boys came riding over from the camp of the outfit to relieve those on duty. cairness was worn out with close on eighteen hours in the saddle, tearing and darting over the hills and ravines, quick as the shadow from some buzzard high in the sky, scrambling over rocks, cutting, wheeling, chasing after fleet-footed, scrawny cattle. he went back to camp, and without so much as washing the caked dust and sweat from his face, rolled himself in a blanket and slept. the round-up lasted several days longer, and then the men were paid off, and went their way. the way of most was toward tombstone, because the opportunities for a spree were particularly fine there. not because of these, but because the little parson lived there now, cairness went also. moreover, it was as good a place as another to learn more about the massacre. cow-boys coming from other round-ups and getting drunk might talk. the famous mining town was two years old. it had ceased to be a "wind city" or even a canvas one, and was settling down to the dignity of adobe, or even boards, having come to stay. but it was far too new, too american, to have any of the picturesqueness of the mexican settlements of the country. cairness tied his cow-pony to a post in front of a low calcimined adobe, and going across the patch of trodden earth knocked at the door. the little parson's own high voice called to him, and he went in. the reverend taylor was tipped back in his chair with his feet upon the table, reading the tucson papers. he sprang up and put out his hand in a delighted welcome, his small face turning into a very chart of smiling seams and wrinkles. but his left hand hung misshapen, and cairness saw that it did not bend at the wrist as he motioned to an empty soda-pop bottle and a glass on the table beside a saucer of fly-paper and water. "that's what i still take, you see," he said, "but i'll serve you better;" and he opened a drawer and brought out a big flask. "i reckon you've got a thirst on you this hot weather." he treated himself to a second bottle of the pop, and grew loquacious, as another man might have under the influence of stronger drink; and he talked so much about himself and so little about his guest that cairness wondered. presently the reason made itself manifest. it was the egotism of the lover. the reverend taylor was going to be married. he told cairness so with an expression of beatitude that answered to a blush, and pointed to a photograph on his mantel-shelf. "she ain't so pretty to look at," he confided, which was undoubtedly true, "nor yet so young. but i ain't neither, 'sfar as that goes. she's amiable. that's the great thing after all, for a wife. she's amiable." cairness congratulated him with all solemnity, and asked if she were a widow. he was sure she must be, for the gallantry of the west in those days allowed no woman to pass maturity unwed. but she was, it appeared, a maiden lady, straight from virginia. the reverend taylor was the first man she had ever loved. "it was right funny how it come about," he confided, self absorbed still. "her mother keeps the res'rant acrost the street where i take my meals (i used to have a greaser woman, but i got sick of _frijoles_ and _gorditas_ and _chili_ and all that stuff), and after dinner every afternoon, she and me would put two saucers of fly-paper on a table and we would set and bet on which would catch the most flies before four o'clock. you ain't no idea how interestin' it got to be. the way we watched them flies was certainly intense. sometimes, i tell you, she'd get that excited she'd scream when they couldn't make up their minds to light. once her mother come runnin' in, thinkin' i was tryin' to kiss her." he beamed upon cairness, and accepted congratulations charmingly, sipping his soda-pop with quite a rakish little air. "what brought you here?" he remembered to ask, at length. cairness told him that he had been in the c round-up, and then went on to his point. "taylor, see here. i want to find out more about the kirby massacre. there is more to that than has appeared in print." the minister nodded his head. "yes, i reckon there is," he agreed. "you remember that woman," cairness went on, making and rolling adroitly a straw-paper cigarette, "the one who was cook on the ranch for so long? she could tell us what it is, and i'll bet on it." the reverend taylor nodded again. "reckon she could. but--" he grabbed at a fly with one hand, and caught and crushed it in his palm with much dexterity, "but--she's lit out." "so?" said cairness, with the appearance of stolidity he invariably assumed to cover disappointment or any sort of approach to emotion. "where's she gone to?" taylor shrugged his shoulders. "_quien sabe?_ can't prove it by me. just _vamoosed_. fell in love with a little terrier of a greaser half her size, and cleaned out. lawton was in here a day or two ago, lookin' for her and raisin' particular cain with whiskey and six-shooters--bawlin' about her all over the place." "is he here now?" he had gone back. cairness made another cigarette and considered. "i think i'll hire to him," he said, after a while. "hire to him!" exclaimed taylor, "what for?" "for the fun of it, and 'found.' can you give me a recommendation?" the parson said that he could not. "lawton ain't any use for me. i guess it's because he remembers me, that's why. he'll remember you, too." "no," said cairness, "he won't. i've met him since. that was a long time ago, and i was smooth shaven." taylor smiled. cairness's small, brown mustache, curving up at the ends, was hardly a disguise. "there's a fellow here who could get you the job, though," he suggested. "fellow named stone. newspaper man, used to be in tucson. he seems to have some sort of pull with that lawton fellow." "i know him," cairness said; "he used to be round san carlos when i was an enlisted man. he won't remember me, either. and you needn't necessarily mention that i was with landor in the san tomaso affair, or that i was a scout. he may know it, of course. and again, he may not." he got up and went to the window, which was iron-barred, after the mexican fashion, and stood, with his hands run into his belt, looking down at a row of struggling, scraggly geraniums in tin cans. they were the most disheartening part of the whole disheartening prospect, within or without. the reverend taylor got his hat. it was still a silk one, but new, and without holes. they went over to the false front board structure which was stone's office. it appeared from the newspaper man's greeting that it was a case of the meeting of prominent citizens. taylor presented cairness, with the elegant, rhetorical flourishes he was capable of when he chose. "he is a friend of mine," he added, "and anything that you can do for him will be appreciated, you _sabe_?--" stone did understand, and taylor left them alone together. they opened upon non-committal topics: the weather, which had been scorching and parched since april, and would continue so, in all probability, until september; the consequent condition of the crops, which was a figure of speech, for there were none, and never had been, deserving of the name; and then cairness, having plenty of time, brought it round to the troops. in the tirade that followed he recognized a good many of the sentiments, verbatim, of the articles in the tucson papers of the time of landor's scout. but he half shut his eyes and listened, pulling at the small, brown mustache. stone set him down, straightway, as an ass, or english, which was much the same thing. cairness was still in his dust-grayed outfit, his hair was below where his collar would have been had he been wearing one, and his nose was on its way to at least the twentieth new skin that summer. in all his years of the frontier, he had never become too well tanned to burn. his appearance was not altogether reassuring, stone thought. he was not only an ass, he was also tough--the sort of a fellow with whom it was as well to remember that your six-shooter is beneath the last copy of your paper, on the desk at your elbow. "i have never especially liked you," cairness decided, for his part, "and i can't say that you improve upon acquaintance, you know. you wrote those articles about landor, and that's one i owe you." stone wore his oratory out after a time, and cairness closed his eyes rather more, to the end that he might look a yet greater ass, and said that he wanted to hire out as a cow-boy or ranch hand of some sort. "taylor told me you knew a fellow named lawton, i think it was. would he be wanting one now?" he took considerable satisfaction in his own histrionic ability, and lapsed into the phraseology of the job-hunter. stone thought not. he had not heard lawton speak of needing help. but he wrote a very guarded note of recommendation, falling back into the editorial habit, and dashing it off under pressure. cairness, whose own writing was tiny and clear and black, and who covered whole sheets without apparent labor, but with lightning rapidity, watched and reflected that he spent an amount of time on the flourish of his signature that might have been employed to advantage in the attainment of legibility. "i'm a busy man," said stone, "a very busy man, the busiest man in the territory." no one in the territory was busy. the atmosphere was still too much that of the mexican possession; but cairness said it was undoubtedly so, and took his leave, clanking his spurs, heavy footed, and stooping his long form, in continuance of the rôle of ass. he knew well enough that he had been so summed up. it is a disadvantage the british citizen labors under in the west. the next day he left for the circle k ranch. lawton did not appear to need help. but he fired a greaser, nevertheless, and took cairness on. he seemed to stand in as abject awe of stone's note as an arab might have stood of a bit of the black covering of the kaabah stone. and cairness stayed with him, serving seven months, and seeking what he might discover. but he discovered nothing more than that the circle k ranch, for all that it might be the texan's in name, was stone's in point of fact, and that lawton's dread of that mighty man was very much greater than his hope of heaven. the knowledge was slight and of no plain value; but it might be of use some day. life had taught cairness, amongst other things, that it usually proved so. he stored it away with the other gleanings of experience in his mental barns, and went in search of new adventures. xiv the chief alchise and a half hundred of his kind--one so deaf that he held to his savage old ear a civilized speaking-trumpet--squatted about on the ground, and explained to crook the nature of their wrongs. "we were planting our own corn and melons," said alchise, "and making our own living. the agent at san carlos never gave us any rations, but we didn't mind about that. we were taking care of ourselves. one day the agent--" he stopped and scowled at a squaw a few yards away, whose papoose was crying lustily. the squaw, having her attention thus called to the uproar of her offspring, drew from somewhere in the folds of her dirty wrappings a nursing-bottle, and putting the nipple in its mouth, hushed its cries. the chief went on: "one day the agent sent up and said that we must give up our own country and our corn patches, and go down there to the agency to live. he sent indian soldiers to seize our women and children, and drive us down to the hot land." he was a simple, sullen apache, and his untutored mind could only grasp effects. causes were beyond it. he did not, therefore, understand that coal had been discovered on his reservation, also silver, and that the agent and the agent's friends were trying to possess themselves of the land in order to dispose of it to the eastern capitalist. he knew that his cattle were driven off by the white cow-boys and could not be gotten back, that he was given but one cup of flour every seven days, that beef was so difficult to obtain that it practically formed no part of his diet; but he did not know of the "boys" in tucson and officials in washington who were profiting from the sale of indian supplies to white squatters. he knew that the stores which should have gone to him were loaded upon wagon-trains and hurried off the reservation in the dead of night; but he did not know why the apache who was sent to humbly ask the agent about it was put in the guard-house for six months without trial. he knew that his corn patches were trampled down, but not that it was to force him to purchase supplies from the agent and his friends, or else get out. he knew that his reservation--none too large, as it was, for three thousand adults more or less--had been cut down without his consent five different times, and that mormon settlers were elbowing him out of what space remained. but, being only a savage, it were foolish to expect that he should have seen the reason for these things. he has not yet learned to take kindly to financial dishonesty. does he owe you two bits, he will travel two hundred miles to pay it. he has still much to absorb concerning civilization. another thing he could not quite fathom was why the religious dances he had, in pursuance of his wild pleasure, seen fit to hold on cibicu creek, had been interfered with by the troops. to be sure, the dances had been devised by his medicine men to raise the dead chiefs and braves with the end in view of re-peopling the world with apaches and driving out the whites. but as the dead had not consented to the raising, it might have been as well to allow the indians to become convinced of the futility of it in that way. however, the government thought otherwise, and sent its troops. because they were sent, a fine officer had fallen victim to apache treachery of the meanest sort and to the gross stupidity of others, and arizona was on the verge of the worst disorder of all its disorderly history. so crook was sent for, and he came at once, and looked with his small, piercing eyes, and listened with his ears so sharp to catch the ring of untruth, and learned a pretty tale of what had gone on during his absence on the troubled northern plains. a great many delightful facts, illustrative of the rule of the anglo-saxon in for gain, came to his knowledge. there were good men and just in arizona, and some of these composed the federal grand jury, which reported on the condition of affairs at the agency. when a territorial citizen had anything to say in favor of the redskin, it might be accepted as true. and these jurymen said that the happenings on the san carlos agency had been a disgrace to the age and a foul blot upon the national escutcheon. they waxed very wroth and scathing as they dwelt upon how the agent's vast power made almost any crime possible. there was no check upon his conduct, nor upon the wealth he could steal from a blind government; and to him, and such as him, they attributed the desolation and bloodshed which had dotted the plains with the graves of murdered victims. it was the rather unavailing wail of the honest citizen caught between the upper and nether millstones of the politician and the hostile. crook had been recalled too late, and he knew it. every apache on the reservation was ready for the war-path. it was not to be averted. one man, even a very firm and deft one, could not straighten out in a few weeks the muddle of ten years of thievery, oppression, and goading. it takes more than just a promise, even though it is one likely to be kept, to soothe the hurt feelings of savages who have seen eleven of their friends jailed for fourteen months without the form of accusation or trial. they feel bitter toward the government whose minions do those things. the new general was hailed by the territories as deliverer until he found the truth and told it, after which they called him all manner of hard names, for that is the sure reward of the seeker after fact. he prepared for war, seeing how things were, but he tried for peace the while. he sent to the bucks who lurked in the fastnesses and strongholds, and said that he was going out alone to see them. he left his troops and pack-train, and with two interpreters and two officers repaired to the cañon of the black river, where he scrambled and slid, leading his scrambling, sliding mule down the precipices of basalt and lava among the pines and junipers. bright, black eyes peered down from crevasses and branches. an apache lurked behind every boulder and trunk. but only the squaws and the children and twenty-six bucks in war toilet, naked from shoulder to waist, painted with blood and mescal, rings in their noses, and heads caked thick with mud, came down to the conference. it was not of much avail in the end, the conference. there was more than one tribe to be pacified. the restlessness of the wild things, of the goaded, and of the spring was in their blood. the last straw was laid on when an indian policeman arrested a young buck for some small offence. the buck tried to run away, and would not halt when he was told to. the chief of police fired and killed a squaw by mistake; and though he was properly sorry for it, and expressed his regret, the relatives and friends of the deceased squaw caught him a few days later, and cutting off his head, kicked it round, as they had seen the white-eye soldier do with his rubber foot-ball. then they, aroused and afraid too of punishment, fled from the reservation and began to kill. it was a halcyon time for the press. it approved and it disapproved, while the troops went serenely on their way. it gave the government two courses,--removal of the apaches, one and all, to the indian territory (as feasible as driving the oxen of geryon), or extermination--the catchword of the non-combatant. the government took neither course. there was but one other resort. the exasperated, impotent press turned to it. "if the emergency should arise, and it now looks as though it may come soon," flowed the editorial ink, "enough resolute and courageous men can be mustered in tombstone, globe, tucson, and other towns and settlements to settle the question, once and forever: to settle it as such questions have often been settled before." in pursuance of which the resolute and courageous men arose at the cry of their bleeding land. they have gone down to history (to such history as deigns to concern itself with the reclaiming of the plains of the wilderness, in area an empire of itself) as the tombstone toughs. the exceedingly small respectable element of tombstone hailed their departure with unmixed joy. they had but one wish,--that the toughs might meet the apaches, and that each might rid the face of the desert of the other. but the only apaches left to meet were the old and feeble, and the squaws and papooses left at san carlos. the able-bodied bucks were all in the field, as scouts or hostiles. the resolute and courageous men, led by a resolute and courageous saloon-keeper, found one old indian living at peace upon his rancheria. they fired at him and ran away. the women and children of the settlers were left to bear the brunt of the anger of the apaches. it was too much for even the tucson journalist. he turned from denunciation of the military, for one moment, and applied his vigorous adjectives to the tombstone toughs. arizona had its full share of murder and sudden death. but new mexico had more than that. spring passed on there, with warmth for the snow-wrapped mountains, and blistering heat for the dead plains, and her way was marked with lifeless and mutilated forms. landor's troop was stationed at stanton, high up among the hills. it had come there from another post down in the southern part of the territory, where anything above the hundreds is average temperature, and had struck a blizzard on its march. once when felipa got out of the ambulance to tramp beside it, in the stinging snow whirls, and to start the thin blood in her veins, she had looked up into his blanket-swathed face, and laughed. "i wonder if you looked like that when you took me through this part of the world twenty years ago," she said. he did not answer, and she knew that he was annoyed. she had come to see that he was always annoyed by such references, and she made them more frequent for that very reason, half in perversity, half in a fixed determination not to be ashamed of her origin, for she felt, without quite realizing it, that to come to have shame and contempt for herself would be to lose every hold upon life. she was happier than she had been in washington. landor saw that, but he refused to see that she was also better. however much a man may admire, in the abstract, woman as a fine natural animal, unspoiled by social pettiness, he does not fancy the thing in his wife. from the artistic standpoint, a regal barbarian, unconfined, with her virtue and her vices on a big scale, is very well; from the domestic, it is different. she is more suitable in the garb of fashion, with homemade character of parlor-ornament proportions. felipa had discarded, long since, the short skirt and moccasins of her girlhood, and had displayed no inconsiderable aptitude in the matter of fashions; but she was given to looseness of draperies and a carelessness of attire in her own home that the picturesqueness of her beauty alone only saved from slatternliness. there was one manifestation of ill taste which she did not give, however, one common enough with the wives of most of the officers. she was never to be found running about the post, or sitting upon the porches, with her husband's cape around her shoulders and his forage-cap over her eyes. her instinct for the becoming was unfailing. this was a satisfaction to landor. but it was a secret grievance that she was most contented when in her riding habit, tearing foolhardily over the country. another grievance was the ellton baby. felipa adored it, and for no reason that he could formulate, he did not wish her to. he wanted a child of his own. altogether he was not so easy to get on with as he had been. she did not see why. being altogether sweet-humored and cheerful herself, she looked for sweet humor and cheerfulness in him, and was more and more often disappointed. not that he was ever once guilty of even a quick burst of ill temper. it would have been a relief. sometimes when she was quite certain of being undisturbed, she took cairness's one letter from the desk, and read and reread it, and went over every word and look she had had from him. she had forgotten nothing, but though her olive skin would burn and then grow more colorless than ever when she allowed herself to recall, not even a sigh would come from between the lips that had grown a very little set. yet she not only loved cairness as much as ever, but more. her church had the strong hold of superstition upon her, but she might have thrown it off, grown reckless of enforced conventions, and have gone to him, had not faithfulness and gratitude held her yet more powerfully. landor had been good to her. she would have gone through anything rather than have hurt him. and yet it was always a relief now when he went away. she was glad when he was ordered into the field at the beginning of the spring. of old she had been sufficiently sorry to have him go. but of old she had not felt the bit galling. life went on very much the same at the post when there was only the infantry left in possession. as there was nothing to do at any time, there was nothing the less for that. on the principle that loneliness is greatest in a crowd, stanton was more isolated now than grant had been in the days when there had been no railroad west of kansas. the railroad was through the southwest now, but it was a hundred miles away. it was unsafe to ride outside the reservation, there was no one for hops, the only excitement was the daily addition to the list of slaughtered settlers. felipa spent most of her time with the ellton baby. miss mclane had been married to landor's second lieutenant for a year and a half, and they were very happy. but felipa in the knowledge of the strength of her own love, which gained new might each time that she wrestled with it and threw it back upon the solid ground of duty, found their affection decidedly insipid. like the majority of marital attachments, it had no especial dignity. it was neither the steadfast friendship she felt for her husband, nor the absolute devotion she would have given cairness. but the baby was satisfactory. she amused it by the hour. for the rest, being far from gregarious, and in no way given to spending all the morning on some one else's front porch, and all the afternoon with some one else upon her own, she drew on the post library and read, or else sat and watched the mountains with their sharp, changing shadows by day, and their indian signal flashes by night,--which did not tend to enhance the small degree of popularity she enjoyed among the post women. some thirty miles to the southeast was the mescalero indian agency. landor had consented with the worst possible grace to take her there sometime when the road should be passable and safe. she had openly resented his disinclination, though she usually appeared not to notice it. "it is very natural i should want to see the place where i was born," she had said, "and i think we should both be more comfortable if you would not persist in being so ashamed of it." the story of her origin was an open secret now. landor had never been able to discover who had spread it. the probabilities were, however, that it had been brewster. he had been suspended for a year after landor's trial, and driven forth with contempt, but he was back again, with a bold front, and insinuating and toadying himself into public favor, destined by that providence which sometimes arouses itself to reward and punish before the sight of all men, to be short-lived. xv landor sat at the centre table and went over requisition blanks by the light of a green-shaded student lamp. the reflection made him look livid and aging. felipa had noticed it, and then she had turned to the fire and sat watching, with her soft eyes half closed, the little sputtering sparks from the mesquite knot. she had been immovable in that one position for at least an hour, her hands folded with a weary looseness in her lap. if it had not been that her face was very hard to read, even her husband might have guessed that she was sad. but he was not thinking about her. he went on examining the papers until some one came upon the front porch and knocked at the door. then he got up and went out. it was the post-trader, he told felipa when he came back, and he was asking for help from the officer-of-the-day. some citizens down at the store were gambling and drinking high, and were becoming uproarious. landor sent for a squad of the guard and went to put them out. it was just one of the small emergencies that go to make up the chances of peace. he might or he might not come back alive; the probabilities in favor of the former, to be sure. but the risks are about equal whether one fights indians or citizens drunk with liquor and gaming. the men went away, however, without much trouble beyond tipsy protests and mutterings, and the sutler rewarded the guard with beer, and explained to landor that several of the disturbers were fellows who were hanging round the post for the beef contract; the biggest and most belligerent--he of the fierce, drooping mustachios--was the owner of the ranch where the kirby massacre had taken place, as well as of another one in new mexico. landor paid very little attention just then, but that same night he had occasion to think of it again. it was his habit to go to bed directly after taps when he was officer-of-the-day, and to visit the guard immediately before reveille the next morning. but the requisitions and some troop papers kept him until almost twelve, so that he decided to make his rounds as soon as the clock had struck twelve, and to sleep until sunrise. felipa had long since gone off to bed. he turned down the lamp, put on his cape and cap, and with his revolver in his pocket and his sabre clicking a monotonous accompaniment went out into the night. it was not very dark. the sky was thick with clouds, but there was a waning moon behind them. the only light in the garrison was in the grated windows of the guard-house. visiting the guard is dull work, and precisely the same round, night after night, with hardly ever a variation. but to-night there occurred a slight one. landor was carrying his sabre in his arm, as he went by the back of the quarters, in order that its jingle might not disturb any sleepers. for the same reason he walked lightly, although, indeed, he was usually soft-footed, and came unheard back of brewster's yard. brewster himself was standing in the shadow of the fence, talking to some man. landor could see that it was a big fellow, and the first thing that flashed into his mind, without any especial reason, was that it was the rancher who had been in trouble down at the sutler's store. it gave cause for reflection; but an officer was obviously at liberty to talk to whomsoever he might choose around his own premises, at any hour of the day or night. so the officer of the day went on, treading quietly. but he had something to think about now that kept off drowsiness for the rest of the rounds. brewster's fondness for the society of dubious civilians was certainly unfortunate. and the conjunction of the aspiring beef contractor and the commissary officer was also unfortunate, not to say curious. because of this. the beef contract was about to expire, and the commandant had advertised for bids. a number of ranchers had already turned their papers in. furnishing the government's soldiers with meat is never an empty honor. the bids, duly sealed, were given into the keeping of the commissary officer to be put in his safe, and kept until the day of judgment, when all being opened in public and in the presence of the aspirants, the lowest would get the contract. it was a simple plan, and gave no more opportunity for underhand work than could be avoided. but there were opportunities for all that. it was barely possible--the thing had been done--for a commissary clerk or sergeant, desirous of adding to his pittance of pay, or of favoring a friend among the bidders, to tamper with the bids. by the same token there was no real reason why the commissary officer could not do it himself. landor had never heard, or known, of such a case, but undoubtedly the way was there. it was a question of having the will and the possession of the safe keys. there were only the bids to be taken out and steamed open. the lowest found, it was simple enough for the favored one to make his own a quarter of a cent less, and to turn it in at the last moment. but one drawback presented itself. some guileful and wary contractors, making assurance twice sure, kept their bids themselves and only presented them when the officers sat for the final awarding. certainly brewster would have been wiser not to have been seen with the big civilian. during the two days that elapsed before the awarding of the contract, landor thought about it most of the time. it came to pass in the working out of things that the commandant elected to spend the night before the opening of the bids, in the small town some miles away, where one of the first families was giving a dinner. this left landor, as next in rank, in temporary command. it had happened often enough before, in one way or another, but this time the duties of the position seemed to weigh upon him. he was restless and did not care to sleep. he sent felipa off to bed, and sat watching where her lithe young figure had gone out of the door for some minutes. then he ran his hand across his mouth contemplatively, stroked his mustache, and finally went out of the house and down to ellton's quarters. when the baby began to cry, as it was always quite sure to do sooner or later, and mrs. ellton went up to it, landor spoke. "if i should come for you at any hour to-night, i wish you would hold yourself in readiness to go out with me immediately." he was not the sort of a man of whom to ask explanations. ellton said "very well," and proceeded to talk about the troop's hogs and gardens, both of which were a source of increase to the troop funds. mrs. ellton returned before long, and landor went back home. "i shall be in and out all night, more or less," he told felipa. she reached her hands from the bedclothes and stroked the deep lines on his forehead, the lines she had had most to do with putting there. but she did not ask for confidences. she never did. it was not her way. he kissed her and went out into the night again, to sit upon his porch at a spot where, through the cottonwood branches, he commanded a view of brewster's front door and of the windows of the commissary office. the silence of the garrison was absolute. over in the company clerk's office of one of the infantry barracks there was a light for a time. then, at about midnight, it too was put out. a cat came creeping from under the board walk and minced across the road. he watched it absently. when he looked up again to brewster's house, there was a chink of faint light showing through a curtain. he got up then and went down to ellton's quarters. ellton himself answered the muffled knock. "i didn't turn in," he said to the mysterious figure, shrouded in a cape, with a visor down to its peering eyes. landor told him to get his cap and come out. he followed the shadows of the trees near the low commissary building, and they stood there, each behind a thick cottonwood trunk. landor watched the light in brewster's window. it disappeared before long, and they held their breaths. ellton began to guess what was expected to happen. yet brewster himself did not come out. landor had almost decided that he had made an ungenerous mistake, when ellton came over with one light spring and, touching him on the shoulder, pointed to the window of the commissary office. a thick, dark blanket had evidently been hung within, but the faintest red flicker showed through a tiny hole. then landor remembered for the first time that there was a back door to brewster's quarters and to the commissary. he crept over to the commissary and tried the door gently. it was fast locked. then he went to the window. it was a low one, on a level with his chest, with wide-apart iron bars. he ran his hand between them now, and, doubling his fist, broke a pane with a sudden blow. as the glass crashed in, he grasped the gray blanket and drew it back. brewster was standing in front of the open safe, the package of bids in his hands, and the big rancher was beside him holding a candle and shading it with his palm. they had both turned, and were staring, terror-eyed, at the bleeding hand that held back the blanket. "can you see, ellton?" landor asked in his restrained, even voice. he evidently meant that there should be no more noise about this than necessary, that the post should know nothing of it. "i can see, sir," the lieutenant answered. then landor spoke to the commissary officer. "you will oblige me, mr. brewster, by returning those bids to the safe and by opening the door for me." he dropped the blanket, drew back his cut hand, warm and wet with blood, and wrapped it in a handkerchief very deliberately, as he waited. presently the front door opened. the commissary officer evidently had all the keys. landor and ellton, who were commandant and adjutant as well, went through the close-smelling storeroom, which reeked with codfish and coffee, into the office. the citizen was still there, still holding the candle and shading it, scared out of the little wits he had at the best of times. he was too frightened as yet to curse brewster and the wary scoundrel back in arizona, who had set him on to tampering with the military, and had put up the funds to that end--a small risk for a big gain. landor pointed to him. "who is this?" he asked. brewster told him. "it is mr. lawton, of the circle k ranch." "what is he doing here?" "he was helping me." "helping you to do what?" "to get out the bids." his courage was waxing a little. "for what purpose?" went on the cross questions. "to take them over to my quarters and keep them safe." "yes?" said landor. the inflection was not pleasing. it caused brewster to answer somewhat weakly, "yes." "do you think, sir, that you could tell that to twelve officers and make them believe it?" brewster was silent, but he neither flinched nor cowered, nor yet shifted his eyes. landor turned to the citizen. "where is your bid, mr. lawton?" "i ain't put it in yet," he stammered feebly. "don't put it in, then. leave the reservation to-night. you understand me, do you? now go!" lawton set down the candle upon the desk, and crept away by the rear door. after he had gone, landor turned to brewster once more. "are all the bids in the safe again?" they were. "is it closed?" it was. "give me the keys--all the keys." he handed them over. ellton stood by the door, with his hands in his pockets, and a countenance that tried hard to maintain the severity of discipline. but he was plainly enjoying it. "now, mr. brewster," said landor, going to the safe and resting his elbow upon it, and leaning forward in his earnestness, "i am going to tell you what you are to do. it would be better for the service and for all concerned if you do it quietly. i think you will agree with me, that any scandal is to be avoided. come to the opening of the bids to-morrow, at noon, quite as though nothing of this disgraceful sort had happened. i will keep the keys until then. but by retreat to-morrow evening i want your resignation from the service in the hands of the adjutant. if it is not, i shall prefer charges against you the next morning. but i hardly think you will deem it advisable to stand a court-martial." he stopped and stood erect again. brewster started to protest, still with the almost unmoved countenance of an innocent man. at any rate, he was not an abject, whining scoundrel, thought ellton, with a certain amount of admiration. landor held up a silencing hand. "if you have any explanations that you care to make, that it would be worth any one's time to listen to, you may keep them for a judge advocate." he pointed to the door. brewster hesitated for a moment, then walked out, a little unsteadily. they blew out the candle and took down the gray blanket. "a stone can have broken that pane, and i cut my hand on a bottle," said landor. ellton answered "very good," and they went out, locking the door. xvi the contract went to a needy and honest contractor when the bids were opened. and by night the whole garrison was in excitement over brewster's inexplicable resignation. it was inexplicable, but not unexplained. he went around to all the officers with the exception only of landor and ellton, and told that he had some time since decided to give up the service and to read and practise law in tucson. no one was inclined to believe it. but no one knew what to believe, for ellton and his captain held their tongues. they left the commandant himself in ignorance. brewster got hunting leave, pending the acceptance of his resignation, and went to the railway. in less than a week he was all but forgotten in a newer interest. a raiding party of hostiles had passed near the fort, and had killed, with particular atrocity, a family of settlers. the man and his wife had been tortured to death, the baby had had its brains beaten out against the trunk of a tree, a very young child had been hung by the wrist tendons to two meat hooks on the walls of the ranch-house, and left there to die. one big boy had had his eyelids and lips and nose cut off, and had been staked down to the ground with his remains of a face lying over a red-ant hole. only two had managed to escape,--a child of ten, who had carried his tiny sister in his arms, twenty miles of cañons and hills, to the post. felipa had taken charge of the two, being the only woman in the place not already provided with children of her own, and had roused herself to an amount of capability her husband had never suspected her of. she belonged to the tribe of unoccupied women, as a rule, not that she was indolent so much as that she appeared to have no sense of time nor of the value of it. landor, who had always one absorbing interest or another to expend his whole energy upon, even if it were nothing larger than running the troop kitchen, thought her quite aimless, though he never addressed that or any other reproach to her. he was contented at the advent of the hapless orphans for one thing, that they superseded the ellton baby, which he secretly detested with a kind of unreasonable jealousy. his contentment was not to last for long, however. the quartermaster broke in upon it rudely as he sat on the porch one morning after guard-mounting, "have you seen the man who came up with the scouts from grant?" landor knew that the scouts had come in the afternoon before, and were in camp across the creek; but he had not seen their chief, and he said so. "handsome fellow," went on the quartermaster, "and looks like a gentleman. glories in the ouida-esque name of charles morely cairness, and signs it in full." "sounds rather like a family magazine novel hero, doesn't it?" landor said, with a hint of a sneer, then repented, and added that cairness had been with him as guide, and was really a fine fellow. he turned his eyes slowly, without moving, and looked at felipa. she was sitting near them in a patch of sun-sifted shade behind the madeira vines, sewing on a pinafore for the little girl who was just then, with her brother, crossing the parade to the post school, as school call sounded. he knew well enough that she must have heard, her ears were so preternaturally sharp. but the only sign she gave was that her lips had set a little. so he waited in considerable uneasiness for what might happen. he understood her no more than he had that first day he had met her riding with the troops from kansas, when her indifferent manner had chilled him, and it was perhaps because he insisted upon working his reasoning from the basis that her character was complicated, whereas it was absolutely simple. he met constantly with her with much the same sort of mental sensation that one has physically, where one takes a step in the dark, expecting a fall in the ground, and comes down upon a level. the jar always bewildered him. he was never sure what she would do next, though she had never yet, save once, done anything flagrantly unwise. he dreaded, however, the moment when she might chance to meet cairness face to face. which happened upon the following day. and he was there to see it all, so that the question he had not cared to ask was answered forever beyond the possibility of a misunderstanding. it was stable time, and she walked down to the corrals with him. he left her for a moment by the gate of the quartermaster's corral while he went over to the picket line. the bright clear air of a mountain afternoon hummed with the swish click-clock, swish click-clock of the curry-combs and brushes, and the busy scraping of the stable brooms in the stalls. felipa stood leaning against the gate post, her bare head outlined in bold black and white against the white parasol that hung over her shoulders. she was watching one of the troop herds coming up from water,--the fine, big horses, trotting, bucking, rearing, kicking, biting at each other with squeals and whinnyings, tossing their manes and whisking their tails. some of them had rolled in the creek bed, and then in the dust, and were caked with mud from neck to croup. they frisked over to their own picket line, and got into rows for the grooming. she was looking at them with such absorbed delight that she started violently when close behind her a voice she had not heard in four long, repressed years spoke with the well-remembered intonation: "he had better go to the farrier the first thing in the morning. i can't have him stove-up," and cairness came out of the gate. he saw her, and without the hesitation of an instant raised his slouch hat and kept on. a government scout does not stop to pass the time of day with an officer's wife. it would have been best so, and she knew it, had indeed meant to make it like this on her part, but a feeling swept over her that if they did not speak now, they would pass down to their deaths in silence. she reached out her hand to stop him, and spoke. he turned about and stood still, with his head uncovered, looking straight into her face. another man might have wished it a little less open and earnest, a little more downcast and modest, but he liked it so. yet he waited, erect and immovable, and she saw that he meant that every advance should come from her. he was determined to force her to remember that he was a chief of scouts. she waited, too, made silent by sudden realization of how futile anything that she might say would be. "i am glad to see you again," she faltered; "it is four years since black river and the cloud-burst." she was angry at her own stupidity and want of resource, and her tone was more casual than she meant it to be. his own was instantly as cold. "i supposed you had quite forgotten all that," he said. she had done very well, up to then, but she was at the end of her strength. it had been strained to the snapping for a long while, and now it snapped. slowly, painfully, a hot, dark flush spread over her face to the black line of her hair. the squaw was manifested in the changed color. it altered her whole face, while it lasted, then it dropped back and left a dead gray pallor. her lips were quivering and yellow, and her eyes paled oddly, as those of a frightened wild beast do. but still they were not lowered. cairness could not take his own from them, and they stood so for what seemed to them both a dumb and horrible eternity, until landor came up, and she caught at his arm to steady herself. the parasol whirled around on its stick and fell. cairness picked it up, knocked off the dust, and handed it to landor. he could see that he knew, and it was a vast relief. it is only a feeble love in need of stimulants and spicing that craves secrecy. a strong one seeks the open and a chance to fight to the end, whatever that may be, before the judges of earth and heaven. they stood facing each other, challenging across the woman with the look in their eyes that men have worn since long ere ever the warriors of old disputed the captive before the walls of troy. it made it none the better that only landor had the right to give her the strength of his arm, and that only cairness had the right to the desperate, imploring look she threw him. it was a swift glance of a moment, and then she reached out a steady enough hand for the parasol, and smiled. it had been much too tragic to last--and in those surroundings. it was a flash of the naked swords of pain, and then they were sheathed. but each had left a sharp gash. no one had seen it. perhaps to many there would have been nothing to see. landor was the first to find speech. in the harsh light of the pause he saw that it was foolish as well as useless to beg the issue. "has mrs. landor told you that i found your letter to her on the body of the prospector, and delivered it to her?" the words were sufficiently overbearing, but the manner was unendurable. it occurred to cairness that it was ungenerous of landor to revenge himself by a shot from the safe intrenchment of his rank. "mrs. landor has had time to tell me nothing," he said, and turned on his spurred heel and went off in the direction of the post. but it was not a situation, after all, into which one could infuse much dignity. he was retreating, anyway it might be looked at, and there is bound to be more or less ignominy in the most creditable retreat. as they walked back to the post, landor did not speak to felipa. there was nothing he could say unless he were to storm unavailingly, and that was by no means his way. and there was nothing for which he could, with reason, blame her. all things considered, she had acted very well. she moved beside him serenely, not in the least cowed. later, when he came in from dress parade, he found her reading in the sitting room. she looked up and smiled, but his face was very angry, and the chin strap of his helmet below his mouth and the barbaric yellow plume added to the effect of awful and outraged majesty. he stopped in front of her. "i have been thinking things over," he said. she waited. "three years ago i offered you your liberty to marry that man. i repeat the offer now." she stood up very deliberately and faced him with a look he had never seen before in her eyes, dark and almost murderous. but she had her fury under control. he had guessed that her rage might be a very ugly thing, but he drew back a step at the revelation of its possibilities. twice she tried hard to speak. she put her hand to her throat, where her voice burned away as it rose. then it came from the depths of that being of hers, which he had never fathomed. "are you trying to drive me off?" she said measuredly. "do you wish me to go away from you? if you do, i will go. i will go, and i will never come back. but i will not go to him--not on my own account. it doesn't matter what happens to me; but on your account and on his, i will never go to him--not while you are alive." she stopped, and every nerve in her body was tense to quivering, her drawn lips worked. "and if i were out of the way?" he suggested. she had never been cruel intentionally before, and afterward she regretted it. but she raised her eyebrows and turned her back on him without answering. xvii lawton believed himself to be ill-used. he had written to stone a strangely composed and spelled account of the whole matter, and mingled reproaches for having gotten him into it; and stone had replied that it was no affair of his one way or another, but so far as he could make out lawton had made a mess of it and a qualified fool of himself. whereupon the rancher, his feelings being much injured, and his trust in mankind in general shattered, did as many a wiser man has done before him,--made himself very drunk, and in his cups told all that he knew to two women and a man. "i'd like to know whose affair it is, if it ain't his, the measly sneak. he sicked me on,"--oaths, as the grammars phrase it, "understood." the tears dribbled off his fierce mustache, and the women and the man laughed at him, but they were quite as drunk as he was, and they forgot all about it at once. lawton did not forget. he thought of it a great deal, and the more he thought, the more he wanted revenge. now if one cannot have revenge upon the real malefactor himself, because one is afraid of him, there is still satisfaction to be derived, to a certain extent, from wreaking it upon the innocent, of whom one is not afraid. lawton felt, in his simple soul, that stone was astute with the astuteness of the devil and all his angels. on the other hand, he believed the government to be dull. it was big, but it was stupid. was not the whole frontier evidence of that fact to him? clearly, then, the government was the one to be got even with. he had been in hiding three weeks. part of the time he had stayed in the town near the post, small, but as frontier towns went, eminently respectable and law-abiding. for the rest he had lain low in a house of very bad name at the exact edge of the military reservation. the poison of the vile liquor he had drunk without ceasing had gotten itself into his brain. he had reached the criminal point, not bold,--he was never that,--but considerably more dangerous, upon the whole. he drank more deeply for two days longer, after he received stone's letter, and then, when he was quite mad, when his eyes were bleared and fiery and his head was dry and hot and his heart terrible within him, he went out into the black night. it was still early. the mountain echoes had not sung back the tattoo of the trumpets as yet. there was a storm coming on from the snow peak in the west, and the clouds, dark with light edges, were thick in the sky. lawton was sober enough now. not so far away in its little pocket among the hills he could see the post, with all its lights twinkling, as though one of the clear starry patches in the heavens were reflected in a black lake in the valley. and the road stretched out faint and gray before him. he went in through the gate, and was once more upon that reservation he had been commanded by the overbearing tyrant representative of the military to leave, several weeks before. as he trudged along, tattoo went. in the clear silence, beneath the sounding-boards of the low clouds, he heard the voice of one of the sergeants. he shook his fist in the direction. tattoo being over, some of the lights were put out, but there were still plenty to guide him. he did not want to get there too early, so he walked more slowly, and when he came to the edge of the garrison, he hesitated. the chances of detection would certainly be less if he should go back of the officers' quarters, instead of the barracks. but to do that he would have to cross the road which led from the trader's to the quadrangle, and he would surely meet some one, if it were only some servant girl and her lover. he had observed and learned some things in his week of waiting in the post--that week which otherwise had gone for worse than nothing. he took the back of the barracks, keeping well away from them, stumbling in and out among rubbish heaps. he had no very clear idea of what he meant to do, or of why he was going in this particular direction; but he was ready for anything that might offer to his hand. if he came upon landor or the adjutant or any of them, he would put a knife into him. but he was not going to the trouble of hunting them out. and so he walked on, and came to the haystacks, looming, denser shadows against the sky. then taps sounded, ringing its brazen dirge to the night in a long, last note. it ended once, but the bugler went to the other side of the parade and began again. lawton repeated the shaking of his fist. he was growing impatient, and also scared. a little more of that shrill music, and his nerves would go into a thousand quivering shreds--he would be useless. would the cursed, the many times cursed military never get to bed? he waited in the shadow of the corrals, leaning against the low wall, gathering his forces. the sentry evidently did not see him. the post grew more and more still, the clouds more and more thick. gradually it began to form itself in his softened brain what he meant to do. it is safest to avenge oneself upon dumb beasts, after all. by and by he began to feel along the adobe wall, and when he found a niche for his foot, he started to clamber up. he had climbed so many corral walls, to sit atop of them with his great, booted legs dangling, and meditatively whittle when he should have been at work, that it was easy for him, and in a moment he was on the shingled roof, lying flat. in another he had dropped down upon a bed of straw. he put out his hand and touched a warm, smooth flank. the horse gave a little low whinny. quick as a flash he whipped out his knife and hamstrung it, not that one only, but ten other mules and horses before he stopped. he groped from stall to stall, and in each cut just once, unerringly and deep, so that the poor beast, which had turned its head and nosed at the touch of the hand of one of those humans who had always been its friends, was left writhing, with no possible outcome but death with a bullet in its head. he was waking now to his work. but he had enough of horses. he stopped, sheathed his knife, and, feeling in his pockets, drew out a box of matches. a little spluttering flame caught in a pile of straw, and showed a hind foot dragging helplessly. it crept up, and the mule plunged on three legs, dragging the other along. it snorted, and then every animal in that corral, which was the quartermaster's, smelt danger and snorted too, and struck from side to side of its stall. those in the next corral caught the fear. if the sentry outside heard, he paid no attention. it was common enough for the horses to take a simultaneous fit of restlessness in the night, startled by some bat flapping through the beams or by a rat scurrying in the grain. in ten minutes more a flame had reached the roof. in another ten minutes the sentry had discharged his carbine three times, fire call had been sounded in quick, alarming notes, and men and officers, half dressed, had come running from the barracks and the line. any other fire--excepting always in an ammunition magazine--is easier to handle than one in a stable. it takes time to blind plunging horses and lead them out singly. and there is no time to take. hay and straw and gunny-sacks and the dry wood of the stable go up like tinder. it has burned itself out before you can begin to extinguish it. there were four corrals in the one, and two of them were on fire. they had spread wet blankets on the roof of the third, but it, too, caught directly. the big, yellow-hearted flames poured up into the sky. the glow was cast back again from the blackness of the low clouds, and lit up the ground with a dazing shimmer. it blinded and burned and set the rules of fire drill pretty well at naught, when the only water supply was in small buckets and a few barrels, and the horses had kicked over two of the latter. in the corral where the fire had started and was best under way, and in the stall farthest from the gate, a little pinto mustang was jerking at its halter and squealing with fear. it was cairness's horse. he had been allowed to stable it there, and he himself was not down with his scouts in the ill-smelling camp across the creek, but had a room at the sutler's store, a good three-quarters of a mile from the corrals. as soon as the bugle call awoke him, he started at a run; but the fire was beyond fighting when he got there. he grabbed a man at the gate, who happened to be the quartermaster sergeant himself, and asked if his horse had been taken out. the sergeant spent more time upon the oaths with which he embellished the counter-question as to how he should know anything about it, than would have been consumed in a civil explanation. cairness dropped him and went into the corrals to see for himself. the fire roared and hissed, flung charred wood into the air, and let it fall back again. he remembered, in an inconsequent flash, how one night in the south pacific he had taken a very pretty girl below to see the engines. they had stood in the stoke-hole on a heap of coal, hand in hand, down beneath the motion of the decks where the only movement seemed to be the jar of the screw working against the thrust block and the reverberation of the connecting-rod and engines. a luckless, dust-caked wretch of a stoker had thrown open the door of a furnace in front of them, and they had seen the roaring, sputtering, seething whirl of fire within. they had given a simultaneous cry, hiding their scorched faces in their arms, and stumbled blindly over the coal beds back to the clattering of the engine rooms. it had all been very like this, only that this was a little worse, for there were half a dozen dead animals lying across the stalls, and others were being shot. the pistols snapped sharply, and the smell of powder was more pungent than all the other smells. he passed an officer who had a smoking six-shooter in his hand, and yelled in his ear, "why are you doing that?" he had forgotten that it was by no means his place to question. "been hamstrung," the officer bawled back hoarsely. in the end stall the bronco was still squealing and whimpering in an almost human key. he struck it on the flank with his open palm and spoke, "get over there." it had been made so much of a pet, and had been so constantly with him, that it was more intelligent than the average of its kind. it got over and stood quiet and still, trembling. he cut the halter close to the knot, turned it out of the stall, and flinging himself across its back dug his heels into its belly. just for a moment it hesitated, then started with the bronco spring, jumping the dead mules, shying from right to left and back again, and going out through the gates at a run. cairness held on with his knees as he had learned to do when he had played at stock-rider around katâwa and glen lomond in the days of his boyhood, as he had done since with the recruits at hurdle drill, or when he had chased a fleet heifer across the prairie and had had no time to saddle. he could keep his seat, no fear concerning that, but it was all he could do. the pony was not to be stopped. he had only what was left of the halter shank by way of a bridle, and it was none at all. a mexican knife bit would hardly have availed. they tore on, away from the noise of the flames, of the falling timber and the shouted commands, around the haystacks so close to the barbed-wire fence that the barbs cut his boot, off by the back of the quarters, and then upon the road that led from the reservation. if the pony could be kept on that road, there was small danger from dog holes. he would run himself out in time. the length of time was what was uncertain, however. a cow-pony can go a good many hours at a stretch. cairness sat more erect, and settled down to wait. the motion was so swift that he hardly felt it. he turned his head and looked back at the flaming corrals, and, remembering the dead animals, wondered who had hamstrung them. then he peered forward again the little way he could see along the road, and began to make out that there was some one ahead of him. whoever it was scurrying ahead there, bent almost double in his speed, was the one who had hamstrung the mules and horses, and who had set fire to the corrals. the pony was rather more under control now. it could be guided by the halter shank. the man, still running, dodged from the road and started across country. cairness wheeled and followed him. it was open ground, with not so much as a scrub oak or a rock in sight. the thick darkness offered the only chance of escape. but cairness had chased yearlings in nights as black, and had brought them back to the herd. down by the creek where the trees were thick, there would have been a good chance for escape, almost a certainty indeed, but there was little here. the man dodged again. it was just to that very thing that the pony had been trained. habit got the better of stampede with it. it, too, dodged sharply. cairness leaned far over and made a grab, but the first time he missed. the second he caught the neckerchief and held it, dragging the man, who resisted with all his giant strength, digging his toes into the ground as they tore along. and he was heavy. cairness had no stirrup or pommel to trust to. he saw that it was a case of falling or of leaving go, and he decided to fall. the man would go underneath anyway. the man did go underneath and bravely offered resistance. cairness had the twofold strength of his wiry build and of his bull-dog race. but lawton--he knew it was lawton now--would have been stronger yet, save that the three weeks' spree had told, and he was breathless. cairness sat across him and held a revolver to his mouth. the life of the plains teaches agility of various sorts, but chiefly in the matter of drawing a six-shooter. "you fired the corrals," cairness gasped. the fall had knocked the breath from his body. the under dog did not answer. "and you hamstrung those horses." no answer still. "why did you do it?" no answer. "i'll break your jaws if you don't open them." the jaws opened forthwith, but no sound came, and lawton struggled feebly. it occurred to cairness then that with no breath in your lungs and with twelve stone on your chest, speech is difficult. he slid off and knelt beside the rancher, still with the revolver levelled. "now, why did you do it, eh?" he enforced the "eh" with a shake. "i dunno. i didn't." "didn't you, then? you did, though, and you can go back with me till we find out why. give me your firearms. lively!" lawton produced a brace of revolvers. "and your knife." he handed it over also. "now you get up and walk in front of me, and don't you try to bolt. i can run faster than you can, and, anyway, i'll shoot you if you try it." lawton moved ahead a few steps; then he began to cry, loudly, blubbering, his nerves gone all to shreds. he implored and pleaded and wailed. he hadn't known what he was doing. he had been drunk. they had treated him badly about the beef contract. stone had gone back on him. the oaths that he sobbed forth were not new to cairness, but they were very ugly. "cheese that cussing, do you hear?" he ordered. lawton stopped. to forbid him swearing was to forbid him speech. he shuffled ahead in silence. when cairness got him to the post and turned him over to the officer-of-the-day, the fire had burned itself out and quiet was settling down again. big warm drops were beginning to splash from the clouds. the officer-of-the-day put lawton into the care of the guard and asked cairness in to have a drink, calling him "my good man." cairness was properly aware of the condescension involved in being asked into an officer's dining room, but he objected to being condescended to by a man who doubled his negatives, and he refused. "is there anything, then, that i can do for you? the officer asked. his intentions were good; cairness was bound to realize that, too. "yes, sir," he answered; "you can see that i get a mounted man and a horse at reveille to-morrow. i want to hunt for my pony. i lost it when i caught that man." the officer-of-the-day agreed. and cairness, not having a hat to raise, forgot himself and saluted. then he went back to the sutler's through the already pelting rain. he was glad he had caught lawton, mainly because of what he hoped to get out of him yet, about the kirby affair. but he was sorry for the big clumsy fool, too. he had been an easy-going, well-intentioned boss in the days when cairness had been his hand. and, too, he was sorry, very sorry, about the pony. if it were to fall into the hands of mexicans or even of some of the mescalero indians, his chances of seeing it again would be slight. and he was fond of it, mainly because it had helped him to save mrs. landor's life. xviii cairness had made a tune for himself and was putting to it the words of the ill-fated poet of his own land of the dawning. "oh! wind that whistles, o'er thorns and thistles of the fruitful earth, like a goblin elf, why should he labor to help his neighbor, who feels too reckless to help himself?" he felt altogether reckless. in just such a mood, he reflected, his grandmother had probably poisoned her first husband. he could almost have poisoned landor, the big duty-narrowed, conventional, military machine. why could he not have married some one of his own mental circumspection?--mrs. campbell, for instance. he had watched that affair during his enlistment. more the pity it had come to nothing. landor could have understood mrs. campbell. then he thought of felipa, as he had seen her first, looking full into the glare of the sunset, and afterward at him, with magnificent impersonality. "he has caught a lioness and tricked her out in fashionable rags and taught her some capers, and now he thinks he has improved the animal," he said to himself, and raged inwardly, asking the intangible fate, which was always opposing him, if there was not enough little doll women in the world that such an one as felipa must be whittled down to the size. the probable outcome of things at the rate they were going was perfectly apparent. landor would advance in age, respectability, and rank, and would be retired and settle down on three-fourths pay. he himself would end up in some cow-boy row, degraded and worthless, a tough character very probably, a fine example of nothing save atavism. and felipa would grow old. that splendid triumphant youth of hers would pass, and she would be a commonplace, subdued, middle-aged woman, in whom a relapse to her nature would be a mere vulgarity. he recalled the dark, unbecoming flush that had deepened the color of her skin just enough to show the squaw, beyond mistaking, at least to one who knew. it was all very well now. but later, later she would look like that frequently, if not all the time. with youth she would lose her excuse for being. he knew that very well. but it was the youth, the majestic, powerful youth, that he loved. he had seen too many old hags of squaws, disfigurers of the dead and wounded, drudges of the rancheria, squatting on hides before their tepees, not to know what felipa's decline would be in spite of the anglo-saxon strain that seemed to show only in her white skin. her only salvation, he knew that too, was to keep that strain always uppermost, to force it to the surface, exactly as landor was doing now. conventional, stately, reserved, in the garb of civilization, she would have a certain dignity. but youth was too good to sell for that. "where is the use of the lip's red charm, the heaven of hair, the pride of the brow, and the blood that blues the inside arm?"-- he laughed crossly. evidently he was dropping back into the poetical tendencies of his most callow youth. he would be doing her a sonnet next, forsooth. he had done two or three of them in his school days for sydney damsels. that was when he had aspired to be ranked in his own country with gordon. good lord! how many aspirations of various sorts he had had. and he was a cow-boy. somewhere in that same poem, he remembered, there had been advice relative to a man's contending to the uttermost for his life's set prize, though the end in sight were a vice. he shrugged his shoulders. it might be well enough to hold to that in florence and the middle ages. it was highly impracticable for new mexico and the nineteenth century. so many things left undone can be conveniently laid to the prosaic and materialistic tendencies of the age. things were bad enough now--for landor, for himself, and most especially for felipa. but if one were to be guided by the romantic poets, they could conceivably be much worse. he struck his pony with the fringed end of the horse-hair lariat that hung around his pommel, and cantered on in the direction of the post. the pony had been found among the foot-hills, without any trouble. that, at any rate, had been a stroke of luck. he had led it into the fort just at the end of guard-mounting, and had met a party of riders going out. mrs. landor was with them. she had a little battered, brass trumpet hanging from her horn, and he knew that they were going to play at hare and hounds. she and the three with her were evidently the hares. they would take a ten minutes' start; then, at the sound of the trumpet, the hounds would follow. the riding was sometimes reckless. a day or two before he had seen felipa leap an arroyo, the edges of which were crumbling in, and take a fallen tree on very dangerous ground. he looked about now for a sign of either party. across the creek was some one riding slowly along the crest of a hill, seeming so small and creeping that only a very trained eye could have made it out. it was probably a hound. the hares lay low, in cañons and gullies and brush, as a rule. as he scanned the rest of the valley, his horse stopped short, with its fore legs planted stiffly. he looked down and saw that he was at the brink of a sheer fall of twenty feet or more, like a hole scooped in the side of the little rise he was riding over. he remembered, then, that there was a cave somewhere about. he had often heard of it, and probably it was this. he dismounted, and, tying the pony in a clump of bushes, walked down and around to investigate. it was plainly the cave. he went and stood in the mouth and looked into the dark, narrowing throat. a weird silence poured up with the damp, earthy smell. he went farther in, half sliding down the steep bank of soft, powdery, white earth. there was only the uncanny light which comes from reflection from the ground upward. but by it he could see innumerable tiny footprints, coyote, squirrel, prairie-dog, polecat tracks and the like. it took very little imagination to see yellow teeth and eyes gleaming from black shadows also, although he knew there were no dangerous animals in those parts. when he was well within, he began to investigate, and he recalled now that he had heard a great deal of this cave. it was very large, supposedly, but almost unexplored. tradition ran that the spaniards, in the long-past days of their occupation, had had a big silver mine in there, worked by padres who had taught the timid indians to believe that it was haunted, that they might not take it for themselves, nor yet guide others to it. and, too, it had been the refuge and hiding-place of billy the kid for years. it was said that since then a corporal and three men had gone in once, and that a search party had found their gnawed skeletons by the edge of the river that flowed there underground. oddly enough, and thanks to the missionary fathers, it had never served as an indian stronghold, though its advantages for such a use were manifest. cairness sat himself down and tried to listen for the flow of the great black river yonder in the great black hollow. by dint of straining his ears he almost fancied that he did catch a sound. but at the same instant, there came a real and unmistakable one. he started a little, not quite sure, just at first, what manner of wild beast, or man, or genius of the cave might pounce out upon him. it was only some one standing at the mouth of the hole, however, a shadow against the shimmering sunlight. and it was a woman--it was felipa. he sat quite still, clinching his teeth and clawing his fingers tensely. in the great crises of life, training and upbringing and education fall away, and a man is governed by two forces, his instincts and his surroundings. and cairness's instincts were in entire accord with his surroundings; they were of the stone age, when men fought with the beasts of the wilderness in their cave homes, and had only the law of sheer strength. he leaned forward, holding his breath, and watched her. had she seen his horse tied up above, and come here to find him--because he was here? she might have seen two dots of light fixed on her from the shadow, if she had looked that way. but she did not, and came unconcernedly down. she was sure-footed and agile, and she was daring, too. he himself had felt a qualm at coming here. but she did not appear to hesitate once. she came on, close by where he sat, and going to the dark passage peered in. then she turned away and caught sight of him. he was accustomed to the gloom by now, but she was not. she could only see that there was some one in the shadow. it flashed through his mind that she would scream, but the next moment he knew that she would not. she drew herself up and grasped her loaded quirt more firmly. there are some natures to which flight from a thing feared is physically impossible. they must not only face danger, they must go up to it. it is a trait, like any other. felipa took two steps toward him. he came out of the rock nook into the half light and spoke her own name. she was frightened now. the quirt fell from her hand with a thud. she loosed her hold upon her long riding skirt and tripped over it. if he had not sprung forward, with his arms outstretched to catch her, she would have fallen, face downward in the dust. it was three times now he had so saved her. he knew even then while her hand grasped at his arm, that he should have set her upon her feet, as he had done before. he knew that she had merited at least that. but he held her tight and close, and bending back her head, his own very close above it, looked into her eyes. then he stopped, with every muscle drawn, for he had seen in her answering, unflinching gaze that he was losing her, surely, irrevocably losing her. he let her go, almost throwing her away, and she caught hold of a ledge of rock to steady herself. he picked up the heavy quirt and held it out to her, with a shaking hand, shame-faced, and defiant, too. she took it, and they both stood for a time without speaking. then she turned her head and looked up at the sunshine. "i think i must go," she whispered. but she did not move. he asked her angrily why she had ever come at all, and she explained, with a piteous whimper, like a penitent child's, that she had left her horse tied in a little hollow and had come to explore. she had often meant to explore before this. he was still more exasperated, with himself and with her, that he had allowed himself to think for one moment that she had come on purpose to find him. where were the others? how did she happen to be here alone? he asked. she told him that they had all scattered some time before, with the hounds in full cry. "i must go," she repeated more firmly now, "they will be looking--" she stopped short. there was the crunching of heavy feet up above, on the gravel. it came to them both, even to her, that for them to be seen there together would be final. there would be no explaining it away. cairness thought of her. she thought of her husband. it would ruin him and his life. it was done before either of them was conscious of doing it. the black throat of the cave was open behind him. cairness jumped back into it, and she turned away and stood waiting, stiff with fear, not of the man whoever it might prove to be up there, but for the one who had stepped into the unknown dangers of the darkness behind her. the man up above showed himself, and putting his hands to his mouth shouted, "felipa!" she gave a cry of relief. "mr. cairness, mr. cairness," she called, "it is only my husband." she went herself a little way into the passage. "jack, mr. cairness has gone in there, call to him." and she called again herself. landor came sliding and running down. his face was misshapen with the anger that means killing. she saw it, and her powers came back to her all at once. she put both hands against his breast and pushed him back, with all the force of her sinewy arms. his foot slipped on a stone and he fell. she dropped beside him and tried to hold him down. "he did not know i was coming here," she pleaded. "it was a mistake, jack! will you wait until i tell you? will you wait?" she was clinging around his neck and would not be shaken off. he dragged her in the dust, trying to get free himself. cairness had groped his way back. he stood watching them. and he, too, was ready to kill. if landor had raised his hand against her, he would have shot him down. but, instead, landor stopped abruptly, rigid with the force of will. "i will wait. go on," he said. his voice was low and rasping. it dawned upon cairness that this was rather more than a military machine after all, that he had underestimated it. felipa stood up and told the truth shortly. "it was my fault, if it was any one's," she ended. "you may kill me, if you like. but if you hurt him, i will kill myself." it was she who was threatening now, and she never said more than she meant. she turned almost disdainfully from them, and went up and out of the cave. landor stopped behind, looking at cairness undecidedly for a moment longer. "it is well for you that i can believe her implicitly," he said. it had been a relapse to the stone age, but the rebound to the nineteenth century was as quick. cairness bowed, with no realization of the humor of it. "you are equally fortunate," he said easily, and motioned with his hand to the opening above, where felipa was going. he might have been under his own roof, and that the door. landor went. felipa waited for him, already mounted. he mounted his own horse and rode beside her back to the post. they did not speak, and he was conscious above his anger that his fondness for her had been gradually turning to dislike, and was now loathing. he had seen her dragging in the dust before him, pleading abjectly. she had humiliated him and herself in the presence of cairness, of all men, and he would never forget it. a woman who once grovels at a man's feet has lost thenceforth her power over him. xix if you take even a good-humored puppy of a savage breed and tie him to a kennel so that all his natural energy strikes in; if you feed him upon raw meat, when you feed him at all, but half starve him for the most part; and if you tantalize and goad him whenever you are in search of a pastime, he is more than likely to become a dangerous beast when he grows up. he is then a menace to the public, so you have but one course left--to take him out and shoot him. that is the proper way to bring up dogs. it makes them useful members of society. and it applies equally well to indians. it has worked beautifully with them for several hundred years. in canada they have run it on another principle. but they have missed much of the fun we have had out of it. in the territories there was plenty of such fun. and it had pretty well reached its height in the spring of ' . the indians, being wicked, ungrateful, suspicious characters, doubted the promises of the white-eyes. but it is only just to be charitable toward their ignorance. they were children of the wilderness and of the desert places, walking in darkness. had the lights of the benefits of civilization ever shone in upon them, they would have realized that the government of these united states, down to its very least official representative, never lies, never even evades. "have i ever lied to you?" crook asked them. and the deaf old chief pedro answered for them: "no," he said, "when you were here before, whenever you said a thing, we knew that it was true, and we kept it in our minds. when you were here, we were content; but we cannot understand why you went away. why did you leave us? everything was all right when you were here." he was but an unlearned and simple savage, and the workings of a war department were, of course, a mystery to him. he and his people should have believed crook. the thoughtful government which that much-harassed general represented had done everything possible to instill sweet trustfulness into their minds. but the apache, as all reports have set forth, is an uncertain quantity. the quiet, observant, capable man, whose fate it was to be always called in for the thankless task of undoing the evil work of others, made every effort to pacify this time, but he failed. "yes, we believe you," said the apache; "but you may go away again." so he refused to be cajoled, and going upon the war-path, after much bloodshed, fled into mexico. the general took a couple of hundred indian scouts, enlisted for six months' service, a troop of cavalry, and a half-dozen guides and interpreters, and followed across the border. there was a new treaty, just made to that end. it was the fiercest of all the apache tribes, the chiricahuas, that had hidden itself in the fastnesses of the sierra madre, two hundred miles south of the boundary line. geronimo and juh and chato, and other chiefs of quite as bloody fame, were with him. to capture them would be very creditable success. to fail to do so would entail dire consequences, international complications perhaps, and of a certainty the scorn and abuse of all the wise men who sat in judgment afar off. the general kept his own counsel then, but afterward, when it was all over, he confessed,--not to the rejoicing reporter who was making columns out of him for the papers of this, and even of many another, land,--but to the friends who had in some measure understood and believed in him, that the strain and responsibility had all but worn him out. and he was no frail man, this mighty hunter of the plains. the general of romance is a dashing creature, who wears gold lace and has stars upon his shoulder straps, and rides a fiery charger at the head of his troops. he always sits upon the charger, a field-glass in his hand and waiting aides upon every side, or flourishes a sword as he plunges into the thick of the battle smoke. but crook was not dashing, only quiet and steady, and sure as death. upon parade and occasions of ceremony he wore the gold lace and the stars. to do his life's work he put on an old flannel shirt, tied a kerchief around his neck, and set a pith helmet over those farseeing, keen little eyes. he might have been a prospector, or a cow-boy, for all the outward seeming of it. his charger was oftenest a little government mule, and he walked, leading it over many and many a trail that even its sure feet could not trust. there were plenty such trails in the sierra madre, through which the apache scouts were guiding him to their hostile brothers. cairness had come along with his own band of scouts. he had seen rough work in his time, but none equal to this. eight mules stepped a hand's breadth from the path, and lay hundreds of feet below at the base of the precipice, their backs broken under their aparejos. the boots were torn from the men's feet, their hands were cut with sharp rocks. they marched by night sometimes, sometimes by day, always to the limit of their strength. and upon the fourteenth morning they came upon the chiricahua stronghold. without the scouts they could never have found it. the indian has betrayed the indian from first to last. it was a little pocket, a natural fortress, high up on a commanding peak. cairness crept forward flat along the rocks, raised his head cautiously and looked down. there in the sunrise light,--the gorgeous sunrise of the southern mountain peaks where the wind is fresh out of the universe and glitters and quivers with sparks of new life,--there was the encampment of the hostiles. it was a small eden of green grass and water and trees high up in the sierra--that strange mountain chain that seems as though it might have been the giant model of the aztec builders, and that holds the mystery of a mysterious people locked in its stone and metal breasts, as securely as it does that of the rich, lost mines whose fabled wonders no man can prove to-day. there is a majesty about the mountains of the desolate regions which is not in those of more green and fertile lands. loneliness and endurance are written deep in their clefts and cañons and precipices. in the long season of the sun, they look unshrinking back to the glaring sky, with a stern defiance. it is as the very wrath of god, but they will not melt before it. in the season of the rains, black clouds hang low upon them, guarding their sullen gloom. but just as in the sternest heart is here and there a spot of gentleness, so in these forbidding fastnesses there are bits of verdure and soft beauty too. and the indian may be trusted to know of these. here where the jacales clustered, there was grass and wood and water that might last indefinitely. the fortifications of nature had been added to those of nature's man. it was a stronghold. but the apaches held it for only a day, for all that. they were unprepared and overconfident. their bucks were for the most part away plundering the hapless mexican settlements in the desert below. they had thought that no white troops nor mexicans could follow here, and they had neglected to count with the scouts, who had been hostiles themselves in their day, and who had the thief's advantage in catching a thief. and so while the bucks and children wandered round among the trees or bathed in the creek, while the hobbled ponies grazed leisurely on the rank grass, and the squaws carried fuel and built fires and began their day of drudgery, they were surprised. the fight began with a shot fired prematurely by one of the scouts, and lasted until nightfall--after the desultory manner of indian mountain fights, where you fire at a tree-trunk or lichened rock, or at some black, red-bound head that shoots up quick as a prairie dog's and is gone again, and where you follow the tactics of the wary apache in so far as you may. the curious part of it is that you beat him at his own game every time. it is always the troops that lose the least heavily! the indian wars of the southwest have been made a very small side issue in our history. the men who have carried them on have gained little glory and little fame. and yet they have accomplished a big task, and accomplished it well. they have subdued an enemy many times their own number. and the enemy has had such enormous advantages, too. he has been armed, since the 's, even better than the troops. he has been upon his own ground--a ground that was alone enough to dismay the soldier, and one that gave him food, where it gave the white man death by starvation and thirst. he knew every foot of the country, fastnesses, water holes, creeks, and strongholds over thousands of miles. the best cavalry can travel continuously but twenty-five or thirty miles a day, carrying its own rations. the apache, stealing his stock and food as he runs, covers his fifty or seventy-five. the troops must find and follow trails that are disguised with impish craft. the apache goes where he lists, and that, as a general thing, over country where devils would fear to tread. then throw into the scale the harassing and conflicting orders of a war department, niggardly with its troops, several thousand miles away, wrapped in a dark veil of ignorance, and add the ever ready blame of the territorial citizen and press, and the wonder is, not that it took a score of years to settle the apache question, but that it was ever settled at all. the all-day fight in the sierra madre stronghold was a very uneven one. there were two hundred and fifty of the government forces against some thirty-five bucks. but, after all, the number comes to nothing. you may as well shoot at one enemy as at a thousand, if he is not to be seen anyway, and you cannot hit him. cairness reflected upon this as he fired for exactly the seventh time at a pair of beady eyes that flashed at him over a bush-topped rock by the creek, not five and twenty yards away, and then vanished utterly. there was something uncanny about it, and he was losing patience as well as ammunition. three bullets from a repeating rifle had about finished him. one had gone through his hat. the eyes popped up again. cairness fired again and missed. then he did a thoroughly silly thing. he jumped out from behind his shelter and ran and leapt, straight down, and over to the rock by the stream. the beady eyes saw him coming and sparkled, with an evil sort of laughter. if cairness had not slipped and gone sprawling down at that moment, the fourth bullet would have brought him up short. it sung over him, instead, and splashed against a stone, and when he got to his feet again the eyes had come out from their hiding-place. they were in the head of a very young buck. he had sprung to the top of his rock and was dancing about with defiant hilarity, waving his hands and the winchester, and grimacing tantalizingly. "_yaw! ya!_" he screeched. cairness discharged his revolver, but the boy whooped once more and was down, dodging around the stone. cairness dodged after him, wrath in his heart and also a vow to switch the little devil when he should get him. but he did not seem to be getting him. the fighting stopped to watch the ojo-blanco playing tag with the little apache, right in the heart of the stronghold. the general stood still, with a chuckle, and looked on. "naughty little boy," he remarked to the captain of the scouts; "but your man cairness won't catch him, though." with the sublime indifference to the mockery of the world, characteristic of his race, cairness kept at it. it was ridiculous. he had time to be dimly aware of that. and it certainly was not war. he did not know that they were affording the opposing forces much enjoyment. he had not even observed that the firing had stopped. but he meant to catch that much qualifiedly impudent little beast, or to know the reason why. and he would probably have known the reason why, if one of the apache scouts, embarrassed by no notions of fair play, had not taken good aim and brought his youthful kinsman down, with a bullet through his knee. the black eyes snapped with pain as he fell, but when cairness, with a breathless oath at the spoiler of sport, whoever he might be, pounced down upon him, the snap turned to a twinkle. the little buck raised himself on his elbow. "how! cairness," he grinned. "how mees landor?" cairness stopped short, speechless, with his mouth open. he did not even dodge after a bullet had hummed past his head. "who the devil--!" he began. then it dawned upon him. it was felipa's protégé of the old camp thomas days. he was standing, and the boy was lying, and the shots of the apaches flew about them. he stooped, and catching up his defeated foe, whose defeat was not half so entire as his own, scrambled out of the pocket and back among the troops. he carried his prisoner, who kicked vigorously with his good leg, and struck with both fists in protest against the ignominy of being held under anybody's arm like a sack of grain, back to the tied horses. "look out for the little customer, will you?" he said to the medical officer. "he's a great chum of mine. many's the can of condensed milk and bag of peanuts the ungrateful young one has had out of me." "what are you doing here?" he asked in the white mountain idiom; "you aren't a chiricahua." the boy grinned again. "how mees landor?" he repeated. his savage perception had noted that those words had some "medicine" or other that paralyzed the ojo-blanco temporarily. cairness swore at him in good english, and went off abruptly. at sunset the camp surrendered. there were seven dead bucks found, but no one ever knew, of course, how many had fallen into ravines, or dragged themselves off to die in nooks. the apache does not dread death, but he dreads having the white-man know that he has died. the spoils of the rancheria were varied, and some of them interesting as well. there were quite a hundred mules and horses, and there was money, to the sum of five thousand dollars or more. also there were gold and silver watches and clothes and saddles and bridles--all the loot of the unhappy haciendas and pueblas down on the flat. but the most treasured of all their possessions was a little photograph album which had begun its varied career in the particular home of the misguided indian philanthropist, boston. there was human plunder, too--women from the villages, all mexicans but one, and that one was american. cairness, having gone off with some scouts to reconnoitre, did not see them that night. when he came back it was already dark, and he took his supper; and rolling himself in his blanket slept, as he had always for the past fortnight, with only the faintly radiant night sky above him. in the morning, while the cooks were getting breakfast and the steam of ration-rio mounted as a grateful incense to the pink and yellow daybreak heavens, having bathed in the creek and elaborated his toilet with a clean neckerchief in celebration of victory, he walked over to the bunch of tepees to see the women captives. he knew while he was yet afar off which was the american. she stood, big and gaunt, with her feet planted wide and her fists on her hips, looking over toward the general's tent. and when cairness came nearer, strolling along with his hands in his pockets, observing the beauties of nature and the entire vileness of man, she turned her head and gave him a defiant stare. he took his hands from his pockets and went forward, raising his disreputable campaign hat. "good morning, mrs. lawton," he said, not that he quite lived up to the excellent standard of miss winstanley, but that he understood the compelling force of civility, not to say the bewilderment. if you turn its bright light full in the face of one whose eyes are accustomed to the obscurity wherein walk the underbred, your chances for dazzling him until he shall fall into any pit you may have dug in his pathway are excellent. nor was he disconcerted that she met him with a stony front and a glare of wrath. she glanced down at his outstretched hand, and kept her own great bony one on her hip still. then she looked at him squarely again. she did not say "well?" but she meant it. so he answered it blandly, and suggested that she had probably forgotten him, but that he had had the pleasure of meeting her once in the states. she continued to stare. he held that a husband is a husband still until the law or death says otherwise, and that it was no part of a man's business to inquire into the domestic relations of his friends; so he said that he had had the pleasure of meeting her husband recently. "he was at fort stanton," he added, "upon some little matter of business, i believe. you will be glad to hear that he was well." he did not see fit to add that he was also in the county jail, awaiting trial on charge of destruction of government property. "what's your name, young feller?" she demanded. cairness was hurt. "surely, mrs. lawton, you have not so entirely forgotten me. i am charles cairness, very much at your service." but she had forgotten, and she said so. he hesitated with a momentary compunction. she must have suffered pretty well for her sins already; her work-cut, knotty hands and her haggard face and the bend of her erstwhile too straight shoulders--all showed that plainly enough. it were not gallant; it might even be said to be cruel to worry her. but he remembered the dead englishwoman, with her babies, stiff and dead, too, beside her on the floor of the charred cabin up among the mountains, and his heart was hardened. "i spent a few days with the kirbys once," he said, and looked straight into her eyes. they shifted, and there was no mistaking her uneasiness. he followed it up instantly on a bold hazard. it had to be done now, before she had time to retreat to the cover of her blank stolidity. "why did you leave them to be massacred? what did you have against her and those little children?" "i didn't. none of your business," she defied him. "i beg your pardon, madam," he said. "it happens to be my business, though." breakfast call sounded. at the first shrill note she started violently. she was very thoroughly unnerved, and he decided that an hour of thinking would make her worse so. he told her that he would see her after breakfast, and raising his hat again left her to the anticipation, and to helping the mexican captives cook their meal of mescal root and rations. later in the day, when the general and the interpreters were engaged in making clear to the bucks, who came straggling in to surrender, the wishes and intentions of the great father in washington as regarded his refractory children in arizona, he went back to the captives' tepee. the texan was nowhere to be seen. he called to her and got no answer, then he looked in. she was not there. one of the mexican women was standing by, and he went up to her and asked for the gringa. the woman shrugged her round brown shoulders from which the rebozo had fallen quite away, and dropped her long lashes. "_no se_," she murmured. "_ay que si!_ you do know," he laughed; "you tell me _chula_, or i will take you back to the united states with me." she laughed too, musically, with a bewitching gurgle, and gave him a swift glance, at once soft and sad. "_ella es muy fea, no es simpatica, la gringa._" undoubtedly, as she said, the american was ugly and unattractive; but the mexican was pretty and decidedly engaging. cairness had been too nearly trapped once before to be lured now. he met the piece of brown femininity upon her own ground. "you are quite right, _querida mia_. she is ugly and old, and you are beautiful and young, and i will take you with me to the states and buy a pink dress with lovely green ribbons, if you will tell me where the old woman is." "_'stá bajo_," she stuck out her cleft chin in the direction of the trail that led out of the pocket down to the flat, far below. "_de veras?_" asked cairness, sharply. he was of no mind to lose her like this, when he was so near his end. "truly," said the little thing, and nodded vehemently. he left her ignominiously, at a run. she stood laughing after him until he jumped over a rock and disappeared. "she is his sweetheart, the _vieja_," she chattered to her companions. cairness called to four of his scouts as he ran. they joined him, and he told them to help him search. in half an hour they found her, cowering in a cranny of rocks and manzanita. he dismissed the indians, and then spoke to her. "now you sit on that stone there and listen to me," he said, and taking her by the shoulder put her down and stood over her. she kept her sullen glance on the ground, but she was shaking violently. "your husband is in jail," he said without preface. he had done with the mask of civility. it had served its purpose. "no he ain't." "yes he is. and i put him there." he left her to what he saw was her belief that it was because of the kirby affair. "you'll see when you get back. and i'll put you there, too, if i care to. the best chance you have is to do as i tell you." she was silent, but the stubbornness was going fast. she broke off a bunch of little pink blossoms and rolled it in her hands. "your best chance for keeping out of jail, too," he insisted, "is to keep on the right side of me. _sabe?_ now what i want to know is, what part stone has in all this." he did not know what part any one had had in it, as a matter of fact, for he had failed in all attempts to make lawton talk, in the two days he had had before leaving the post. "why don't you ask him?" said mrs. lawton, astutely. "because i prefer to ask you, that's why--and to make you answer, too." he sat down cross-legged on the ground, facing her. "i've got plenty of time, my dear woman. i can stop here all day if you can, you know," he assured her. afterward he made a painting of her as she had sat there, in among the rocks and the scrub growth, aged, bent, malevolent, and in garments that were picturesque because they were rags. he called it the sibyl of the sierra madre. and, like the trojan, he plied her with questions--not of the future, but of the past. "well," he said, "are you going to answer me?" "didn't you find out from him?" she asked. he changed his position leisurely, stretching out at full length and resting his head on his hand by way of gaining time. then he told her that it was not until after he had caught and landed her husband that he had discovered that stone was in it. "who told you he was?" she asked. "never mind all that. i'm here to question, not to be questioned. now listen to me." and he went on to point out how she could not possibly get away from him and the troops until they were across the border, and that once there, it lay with him to turn her over to the authorities or to set her free. "you can take your choice, of course. i give you my word--and i think you are quite clever enough to believe me--that if you do not tell me what i want to know about stone, i will land you where i've landed your husband; and that if you do, you shall go free after i've done with you. now i can wait until you decide to answer," and he rolled over on his back, put his arms under his head, and gazed up at the jewel-blue patch of sky. there was a long pause. a hawk lighted on a point of rock and twinkled its little eyes at them. two or three squirrels whisked in and out. once a scout came by and stood looking at them, then went on, noiselessly, up the mountain side. "what do you want to know for?" asked the woman, at length. he repeated that he was not there to be questioned, and showed her that he meant it by silence. presently she began again, "well, he wasn't in it at all. stone wasn't." this was not what cairness wanted either. he persisted in the silence. a prolonged silence will sometimes have much the same effect as solitary confinement. it will force speech against the speaker's own will. mrs. lawton gritted her teeth at him as though she would have rejoiced greatly to have had his neck between them. by and by she started once more. "bill jest told him about it--like a goldarned fool." "that," said cairness, cheerfully, "is more like it. go on." "that's all." "begging your pardon, it's not all." "what the devil do you want to know, then?" he considered. "let me see. for instance, when did lawton tell him, and why, and exactly what?" "you don't say!" she mocked. "you want the earth and some sun and moon and stars, don't you, though? well, then, bill told him about a week afterward. and he told him because stone had another hold on him (it ain't any of your business what that was, i reckon), and bullied it out of him (bill ain't got any more backbone than a rattler), and promised to lend him money to set up for hisself on the circle k ranch. want to know anything else?" she sneered. "several things, thanks. you haven't told me yet what version of it your husband gave to stone." cairness was a little anxious. it was succeed or fail right here. "told him the truth, more idjit he." "i didn't ask you that," he reminded her calmly. "i asked what he told." "say!" she apostrophized. "yes?" "you're english, i reckon, ain't you?" "yes, and you don't like the english, i know that perfectly." "you're right, i don't. you're as thick-headed as all the rest of them." "thanks. but you started out to tell me what lawton told stone." "he told him the truth, i tell you: that when we heard the apaches were coming, we lit out and drove out the stock from the corrals. i don't recollect his words." so that was it! it took all the self-command that thirty-five varied years had taught him not to rise up and knock her head against the sharp rocks. but he lay quite still, and presently he said: "that is near enough for my purposes, thank you. but i would be interested to know, if you don't mind, what you had against a helpless woman and those two poor little babies. i wouldn't have supposed that a woman lived who could have been such a fiend as all that." the woman launched off into a torrent of vituperation and vile language that surprised even cairness, whose ears were well seasoned. "shut up!" he commanded, jumping to his feet. "you killed her and you ought to be burned at the stake for it, but you shall not talk about her like that, you devilish old crone." she glared at him, but she stopped short nevertheless, and, flinging down the stone she had been holding, stood up also. "all right, then. you've done with me, i reckon. now suppose you let me go back to the camp." he turned and walked beside her. "don't you believe i know all that i want to. i've only just begun. so that scoundrel knew the whole murderous story, and went on writing lies in his papers and covering you, when you ought to have been hung to the nearest tree, did he?--and for the excellent reason that he wanted to make use of your husband! i worked on the circle k ranch and on that other one over in new mexico, which is supposed to be lawton's, and it didn't take me long to find out that stone was the real boss." "he's got bill right under his thumb," she sneered at her weak spouse. they clambered up the mountain side, back to the camp, and cairness escorted her to the tepee in silence. then he left her. "don't try to run away again," he advised. "you can't get far." he started off and turned back. "speaking of running away, where's the greaser you lit out with?" she replied, with still more violent relapse into foul-tongued abuse, that he had gone off with a woman of his own people. "got me down into this hell of a country and took every quartillo i had and then skedaddled." cairness smiled. there was, it appeared, a small supply of poetic justice still left in the scheme of things to be meted out. "and then the apache came down and bore you off like a helpless lamb," he said. "if i'd been the apache i'd have made it several sorts of hades for you, but i'd have scalped you afterward. you'd corrupt even a chiricahua squaw. however, i'm glad you lived until i got you." and he left her. but he kept a close watch upon her then and during all the hard, tedious march back to the states, when the troops and the scouts had to drag their steps to meet the strength of the women and children; when the rations gave out because there were some four hundred indians to be provided for, when the command ate mescal root, digging it up from the ground and baking it; and when the presence of a horde of filthy savages made the white-man suffer many things not to be put in print. but they were returning victorious. the chiricahuas were subdued. the hazard had turned well. there would be peace; the san carlos agency, breeding-grounds of all ills, would be turned over to military supervision. the general who had succeeded--if he had failed it would have been such a very different story--would have power to give his promise to the apaches and to see that it was kept. the experiment of honesty and of giving the devil his due would have a fair trial. the voices that had cried loudest abuse after the quiet soldier who, undisturbed, went so calmly on his way, doing the thing which seemed to him right, were silenced; and the soldier himself came back into his own land, crossing the border with his herds and his tribes behind him. there was no flourish of trumpets; no couriers were sent in advance to herald that the all but impossible had been accomplished. on a fine sunday morning in june the triumphant general rode into a supply camp twelve miles north of the line, and spoke to the officer in command. "nice morning, colonel," he said. and then his quick eyes spied the most desirable thing in all the camp. it was a tin wash basin set on a potato box. the triumphant general dismounted, and washed his face. xx there was peace and harmony in the home of the reverend taylor. an air of neatness and prosperity was about his four-room adobe house. the mocking-bird that hung in a willow cage against the white wall, by the door, whistled sweet mimicry of the cheep of the little chickens in the back yard, and hopped to and fro and up and down on his perches, pecking at the red chili between the bars. from the corner of his eyes he could peek into the window, and it was bright with potted geraniums, white as the wall, or red as the chili, or pink as the little crumpled palm that patted against the glass to him. he whistled more cheerily yet when he saw that small hand. he was a tame mocking-bird, and he had learned to eat dead flies from it. that was one of the greatest treats of his highly satisfactory life. the hand left the window and presently waved from the doorway. the reverend taylor stood there with his son in his arms. the mocking-bird trilled out a laugh to the evening air. it was irresistible, so droll that even a bird must know it,--the likeness between the little father and the little son. there was the same big head and the big ears and the big eyes and the body that was too small for them all, a little, thin body, active and quivering with energy. there were the very same wrinkles about the baby's lids, crinkles of good humor and kindly tolerance, and the very same tufts of hair running the wrong way and sticking out at the temples. the tufts were fuzzy yellow instead of gray, and the miniature face had not yet grown tanned and hard with the wind and the sun, but those were mere details. the general effect was perfect. there was no mistaking that the lively fraction of humanity in the reverend taylor's arms was the little reverend. that was the only name he went by, though he had been christened properly on the day he was six months old, joshua for his father and randolph for his mother, in memory of virginia, and her own long maidenhood. she was herself a randolph, and she wanted the fact perpetuated. but in tombstone, joshua randolph taylor was simply the little reverend. the little reverend was the first thing on earth to his father. for the wife had made that step in advance, which is yet a step in descent in a woman's life, when she becomes to her husband less herself than the mother of his child. the reverend taylor grabbed at a fly and caught it in his palm. he had become very expert at this, to his wife's admiration and his son's keen delight. it was because the little reverend liked to see him do it, and derived so much elfish enjoyment from the trick, that he had perfected himself in it. he gave the crushed fly to the baby, and held him up to feed the bird. the bird put its head through the bars and pecked with its whiskered bill, and the little reverend gurgled joyfully, his small face wrinkling up in a way which was really not pretty, but which his father thought the most engaging expression in the world. the puppy which had been born the same day as the little reverend, a beast half coyote, half shepherd, and wholly hideous, came and sat itself down beside them on the sill, looked up with its tongue hanging out to one side, and smiled widely. the beaming good nature of the two reverends was infectious. the baby squealed gleefully, and kicked until it was set down on the doorstep to pat the dog. presently the nurse came, a big, fat mexican woman, with all her people's love of children showing on her moon face as she put out her arms. she had been with the taylors since before the baby's birth, and she had more of its affection than the mother. the little reverend understood only spanish, and his few words, pronounced with a precision altogether in keeping with his appearance, were spanish ones. the old nurse murmured softly, as she took him up, "_quieres leche hombrecito, quieres cenar? el chuchu tiene hambre tambien. vamos á ver mamá._" the little reverend was not to be blandished. he was willing to go because it was his supper time and he knew it, but the big-eyed look of understanding he turned up to the gentle, fat face said plainly enough that he was too wise a creature to be wheedled. he submitted to be carried in, but he cast a regretful glance at the "chuchu," which sat still in the doorway, and at his father, who was watching the line of flying ants making their way, a stream of red bodies and sizzing white wings, out of the window and across the street. they had been doing that for three days. they came down the chimney, made across the floor in a line that never changed direction, nor straggled, nor lessened, up the wall and out a crack in the window. they did no harm, but followed blindly on in the path the first one had taken. and the minister had said they should not be smoked back or thwarted. the little reverend had been much interested in them also. he had sat for several hours sucking an empty spool, and observing them narrowly, in perfect silence. his father had great hopes of him as a naturalist. finally the minister raised his eyes and looked down the street. it was almost empty, save for two men in high-heeled top boots and sombreros who sat in chairs tilted back against the post-office wall, meditating in mutual silence. the only sounds were the rattling of dishes over in his mother-in-law's restaurant across the street, and the sleepy cheeping of the little chickens in his own back yard, as they cuddled under their mother's wing. the reverend taylor was about to go to the coops and close them for the night, when he saw a man and a woman on horseback coming up the street. the woman was bending forward and swaying in her saddle. he stood still and watched. the red sunset blaze was in his face so that he could not see plainly until they were quite near. then he knew that it was cairness and--yes, beyond a doubt--bill lawton's runaway wife. they halted in front of him, and the woman swayed again, so much that he ran to her side. but she righted herself fiercely. cairness was dismounted and was beside her, too, in an instant. he lifted her from the horse, pulled her down, more or less; she was much too ungainly to handle with any grace. "may i take her in?" he said, nodding toward the open door. "surely," said the minister, "surely." there might have been men who would have remembered that mrs. lawton was a tough woman, even for a mining town, and who would in the names of their own wives have refused to let her cross the threshold of their homes. but he saw that she was ill, and he did not so much as hesitate. cairness put his arm around the big angular shoulders and helped her into the sitting room. she dropped down upon the sofa, and sat there, her head hanging, but in sullenness, not humility. mrs. taylor came to the dining-room door and looked in. "can i do anything?" she asked. "come in," said her husband. he was pouring out a drink of whiskey. she came and stood watching, asking no questions, while the woman on the sofa gulped down the raw whiskey and gave back the glass. cairness had gone out to hitch the horses. when he came in he spoke to mrs. lawton, as one possessed of authority. he told her to lie down if she wanted to. "with your leave, mrs. taylor?" he added. mrs. taylor was already beside her, fussing kindly and being met with scant courtesy. cairness took the reverend taylor to the door. "you know that is bill lawton's wife?" he said. taylor nodded. "the one who sloped with the greaser?" the parson nodded again. "do you object to taking her into your house for a short time?" the reverend taylor did not object. "and your wife?" "she will shrink, i guess, at first," he admitted. "women who ain't seen much of life kind of think they ought to draw aside their skirts, and all that. they were taught copy-book morals about touching pitch, i reckon,"--he was wise concerning women now--"and it takes a good deal of hard experience to teach them that it ain't so. but she'll take my word for it." "she is ill, you see?" the parson had seen. "she may be ill some time. would it be asking too much of you to look after her?" the bachelor showed in that. taylor realized from the benedict's greater knowledge that it was asking a great deal, but still not too much. he assured cairness that she should be cared for. "she was a captive among the chiricahuas up in the sierra madre. she's had a hard time of it. that and the return march have been too much for her." the parson expressed pity--and felt it, which is more. "yes," cairness said, "of course it's hard luck, but she's deserved it all, and more too. you may as well know the whole thing now. it's only fair. she and her husband were the cause of the kirby massacre. drove off the stock from the corrals and left them no escape." his teeth set. the little man gasped audibly. "good god!" he said, "i--" he stopped. "i rather thought that might be too much for even you," said cairness. "no, no; it's a good deal, but it ain't too much. not that it could be more, very well," he added, and he glanced furtively at the woman within, who had stretched out on the lounge with her face to the wall. mrs. taylor was fanning her. "you will still keep her then?" cairness wished to know. he would still keep her, yes. but he did not see that it would be in the least necessary to tell his wife the whole of the woman's iniquity. it took quite all his courage, after they had gotten her safely in bed, to remind her that this was the same woman who had gone off with the mexican. mrs. taylor folded her hands in her lap, and simply looked at him. "well?" said he, questioningly, setting his mouth. it answered to the duellist's "on guard!" she had seen him set his mouth before, and she knew that it meant that he was not to be opposed. nevertheless there was a principle involved now. it must be fought for. and it would be the first fight of their marriage, too. as he had told cairness once, she was very amiable. "well," she answered, "i think you have done an unspeakable thing, that is all." "such as--" "to have brought an abandoned woman into our home." "if her presence blackens the walls, we will have them whitewashed." but she was not to be turned off with levity. it was a serious matter, involving consequences of the sternest sort. mrs. taylor was of the class of minds which holds that just such laxities as this strike at the root of society. "it is not a joke, joshua. she pollutes our home." "are you afraid she will contaminate me?" he asked. he was peering at her over the top of a newspaper. she denied the idea emphatically. "baby, then?" equally absurd. "or the nurse?" it was too foolish to answer. "then," said the reverend taylor, laying down the paper, "you must be scared for yourself." "never!" she declared; it was merely because she could not breathe the same air with that creature. "i wonder, my dear, what sort of air you breathed in your mother's restaurant at meal times?" mrs. taylor was silent. her pop blue eyes shifted. "trouble is," he went on evenly, "trouble is, that, like most women, you've been brought up to take copy-book sentiments about touchin' pitch, and all that, literal. you don't stop to remember that to eat with unwashen hands defileth not a man. if she can't do you any harm spiritually, she certainly ain't got the strength to do it physically. i can't say as i'd like to have her about the place all the time unless she was going to reform,--and i don't take much stock in change of heart, with her sort,--because she wouldn't be a pleasant companion, and it ain't well to countenance vice. but while she's sick, and it will oblige cairness, she can have the shelter of my manta. you think so too, now, don't you?" he soothed. but she was not sure that she thought so. she wanted to know why the woman could not be sent to the hotel, and he explained that cairness wished a very close watch kept on her until she was able to be up. curiosity got the better of outraged virtue then. "why?" she asked, and leaned forward eagerly. but the reverend taylor's lips set again, and he shrugged his narrow shoulders. "i'm not certain myself," he said shortly. an eminent student of the sex has somewhere said that women are like monkeys, in that they are imitative. the comparison goes further. there is a certain inability in a monkey to follow out a train of thought, or of action, to its conclusion, which is shared by the major part of womankind. it is a feminine characteristic to spend life and much energy on side issues. the lady forgot almost all about her original premise. she wished especially to know that which no power upon earth would induce her lord to tell. he took up his paper again. "he ain't told me the whole thing yet," he said. she wished to hear as much as he had confided. the reverend taylor shook his head. "i may tell you sometime, but not now. in the meanwhile i'm sure you think we had better keep mrs. lawton here, don't you now?" she did not. she would as lief touch a toad. "ain't it funny how narrow-minded some good women can be, though?" he speculated, looking at her very much as he was in the habit of looking at his specimens. and he quoted slowly, as if he were saying over the names and family characteristics of a specimen. "'and though i bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though i give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.' i wonder how many women who have lived up to every word of the decalogue have made it all profitless for want of a little charity?" she asked, with the flat virginia accent of the vowels, if he would like her to go and embrace the woman, and request her to make their home henceforth her own. "no," he said, "i wouldn't like you to, and she wouldn't want it, i reckon." he dropped back into his usual speech. "she ain't any repentant sinner, by a good deal. but as cairness wants me to keep an eye on her, and as she's sick, i wish you to let her stay in the house, and not to make a rumpus about it. if you really don't like to go near her, though," he finished, "i'll tell you what i'll do, i'll take her in her food myself, and nurse can clean out her room." perhaps the scripture texts had taught their lesson, or perhaps there yet lingered a hope of learning that which her husband would not tell. anyway, for the week which the woman lay on the cot in the little whitewashed chamber, which had no outlet save through the sitting room where some one was always on guard night and day, mrs. taylor served her with a good enough grace. when she was able to be up, cairness went in to see her. she was sitting on a chair, and looking sulkily out of the window. "you got me jailed all right," she sneered, "ain't you?" and she motioned to the grating of iron. "you can go whenever you like now," cairness told her. she demanded to know where she was to go to, and he answered that that was not his affair, but that he would suggest a safe distance. "somebody else getting hold of the truth of the kirby business mightn't be so easy on you as i am." "how do i know you're done with me yet?" she snapped. he told her that she didn't know it, because he was not; and then he explained to her. "what i want of you now is for you to come over with taylor and me to see stone." she jumped to her feet. "i ain't going to do it." "yes," he assured her unmoved, "you are. at least you are going to do that, or go to jail." "what do you want me to say to stone?" "nothing much," he told her. he and taylor could take care of the talking. her part would be just to stand by and pay attention. "and after that?" "after that, as i said before, you may go." he suggested that the sooner she felt that she could go the better, as she had been a good deal of a burden to the taylors. she laughed scornfully. "it ain't me that asked them to take me in," she said; "i'm as glad to go as they are to have me." she wore a calico wrapper that cairness had bought for her, and other garments that had been gathered together in the town. now she put a battered sombrero on her head, and told him she was ready. he and the parson followed her out of the house. she had not cared to say good-by to mrs. taylor, and she glared at the little reverend, who balanced himself on his uncertain small feet and clutched at a chair, watching her with his precocious eyes and an expression combined of his mother's virtuous disapproval and his father's contemplative scrutiny, the while the tufts of his hair stood out stiffly. the reverend taylor and cairness had managed, with a good deal of adroitness, to keep the identity of their patient a secret. stone was consequently not at all prepared to have her stride in upon him. but he was not a man to be caught exhibiting emotions. the surprise which he showed and expressed was of a perfectly frank and civil, even of a somewhat pleased, sort. he called her "my dear madam," and placed a chair for her. she sat in it under protest. he kept up the social aspect of it all for quite five minutes, but sociability implies conversation, and cairness and the minister were silent. so was the woman--rigidly. when all his phrases were quite used up, stone changed the key. what could be done for mr. taylor? mr. taylor motioned with his usual urbanity that the burden of speech lay with cairness. what could he do for mr. cairness, then? "well," said cairness, twisting at the small mustache, and levelling his eyes straight as the barrels of a shot-gun--and they gave the journalist a little of the same sensation--"i think, mr. stone, that you can get out of the country within the next three days." stone did not understand. he believed that he missed mr. cairness's meaning. "i don't think you do," said cairness; "but i'll make it plainer, anyway. i want you to get out of the country, for the country's good, you know, and for your own. and i give you three days to do it in, because i don't wish to hurry you to an inconvenient extent." stone laughed and inquired if he were joking, or just crazy. "neither," drawled cairness. "but mrs. lawton, here, has been good enough to tell me that you have known the exact truth about the kirby massacre ever since a week after its occurrence, and yet you have shielded the criminals and lied in the papers. then, too," he went on, "though there is no real proof against you, and you undoubtedly did handle it very well, i know that it was you that set lawton on to try and bribe for the beef contract. you see your friends are unsafe, mr. stone, and i have been around yours and lawton's ranches enough to have picked up a few damaging facts." "always supposing you have," interposed stone, hooking his thumbs in his sleeve holes and tipping back his chair, "always supposing you have, what could you do with the facts?" "well," drawled cairness again,--he had learned the value of the word in playing the yankee game of bluff,--"with those about the beef contract and those about the kirby massacre, also a few i gathered around san carlos (you may not be aware that i have been about that reservation off and on for ten years), with those facts i could put you in the penitentiary, perhaps, even with an arizona jury; but at any rate i could get you tarred and feathered or lynched in about a day. or failing all those, i could shoot you myself. and a jury would acquit me, you know, if any one were ever to take the trouble to bring it before one, which is doubtful, i think." stone glanced at the lawton woman. she was grinning mirthlessly at his discomfiture. "what have you been stuffing this fellow here with?" he asked her contemptuously. "just what he's dishin' up to you now," she told him. "it's a lot of infernal lies, and you know it." but she only shook her head and laughed again, shortly. stone made a very creditable fight. a man does not throw up the results of years of work without a strong protest. he treated it lightly, at first, then seriously. then he threatened. "i've got a good deal of power myself," he told cairness angrily; "i can roast you in the press so that you can't hold up your head." "i don't believe you can," cairness said; "but you might try it, if it will give you any pleasure. only you must make haste, because you've got to get out in three days." "i can shoot, myself, when it comes to that," suggested stone. cairness said that he would of course have to take chances on that. "you might kill me, or i might kill you. i'm a pretty fair shot. however, it wouldn't pay you to kill me, upon the whole, and you must take everything into consideration." he was still twisting the curled end of his small mustache and half closing his eyes in the way that stone had long since set down as asinine. "my friend mr. taylor would still be alive. and if you were to hurt him,--he's a very popular man,--it might be bad for your standing in the community. it wouldn't hurt me to kill you, particularly, on the other hand. you are not so popular anyway, and i haven't very much to lose." then the journalist tried entreaty. he had a wife and children. cairness reminded him that kirby had had a wife and children, too. "well, i didn't kill them, did i?" he whined. "not exactly, no. but you were an accessory after the fact." "why are you so all-fired anxious to vindicate the law?" he dropped easily into phrases. cairness assured him that he was not. "it is not my mission on earth to straighten out the territories, heaven be praised. this is purely a personal matter, entirely so. you may call it revenge, if you like. lawton's in jail all safe, as you know. i got him there, and if he gets out anyway, i'll put him back again on this count." mrs. lawton started forward in her chair. "what's he in for now? ain't it for this?" she demanded. "for destruction of government property," cairness told her, and there was just the faintest twinkle between his lids. "i didn't know all these interesting details about the kirbys until you told me, mrs. lawton." she sat with her jaw hanging, staring at him, baffled, and he went on. "i've got lawton jailed, as i was saying. i'll have you out of the country in three days, and as for mrs. lawton, i'll keep an eye on her. i'll know where she is, in case i need her at any time. but i'm not fighting women." he stood up. "i'll see you off inside of three days then, stone," he said amicably. "where do you want me to go?" he almost moaned, and finished with an oath. "anywhere you like, my dear chap, so that it's neither in arizona or new mexico. i want to stop here myself, and the place isn't big enough for us both. you'll be a valuable acquisition to any community, and you can turn your talent to showing up the life here. you are right on the inside track. now i won't ask you to promise to go. but i'll be round to see that you do." he held the door open for the texan woman and the parson to go out. then he followed, closing it behind him. two days later stone left the town. he took the train for california, and his wife and children went with him. he was a rich man by many an evil means, and it was no real hardship that had been worked him, as cairness well knew. the lawton woman had heard of an officer's family at grant, which was in need of a cook, and had gone there. "and now," said the reverend taylor, fingering the lock of hair over the little reverend's right ear, as that wise little owl considered with uncertain approval a whistle rattle cairness had bought for him, "and now what are you going to do?" cairness stood up, ran his hands into his pockets, and going over to the window looked down at the geraniums as he had done once, long before. "i am going back to my ranch on the reservation," he said measuredly. "cairness," said the parson, fixing his eyes upon the back of the bent head, as if they were trying to see through into the impenetrable brain beneath, "are you going to spend the rest of your life at this sort of thing?" "i don't know," cairness answered, with a lightness that was anything but cheering. "you are too good for it." "i am certainly not good enough for anything else." he began to whistle, but it was not a success, and he stopped. "see here," insisted taylor; "turn round here and answer me." cairness continued to stand with his head down, looking at the geraniums. the parson was wiser than his wife in that he knew when it was of no use to insist. "what's keeping you around here, anyway? you ought to have gotten out when you left the service--and you half meant to then. what is it?" cairness raised his shoulders. "my mines," he said, after a while. the reverend taylor did not believe that, but he let it go. "well," he said more easily, "you've accomplished the thing you set out to do, anyway." "one thing," muttered cairness. "eh?" the parson was not sure he had heard. "just nothing," cairness laughed shortly, and breaking off one of the treasured geranium blossoms, stuck it in a buttonhole of his flannel shirt. "i heard you," said the little man; "what's the other?"--"oh, i dare say i'll fail on that," he answered indifferently, and taking up his sombrero went out to saddle his horse. xxi the civilization of the englishman is only skin deep. and therein lies his strength and his salvation. beneath that outer surface, tubbed and groomed and prosperous, there is the man, raw and crude from the workshops of creation. back of that brain, trained to a nicety of balance and perception and judgment, there are the illogical passions of a savage. an adaptation of the proverb might run that you scratch an englishman and you find a briton--one of those same britons who stained themselves blue with woad, who fell upon their foes with clumsy swords and flaming torches, who wore the skins of beasts, and lived in huts of straw, and who burned men and animals together, in sacrifice to their gods. and the savage shows, too, in that your englishman is not gregarious. his house is his castle, his life is to himself, and his sentiments are locked within him. he is a lonely creature, in the midst of his kind, and he loves his loneliness. but it is because of just this that no scion of ultra-civilization degenerates so thoroughly as does he. retrogression is easy to him. he can hardly go higher, because he is on the height already; but he can slip back. set him in a lower civilization, he sinks one degree lower than that. put him among savages, and he is nearer the beasts than they. it does not come to pass in a day, nor yet at all if he be part of a community, which keeps in mind its traditions and its church, and which forms its own public opinion. then he is the leaven of all the measures of meal about him, the surest, steadiest, most irresistible civilizing force. but he cannot advance alone. he goes back, and, being cursed with the wisdom which shows him his debasement, in loathing and disgust with himself, he grows sullen and falls back yet more. it was so with cairness. he was sinking down, and ever down, to the level of his surroundings; he was even ceasing to realize that it was so. he had begun by studying the life of the savages, but he was so entirely grasping their point of view that he was losing all other. he was not so dirty as they--not yet. his stone cabin was clean enough, and their villages were squalid. a morning plunge in the river was still a necessity, while with them it was an event. but where he had once spent his leisure in reading in several tongues--in keeping in touch with the world--and in painting, he would now sit for hours looking before him into space, thinking unprofitable thoughts. he lived from hand to mouth. eventually he would without doubt marry a squaw. the thing was more than common upon the frontier. he was in a manner forgetting felipa. he had forced himself to try to do so. but once in a way he remembered her vividly, so that the blood would burn in his heart and head, and he would start up and beat off the thought, as if it were a visible thing. it was happening less and less often, however. for two years he had not seen her and had heard of her directly only once. an officer who came into the agency had been with her, but having no reason to suppose that a scout could be interested in the details of the private life of an officer's wife, he had merely said that she had been very ill, but was better now. he had not seen fit to add that it was said in the garrison--which observed all things with a microscopic eye--that she was very unhappy with landor, and that the sympathy was not all with her. "mrs. landor is very beautiful," cairness hazarded. he wanted to talk of her, or to make some one else do it. "she is very magnificent," said the officer, coldly. it was plain that magnificence was not what he admired in woman. and there it had dropped. cairness remembered with an anger and disgust with himself he could still feel, that last time he had seen her in the mouth of the cave. that had been two springs ago. since then there had been no occupation for him as a guide or scout. the country had been at peace. the war department and the indian department were dividing the control of the agency, with the war department ranking. crook had been trying his theories as practice. he had been demonstrating that the indian can work, with a degree of success that was highly displeasing to the class of politicians whose whole social fabric for the southwest rested on his only being able to kill. but the star of the politician was once more in the ascendant. for two years there had been not one depredation, not one outrage from the indians, for whose good conduct the general had given his personal word. they were self-supporting, and from the products of their farms they not only kept themselves, but supplied the neighboring towns. it was a state of affairs entirely unsatisfactory to the politician. so he set about correcting it. his methods were explained to cairness by an old buck who slouched up to the cabin and sat himself down cross-legged in front of the door. he meant to share in the venison breakfast cairness was getting himself. "so long as these stones of your house shall remain one upon the other," began the apache, "so long shall i be your friend. have you any tobacco?" cairness went into the cabin, got a pouch, and tossed it to him. he took a package of straw papers and a match from somewhere about himself and rolled a cigarette deftly. "i have been lied to," came the muttering voice from the folds of the red i. d. blanket, which almost met the red flannel band binding down his coarse and dirty black hair. it was early dawn and cold. cairness himself was close to the brush fire. "i have been cheated." cairness nodded. he thought it very likely. "the sun and the darkness and the winds were all listening. he promised to pay me _dos reales_ each day. to prove to you that i am now telling the truth, here is what he wrote for me." he held it out to cairness, a dirty scrap of wrapping-paper scrawled over with senseless words. "yes," said cairness, examining it, "but this has no meaning." "that is a promise," the indian insisted, "to pay me _dos reales_ a day if i would cut hay for him." the white explained carefully that it was not a contract, that it was nothing at all, in fact. "then he lied," said the buck, and tucked the scrap back under his head band. "they all lie. i worked for him two weeks. i worked hard. and each night when i asked him for money he would say to me that to-morrow he would pay me. when all his hay was cut he laughed in my face. he would pay me nothing." he seemed resigned enough about it. cairness gave a grunt that was startlingly savage--so much so that he realized it, and shook himself slightly as a man does who is trying to shake himself free from a lethargy that is stealing over him. "and then, there was the trouble about the cows. they promised us one thousand, and they gave us not quite six hundred. and those--the dawn and the sky hear that what i tell you is true--and those were so old we could not use them." cairness nodded. he knew that the interior department had sent an agent out to investigate that complaint, and that the agent had gone his way rejoicing and reporting that all was well with the indian and honest with the contractor. it was not true. every one who knew anything about it knew that. cairness supposed that also was the work of the politicians. but there are things one cannot make plain to a savage having no notions of government. the buck went on, the while he held a piece of venison in his dirty hand and dragged at it with his teeth, to say that there was a feeling of great uneasiness upon the reservation. the chiricahuas could see that there was trouble between the officials, both military and civil, and the government. they did not know what it was. they did not understand that the harassed general, whose word--and his alone--had their entire belief, nagged and thwarted, given authority and then prevented from enforcing it, had rebelled at last, had asked to be relieved, and had been refused. but they drew in with delight the air of strife and unrest. it was the one they loved best, there could and can be no doubt about that. "geronimo," mumbled the apache, "has prayed to the dawn and the darkness and the sun and the sky to help him put a stop to those bad stories that people put in the papers about him. he is afraid it will be done as they say." the press of the country was full just then, and had been for some time past, of suggestions that the only good use the much-feared geronimo could be put to would be hanging, the which he no doubt richly deserved. but if every one in the territories who deserved hanging had been given his dues, the land would have been dotted with blasted trees. "geronimo does not want that any more. he has tried to do right. he is not thinking bad. such stories ought not to be put in the newspapers." cairness also thought that they should not, chiefly because they had a tendency to frighten the timid apaches. but he went on quietly eating his breakfast, and said nothing. he knew that only silence can obtain loquacity from silent natures. he was holding his meat in his fingers, too, and biting it, though he did not drag it like a wild beast yet; and, moreover, he had it upon a piece of bread of his own baking. "there will be trouble with geronimo's people soon." "shall you go with them?" asked cairness. "no, i am a friend of the soldier. and i am a friend of chato, who is the enemy of geronimo. i have no bad thoughts," he added piously. "and you think there will be trouble?" he knew that the buck had come there for nothing but to inform. "i think that geronimo will make trouble. he knows that the agent and the soldiers are quarrelling, and he and his people have been drinking tizwin for many days." cairness stood up and walked down to the water to wash his hands. then he went into the cabin and brought out a small mirror, and all the shaving apparatus he had not used for months, and proceeded to take off his thick brown beard, while the indian sat stolidly watching him with that deep interest in trifles of the primitive brain, which sees and marks, and fails to learn or to profit correspondingly. and later in the day, when the buck had shuffled off again, cairness brought out his pony,--a new one now, for the little pinto one had died of a rattlesnake bite, from which no golondrina weed had been able to save it,--and saddled it. then he went again into the cabin. there was but one thing there that he valued,--a life-size head of felipa he had done in charcoal. it was in a chest beneath his cot. he locked his chest, and going out locked the door also, and putting both keys upon a ring, mounted and rode off along the trail. it was his intention to go to crook and to warn him if he needed warning, which was not probable, since he was never napping. he would then offer his services as a scout. he was sincerely attached to the general, and felt his own career in a way involved with that of the officer, because he had been with him, in one capacity or another, in every campaign he had made in the southwest. already he felt more respectable at the mere prospect of contact with his kind again. he was glad that the unkempt beard was gone, and he was allowing himself to hope, no, he was deliberately hoping, that he would see felipa. xxii he failed in the warning. he had barely gotten off the reservation before geronimo and nachez and their sympathizers broke out and started to reach again that fastness in the sierra madre from which they had been routed two years before. but he succeeded without the least difficulty in obtaining the position of chief of scouts. and he succeeded in seeing felipa. it was most unexpected. he had believed her to be in stanton, a good many hundred miles away. but landor having been sent at once into the field, she had come on to grant to visit the campbells, who were again stationed there. he met her face to face only once, and he measured with one quick look all the changes there were between the girl of ten years before and the woman of to-day. the great, sad pity that rose within him, and seemed to grasp at his throat chokingly, was the best love he had felt for her yet. it wiped out the wrong of the short madness in the cave's mouth. she was quite alone, wandering among the trees and bushes in the creek bottom, and her hands were full of wild flowers. she had pinned several long sprays of the little ground blossoms, called "baby-blue eyes," at her throat, and they lay along her white gown prettily. she stopped and spoke to him, with a note of lifelessness in her high, sweet voice; and while he answered her question as to what he had been doing since she had seen him last, she unpinned the "baby-blue eyes" and held them out to him. "would you like these?" she asked simply. he took them, and she said "good-by" and went on. she was broken to the acceptance of the inevitable now,--he could see that, any one could see it. she had learned the lesson of the ages--the futility of struggle of mere man against the advance of men. that it had been a hard lesson was plain. it showed in her face, where patience had given place to unrest, gentleness to the defiance of freedom. she had gained, too, she had gained greatly. she was not only woman now, she was womanly. but cairness did not need to be told that she was not happy. he went on the next day with his scouts, and eventually joined landor in the field. landor was much the same as ever, only more gray and rather more deeply lined. perhaps he was more taciturn, too, for beyond necessary orders he threw not one word to the chief of scouts. cairness could understand that the sight of himself was naturally an exasperation, and in some manner a reproach, too. he was sorry that he had been thrown with this command, but, since he was, it was better that landor should behave as he was doing. an assumption of friendliness would have been a mockery, and to some extent an ignoble one. landor's troop, with one other, was in the san andres mountains of new mexico when cairness joined it. they were on the trail of a large band of renegades, and it led them through the mountains, across the flats, and down to the lava beds. once in the æons which will never unfold their secrets now, when the continent of the western seas was undreamed of by the sages and the philosophers of the eastern world, when it was as alone, surrounded by its wide waters, as the planets are alone in their wastes of space, when it was living its own life,--which was to leave no trace upon the scroll of the wisdom of the ages,--the mountains and the bowels of the earth melted before the wrath of that same lord whose voice shook the wilderness of judæa. at his bidding they ran as water, and poured down in waves of seething fire, across the valley of death. it is a valley of death now, parched and desolate, a waste of white sand--the dry bone dust of the cycles. but then, when the lava came surging and boiling and flaming across the plain, not a thin stream, but a wide, irresistible current, there was life; there was a city--one city at least. it is there now, under the mass of sharp, gray, porous rock; how much of it no one knows. but it is there, and it has given up its unavailing hints of a life which may have been older than that of herculaneum and pompeii, and is as much more safely hidden from the research of the inquiring day as its walls are more hopelessly buried beneath the ironlike stone than are those of the cisalpine cities beneath their ashen drift. and the great river of rock is there, too, frozen upon the land like some devouring monster changed by a gorgon head into lifeless stone. it is a formidable barrier across the hardly less formidable bad lands. it can be crossed in places where it is narrowest, not quite a mile in width, that is. but horses slip and clamber, and men cut through the leather of their heaviest shoes. if the sea, whipping in huge waves against the fury of a typhoon, were to become on the instant rocks, it would be as this. there are heights and crevasses, hills and gulches, crests and hollows, little caves and crannies, where quail and snakes and cotton-tails and jack-rabbits, lizards and coyotes, creatures of desolation and the barrens, hide and scamper in and out. it is an impregnable stronghold, not for armies, because they could not find shelter, but for savages that can scatter like the quail themselves, and writhe on their bellies into the coyotes' own holes. and so the hostiles took shelter there from the cavalry that had pursued them hard across the open all night, and gave battle after the manner of their kind. it was a very desultory sort of a skirmish, for the troops did not venture into the traps beyond the very edge, and the indians were simply on the defensive. it was not only desultory, it promised to be unavailing, a waste of time and of ammunition. the chiricahuas might stay there and fire at intervals as long as they listed, killing a few men perhaps. and then they might retreat quite safely, putting the barrier between themselves and the pursuers. obviously there were only two courses wherein lay any wisdom,--to retreat, or to cut off their retreat. landor said so to the major in command. "and how, may i ask, would you suggest cutting off their retreat?" the major inquired a little sharply. his temper was not improved by the heat and by twelve hours in the saddle. it was certainly not apparent, on the face of it, how the thing was to be done, but the captain explained. "i've been stationed here, you know, and i know the roads. we are about a half a mile or more from where the stanton road to the railway crosses the lava. it is narrow and rough, and about from three-quarters of a mile to a mile wide, but cavalry can go over it without any trouble. i can take my troop over, and then the indians will be hemmed in between us. we might capture the whole band." the major offered the objection that it would be foolhardy, that it would be cutting through the enemy by file. "they'll pick you off, and you'll be absolutely at their mercy," he remonstrated. "no, i can't hear of it." "suppose you let me call for volunteers," suggested landor. he was sure of his own men, down to the last recruit. the major consented unwillingly. "it's your lookout. if you come out alive, i shall be surprised, that's all. take some scouts, too," he added, as he lit a cigar and went on with his walk up and down among his men. the entire command volunteered, as a matter of course, and landor had his pick. he took thirty men and a dozen scouts. cairness rode up and offered himself. they looked each other full in the face for a moment. "very well," said landor, and turned on his heel. cairness was properly appreciative, despite the incivility. he knew that landor could have refused as well as not, and that would have annoyed and mortified him. he was a generous enemy, at any rate. the volunteers mounted and trotted off in a cloud of dust that hung above them and back along their trail, to where the road, as landor had said, entered the malpais. just at the edge of the rock stream there was an abandoned cabin built of small stones. whatever sort of roof it had had in the beginning was now gone altogether, and the cabin itself was tumbling down. through the doorway where there was no door, there showed a blackened fireplace. once when a party from the post had been taking the two days' drive to the railroad, they had stopped here, and had lunched in the cabin. landor remembered it now, and glanced at the place where felipa had reclined in the shade of the walls, upon the leather cushion of the ambulance seat. she very rarely could be moved to sing, though she had a sweet, plaintive voice of small volume; but this time she had raised her tin mug of beer and, looking up to the blue sky, had launched into the "last carouse," in a spirit of light mockery that fitted with it well, changing the words a little to the scene. "we meet 'neath the blazing heavens, and the walls around are bare; they shout back our peals of laughter, and it seems that the dead are there. then stand to your glasses steady, we drink to our comrades' eyes one cup to the dead already. hurrah! for the next that dies." "hurrah! for the next that dies," thought landor himself, with a careless cynicism. the barrel of a winchester gleamed above a point of rock, a little sharp sparkle of sunlight on steel, and a bullet deflected from the big leather hood of his stirrup. he rode on calmly, and his horse's shoes clicked on the lava. the men followed, sitting erect, toes in. they might have been on mounted inspection except for the field clothes, stained and dusty. they were to go down a narrow path for close on a mile, between two rows of rifle barrels, and that not at a run or a gallop, but at a trot, at the most, for the lava was slippery as glass in spots. they were willing enough to do it, even anxious--not that there was any principle involved, or glory to be gained, but because their blood was up and it was part of the chances of the game. they were not destined to get beyond the first fifty yards, nevertheless. the rifle that had fired at landor as he came upon the malpais went glistening up again. there was a puff of blue-hearted smoke in the still air, and cairness's bronco, struck on the flanks, stung to frenzy, stopped short, then gathering itself together with every quivering sinew in a knot, after the way of its breed, bounded off straight in among the jagged boulders. it was all done in an instant, and almost before landor could see who had dashed ahead of him the horse had fallen, neck to the ground, throwing its rider with his head against a point of stone. landor did not stop to consider it. it was one of the few impulses of his life, or perhaps only the quickest thinking he had ever done. cairness was there among the rocks, disabled and in momentary danger of his life. if it had been a soldier, under the same circumstances, landor might have gone on and have sent another soldier to help him. it was only a chief of scouts, but it was a man of his own kind, for all that--and it was his enemy. instinct dismounted him before reason had time to warn him that the affair of an officer is not to succor his inferiors in the thick of the fighting when there are others who can be better spared to do it. he threw his reins over his horse's head and into the hands of the orderly-trumpeter, and jumped down beside cairness. when the sergeant reported it to the major afterward, he said that the captain, in stooping over to raise the chief of scouts, had been struck full in the temple by a bullet, and had pitched forward with his arms stretched out. one private had been wounded. they carried the two men back to the little cabin of stones, and that was the casualty list. but the dash had failed. they laid landor upon the ground, in the same patch of shade he had glanced at in coming by not five minutes before. his glazed eyes stared back at the sky. there was nothing to be done for him. but cairness was alive. they washed the blood from his face with water out of the canteens, and bound his head with a wet handkerchief. and presently he came back to consciousness and saw landor stretched there, with the bluing hole in his brow, and the quiet there is no mistaking on his sternly weary face. and he turned back his head and lay as ashy and almost as still as the dead man, with a look on his own face more terrible than that of any death. after a time, when a soldier bent over him and held a flask to his teeth, he drank, and then he pointed feebly, and his lips framed the question he could not seem to speak. the soldier understood. "trying to save you, sir," he said a little resentfully. but cairness had known it without that. it was so entirely in keeping with the rest of his fate, that every cup which ought to have been sweet should have been embittered like this. he rolled his cut and throbbing head over again, and watched the still form. and he was conscious of no satisfaction that now there was nothing in all the world to keep him from felipa, from the gaining of the wish of many years, but only of a dull sort of pity for landor and for himself, and of a real and deep regret. xxiii it was a splendid spring morning. there had been a shower overnight, and the whole mountain world was aglitter. the dancing, rustling leaves of the cottonwoods gleamed, the sparse grass of the parade ground was shining like tiny bayonets, the flag threw out its bright stripes to the breeze, and when the sun rays struck the visor of some forage cap, they glinted off as though it had been a mirror. all the post chickens were cackling and singing their droning monotonous song of contentment, the tiny ones cheeped and twittered, and in among the vines of the porch felipa's mocking-bird whistled exultantly. the sound shrilled sweetly through the house, through all the empty rooms, and through the thick silence of that one which was not empty, but where a flag was spread over a rough box of boards, and ellton sat by the window with a little black prayer-book in his hand. he was going over the service for the burial of the dead, because there was no chaplain, and it fell to him to read it. now and then one of the officers came in alone or with his wife and stood about aimlessly, then went away again. but for the rest, the house was quite forsaken. felipa was not there. at the earliest, she could not return for a couple of days, and by then landor's body would be laid in the dreary little graveyard, with its wooden headboards and crosses, and its neglected graves among the coyote and snake holes. the life of the service would be going on just as usual, after the little passing excitement was at an end. for it was an excitement. no one in the garrison would have had it end like this, but since what will be will be, and the right theory of life is to make the most of what offers and to hasten--as the philosopher has said--to laugh at all things for fear we may have cause to weep, there was a certain expectation, decently kept down, in the air. it rose to a subdued pitch as there came the gradual rattling of wheels and the slow tramp of many feet. a buckboard, from which the seats had been removed, came up the line, and behind it marched the troops and companies, landor's own troop in advance. they halted in front of his quarters, and four officers came down the steps with the long box between them. the mocking-bird's trill died away to a questioning twitter. the box was laid in the buckboard, and covered with the flag once more. then the mules started, with a rattle of traces and of the wheels, and the tramp of feet began again. the drums thrummed regularly and slowly, the heart beats of the service, and the fifes took up the dead march in a weird, shrill banshee wail. they went down the line, the commandant with the surgeon and the officers first, and after them the buckboard, with its bright-draped burden. then landor's horse, covered with black cloths, the empty saddle upon its back. it nosed at the pockets of the man who led it. it had been taught to find sugar in pockets. and then the troops, the cavalry with the yellow plumes of their helmets drooping, and the infantry with the spikes glinting, marching with eyes cast down and muskets reversed. a gap, then the soldiers' urchins from the laundress row, in for anything that might be doing. the roll of the drums and the whistle of the fifes died away in the distance. there was a long silence, followed by three volleys of musketry, the salute over the open grave. and then taps was pealed in notes of brass up to the blue sky, a long farewell, a challenge aforetime to the trumpet of the last day. they turned and came marching back. the drums and fifes played "yankee doodle" in sarcastic relief. the men walked briskly with their guns at carry arms, the black-draped horse curved its neck and pranced until the empty stirrups danced. the incident was over--closed. the post picked up its life and went on. two afternoons later the ambulance which had been sent for felipa came into the post. she stepped out from it in front of the elltons' quarters so majestic and awe-inspiring in her black garments that mrs. ellton was fairly subdued. she felt real grief. it showed in her white face and the nervous quiver of her lips. "i am going out to the graveyard," she told mrs. ellton almost at once. mrs. ellton prepared to accompany her, but she insisted that she was going alone, and did so, to the universal consternation. in the late afternoon the lonely dark figure crossed the open and dropped down on the new grave, not in an agony of tears, but as if there was some comfort to be gotten out of contact with the mere soil. the old feeling of loneliness, which had always tinged her character with a covert defiance, was overwhelming her. she belonged to no one now. she had no people. she was an outcast from two races, feared of each because of the other's blood. the most forsaken man or woman may claim at least the kinship of his kind, but she had no kind. she crouched on the mound and looked at the sunset as she had looked that evening years before, but her eyes were not fearless now. as a trapped animal of the plains might watch a prairie fire licking nearer and nearer, making its slow way up to him in spurts of flame and in dull, thick clouds of smoke that must stifle him before long, so she watched the dreary future rolling in about her. but gradually the look changed to one farther away, and alight with hope. she had realized that there was, after all, some one to whom she belonged, some one to whom she could go and, for the first time in her life, be loved and allowed to love. it had not occurred to her for some hours after mrs. campbell had told her of landor's death that she was free now to give herself to cairness. she had gasped, indeed, when she did remember it, and had put the thought away, angrily and self-reproachfully. but it returned now, and she felt that she might cling to it. she had been grateful, and she had been faithful, too. she remembered only that landor had been kind to her, and forgot that for the last two years she had borne with much harsh coldness, and with a sort of contempt which she felt in her unanalyzing mind to have been entirely unmerited. gradually she raised herself until she sat quite erect by the side of the mound, the old exultation of her half-wild girlhood shining in her face as she planned the future, which only a few minutes before had seemed so hopeless. and when the retreat gun boomed in the distance, she stood up, shaking the earth and grasses from her gown, and started to carry out her plans. a storm was blowing up again. clouds were massing in the sky, and night was rising rather than the sun setting. there was a cold, greenish light above the snow peak, and darkness crept up from the earth and down from the gray clouds that banked upon the northern horizon and spread fast across the heavens. a bleak, whining wind rustled the leaves of the big trees down by the creek, and caught up the dust of the roadway in little eddies and whirls, as felipa, with a new purpose in her step, swung along it back to the post. she would not be induced to go near her own house that night. when ellton suggested it, she turned white and horrified. it had not occurred to him before that a woman so fearless of everything in the known world might be in abject terror of the unknown. "it's her nature," he told his wife. "underneath she is an apache, and they burn the wigwams and all the traps of their dead; sometimes even the whole village he lived in." mrs. ellton said that poor captain landor had had a good deal to endure. the two children whom felipa had taken in charge two years before had been left in the care of the sergeant of landor's troop and his wife, and they manifested no particular pleasure at seeing her again. they were half afraid of her, so severely black and tall and quiet. they had been playing with the soldier's children, and were anxious to be away again. the young of the human race are short of memory, and their gratefulness does not endure for long. there is no caress so sweet, so hard to win, as the touch of a child's soft hand, and none that has behind it less of nearly all that we prize in affection. it is sincere while it lasts, and no longer, and it must be bought either with a price or with a wealth of love. you may lavish the best that is within you to obtain a kiss from baby lips, and if they rest warm and moist upon your cheek for a moment, the next they are more eager for a sweetmeat than for all your adoration. "yes," whispered the little girl, squirming in felipa's arms, "i am dlad you's come. let me doe." "kiss me," said felipa. the child brushed at her cheek and struggled away. "come, billy," she called to the brother who had saved her life; and that small, freckle-faced hero, whose nose was badly skinned from a fall, flung his arms around his benefactress's neck perfunctorily and escaped, rejoicing. the elltons' pretty child was like its mother, gentler and more caressing. it lay placidly in her arms and patted her lips when she tried to talk, with the tips of its rosy fingers. she caught them between her teeth and mumbled them, and the child chuckled gleefully. but by and by it was taken away to bed, and then felipa was alone with its father and mother. through the tiresome evening she felt oppressed and angrily nervous. the elltons had always affected her so. she asked for the full particulars of her husband's death, and when ellton had told her, sat looking straight before her at the wall. "it was very like jack," she said finally, in a low voice, "his whole life was like that." and then she turned squarely to the lieutenant. "where is mr. cairness? where did they take him?" she was surprised at herself that she had not thought of that before. he told her that he had gone on to arizona, to tombstone, he believed. "by the way," he added, "did you hear that brewster has married a rich jewish widow down in tucson?" "yes, i heard it," she said indifferently. "was mr. cairness really much hurt?" "very much," said ellton; "it was a sharp cut on the forehead--went through the bone, and he was unconscious, off and on, for two or three days. he seemed to take it hard. he went off yesterday, and he wasn't fit to travel either, but he would do it for some reason. i think he was worse cut up about landor than anything, though he wasn't able to go to the funeral. i like cairness. he's an all-round decent fellow; but after all, his life was bought too dear." felipa did not answer. he did not try to discuss her plans for the future with her that night; but two days afterward, when she had disposed of all her household goods and had packed the few things that remained, they sat upon two boxes in the bare hallway, resting; and he broached it. "i am going to ask the quartermaster to store my things for the present, and of course the first sergeant's wife will look out for the children," she said. but that was not exactly what he wanted to know, and he insisted. "but what is going to become of you? are you going back to the campbells?" he had asked her to stay with his wife and himself as long as she would, but she had refused. "no," she said, "i told the campbells i would not go to them." and he could get nothing definite from her beyond that. it annoyed him, of course; felipa had a gift for repulsing kindness and friendship. it was because she would not lie and could not evade. therefore, she preserved a silence that was, to say the least of it, exasperating to the well-intentioned. early in the morning of the day she was to leave she went to the graveyard alone again. she was beginning to realize more than she had at first that landor was quite gone. she missed him, in a way. he had been a strong influence in her life, and there was a lack of the pressure now. but despite the form of religion to which she clung, she had no hope of meeting him in any future life, and no real wish to do so. she stood by the mound for a little while thinking of him, of how well he had lived and died, true to his standard of duty, absolutely true, but lacking after all that spirit of love without which our actions profit so little and die with our death. she had a clearer realization of it than ever before. it came to her that charles cairness's life, wandering, aimless, disjointed as it was, and her own, though it fell far below even her own not impossibly high ideals, were to more purpose, had in them more of the vital force of creation, were less wasted, than his had been. to have known no enthusiasms--which are but love, in one form or another--is to have failed to give that impulse to the course of events which every man born into the world should hold himself bound to give, as the human debt to the eternal. felipa felt something of this, and it lessened the vague burden of self-reproach she had been carrying. she was almost cheerful when she got back to the post. through the last breakfast, which the elltons took for granted must be a sad one, and conscientiously did their best to make so, she had some difficulty in keeping down to their depression. it was not until they all, from the commandant down to the recruits of landor's troop, came to say good-by that she felt the straining and cutting of the strong tie of the service, which never quite breaks though it be stretched over rough and long years and almost forgotten. the post blacksmith to whom she had been kind during an illness, the forlorn sickly little laundress whose baby she had eased in dying, the baker to whose motherless child she had been good--all came crowding up the steps. they were sincerely sorry to have her go. she had been generous and possessed of that charity which is more than faith or hope. it was the good-bys of landor's men that were the hardest for her. he had been proud of his troop, and it had been devoted to him. she broke down utterly and cried when it came to them, and tears were as hard for her as for a man. but with the officers and their women, it rose up between her and them that they would so shortly despise and condemn her, that they would not touch her hands could they but know her thoughts. ellton was going with her to the railroad. they were to travel with a mounted escort, as she had come, on account of the uncertain state of the country. and they must cross, as she had done in coming also, the road over the malpais, where landor had fallen. as the hoofs of the mules and the tires of the wheels began to slip and screech on the smooth-worn lava, and the ambulance rattled and creaked up the incline, ellton leaned forward and pointed silently to a hollow in the gray rock a few yards away. it was where landor had pitched forward over the body of the mounted chief of scouts. felipa nodded gravely, but she did not speak, nor yet weep. ellton, already thrown back upon himself by her persistent silence with regard to her intentions, recoiled even more. he thought her hard beyond all his previous experience of women. "i will write to you where you are to send my mail," she told him, when the train was about to pull out. he bowed stiffly, and raising his hat was gone. she looked after him as he went across the cinder bed to the ambulance which was to take him back, and wondered what would have been the look upon his nice, open face, if she had told him her plans, after all. but she was the only one who knew them. and cairness himself was startled and utterly unprepared when the reverend taylor opened the door of the room where he lay and let her pass in. the little parson uttered no word, but there was a look on his face which said that now the questions he had put with no result were answered. it was for this that cairness had given the best of his life. cairness lay white and still, looking up at her. he was very weak and dazed, and for the instant he could only remember, absurdly enough, the andromaque he had seen a french actress play once in his very early youth when he had been taken with all the children of the lycée, where he was then at school, to the theatre on a thursday afternoon. the andromaque had been tall and dark and superb, and all in black, like that woman in the doorway there. and then his thoughts shot back to the present with quick pain. she should not have come here, not so soon. he had taken a long, hard trip that had nearly ended in his death, to avoid this very thing, this meeting, which, just because it made him so terribly happy, seemed a treachery, a sacrilege. had she less delicacy of feeling than himself? or had she more love? it was that, he saw it in her beautiful eyes which were growing wide and frightened at his silence. he took his hand from under the sheets and stretched it out to her. she went to him and dropped on her knees beside the bed, and threw her arms about him. he moved his weak head closer to her shoulder, and pressing her fingers to his face gave a choking sob. he was happy, so very happy. and nothing mattered but just this. xxiv "cairness!" called crook, and cairness, turning aside, came over to where the general sat upon a big stone eating a sandwich two inches thick. "well?" said the officer. "well," answered cairness, "i have been talking to them, chiefly to geronimo. they have a good place for their rancheria on that hilltop. it is an old lava bed, an extinct crater, and it is a perfect fortress. there are three gulches between us and them, and a thousand men couldn't take the place." "i came here to parley, not to fight," said the general, rather sharply. "what is their disposition?" "i dare say they are willing to surrender, upon terms to suit them. but they are very much afraid of treachery. they are on the lookout for deception at every turn. in fact, they are not in altogether the most amiable frame of mind, for the greater part. however, you can decide that for yourself when they come over, which will be directly." he seated himself upon a low branch of sycamore, which grew parallel to the ground, and went on to tell what he had seen on the hilltop in the hostile camp. "they are in capital condition. a lot of them are playing koon-kan. there were some children and one little red-headed irishman about ten years old with them. he was captured in new mexico, and seems quite happy. he enjoys the name of santiago mackin--plain james, originally, i suppose." the general smiled. he treated cairness as nearly like an equal as possible always, and got his advice and comment whenever he could. "then they all have 'medicine' on," cairness continued, "redbird and woodpecker feathers, in buckskin bags, or quail heads, or prairie-dog claws. one fellow was making an ornament out of an adobe dollar. every buck and boy in the band has a couple of cartridge belts and any quantity of ammunition, likewise new shirts and _zarapes_. they have fitted themselves out one way or another since crawford got at them in january. i don't think there are any of them particularly anxious to come in." another officer came up, and cairness dropped from the twisted bow and walked away. "that fellow cairness may be a good scout and all that, but he must be an unmitigated blackguard too," said the officer, stretching himself on the ground beside crook. the general turned his head sharply, and his eyes flashed, but he only asked dryly, "why?" "you know he's the man landor lost his life saving upon the malpais in new mexico?" "yes," said crook. "and inside of a fortnight he and mrs. landor went to some roman catholic priest in tombstone and were married. i call that indecent haste." "what!" ejaculated the general. he was moved altogether from his imperturbable calm. "that's the straight bill. ask him. he isn't fit to be spoken to." "is that the very handsome mrs. landor who was at grant a year or so ago?" the general seemed to have difficulty in grasping and believing it. "that same. she was part mescalero, anyway." "where is she now?" "on his ranch, living on the fat of a lean land, i believe. he's rich, you know. i don't know much about them. i've small use for them. and i used to like cairness, too. thought he was way above his job. those squaw-men lose all sense of honor." "cairness never was a squaw-man," corrected crook. "well, he is now, then," insisted the officer; "mrs. landor is a squaw at bottom. poor old jack!" he sat up and fired a stone at the stalk of a spanish bayonet, "i guess he's better off in the happy hunting grounds. his wasn't a bed of roses." the general sat silent for a while. "i didn't know that when i sent for him this time," he said at length, in partial explanation. then he turned his head and looked up over his shoulders at the hostiles' conical hill. a band of chiricahuas was coming down the side toward the soldiers' camp. it was the first scene of the closing act of the tragic comedy of the geronimo campaign. that wily old devil, weary temporarily of the bloodshed he had continued with more or less regularity for many years, had sent word to the officers that he would meet them without their commands, in the cañon de los embudos, across the border line, to discuss the terms of surrender. the officers had forthwith come, crook yet hopeful that something might be accomplished by honesty and plain dealing; the others, for the most part, doubting. the character of geronimo, as already manifested, was not one to inspire much confidence, nor was his appearance one to command respect. the supposititious dignity of the savage was lacking entirely. the great chief wore a filthy shirt and a disreputable coat, a loin-cloth, and a dirty kerchief wound around his head. his legs were bare from the hips, save for a pair of low moccasins. his whole appearance was grotesque and evil. the general refused the withered hand he put out, and looked at him unsmilingly. the feelings of the old chief were hurt. he sat down upon the ground, under the shadows of the cottonwoods and sycamores, and explained his conduct with tears in his bleary eyes. the officers and packers, citizens and interpreters, sat round upon the ground also, with the few indians who had ventured into the white-man's camp in the background, on the rise of the slope. there was a photographer too, who had followed the command from tombstone, and who stationed himself afar off and took snap-shots during the conference, which, like most conferences of its sort, was vague enough. it was the usual tale of woe that geronimo had to tell, much the same that the old buck had recited to cairness in the spring of the last year. his particular grievance was the request for his hanging, which he had been told had been put in the papers, and his fear of three white-men who he believed were to arrest him. "i don't want that any more. when a man tries to do right, such stories ought not to be put in the newspapers. what is the matter with you that you do not speak to me? it would be better if you would look with a pleasant face. i should be more satisfied if you would talk to me once in a while." the interpreter translated stolidly. "why don't you look at me and smile at me? i am the same man. i have the same feet, legs, and hands, and the sun looks down on me a complete man." there was no doubt about that, at any rate, and perhaps it was not an unmixed good fortune. the general's long silence was making the complete man nervous. beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he twisted his hands together. "the sun, the darkness, and the winds are all listening to what we now say. to prove to you that i am telling the truth, remember that i sent you word that i would come from a place far away to speak to you here, and you see me now. if i were thinking bad, i would never have come here. if it had been my fault, would i have come so far to talk with you?" he whined. the general was neither convinced nor won over. he had geronimo told that it was a very pretty story, but that there was no reason why forty men should have left the reservation for fear of three. "and if you were afraid of three, what had that to do with the way you sneaked all over the country, killing innocent people? you promised me in the sierra madre that that peace should last. but you lied. when a man has lied to me once, i want better proof than his word to believe him again." the tears trickled down the withered cheeks, and crook gave a shrug of exasperation and disgust. "your story of being afraid of arrest is all bosh. there were no orders to arrest you. you began the trouble by trying to kill chato." geronimo shook his head, as one much wronged and misunderstood. "yes you did, too. everything that you did on the reservation is known. there is no use your lying." then he delivered his ultimatum, slowly, watching the unhappy savage narrowly from under the visor of his pith helmet. "you must make up your mind whether you will stay out on the war-path or surrender--without conditions. if you stay out, i'll keep after you and kill the last one, if it takes fifty years. i have never lied to you," he stood up and waved his hand; "i have said all i have to say. you had better think it over to-night and let me know in the morning." he walked away, and geronimo went back to his rancheria on the hilltop, crestfallen. he had failed of his effect, and had not by any means made his own terms. the troops settled down to wait, and cairness, having further sounded some of the chiricahua squaws, went again in search of crook. he was seated under an ash tree with his back against the trunk and a portfolio upon his knee, writing. when cairness stopped in front of him, he glanced up. there was an expression in his eyes cairness did not understand. it was not like their usual twinkle of welcome. "wait a moment," he said, and went on with his writing. cairness dropped down on the ground, and, for want of anything else to do, began to whittle a whistle out of a willow branch. crook closed up the portfolio and turned to him. "i didn't know you were married, mr. cairness, when i sent for you." cairness reddened to the roots of his hair, and the scar on his forehead grew purple. he understood that look now. and it hurt him more than any of the slights and rebuffs he had received since he had married felipa. he had, like most of those who served under the general, a sort of hero-worship for him, and set great store by his opinion. it was only because of that that he had left felipa alone upon the ranch. it had been their first separation and almost absurdly hard for two who had lived their roving lives. it was more for her than for himself that the rebuke hurt him. for it was a rebuke, though as yet it was unsaid. and he thought for a moment that he would defend her to the general. he had never done so yet, not even to the little parson in tombstone whose obvious disapproval he had never tried to combat, though it had ended the friendship of years. but crook did not look like a man who wished to receive confidences. he was asking for facts, and seeking them out with a cold, sharp eye. "i have been married nearly a year," said cairness, shortly. "to captain landor's widow, i am told." "to captain landor's widow, yes;" he met the unsympathetic eyes squarely. "i came to tell you, general, what i have gathered from the squaws. it may serve you." crook looked away, straight in front of him. "go on," he said. it was not the conversation of equals now. it was the report of an inferior to a superior. however familiar the general might wish to be upon occasions, he held always in reserve the right to deference and obedience when he should desire them. it was short and to the point upon cairness's part, and having finished he stood up. "is that all?" asked the general. "that is all." "thank you," he said; and cairness walked away. the next two days he kept to himself and talked only to his apache scouts, in a defiant return to his admiration for the savage character. a chiricahua asked no questions and made no conventional reproaches at any rate. he was not penitent, he was not even ashamed, and he would not play at being either. but he was hurt, this last time most of all, and it made him ugly. he had always felt as if he were of the army, although not in it, not by reason of his one enlistment, but by reason of the footing upon which the officers had always received him up to the present time. but now he was an outcast. he faced the fact, and it was a very unpleasant one. it was almost as though he had been court-martialled and cashiered. he had thoughts of throwing up the whole thing and going back to felipa, but he hated to seem to run away. it would be better to stop there and face it out, and accept the position that was allowed him, the same, after all, as that of the majority of chiefs of scouts. and things were coming to an end, anyway. he could see it in the looks of the apaches, and hear it in their whispers. they consented to come in, and even to put themselves at the discretion of the government, but there was a lack of the true ring in their promises. so when, on the third morning, before it was yet daylight, two chiefs came hurrying into camp and awoke the general with bad news, he was not greatly surprised. he had warned crook of the possibility, for that matter. it was the eternal old story of the white-man's whiskey. a rancher living some four hundred yards from the boundary line upon the mexican side had sold it to the indians. many of them were dead or fighting drunk. the two sober indians asked for a squad of soldiers to help them guard the ranchman, and stop him from selling any more mescal. they were right-minded themselves and really desired peace, and their despair was very great. geronimo and four other warriors were riding aimlessly about on two mules, drunk as they well could be, too drunk to do much that day. but when night came, and with it a drizzling rain, the fears the ranchman and his mescal had put in their brains assumed real shapes, and they betook themselves to the mountains again, and to the war-path. it was failure, flat failure. the officers knew it, and the general knew it. it was the indefinite prolongation of the troubles. it was the ignominious refutation of all his boasts--boasts based not so much upon trust in himself, as on belief in the nature of the apache, whose stanch champion he had always been. the fault of this last, crowning breach of faith was not all with the red-men by any means. but the difficulty would be to have that believed. the world at large,--or such part of it as was deigning to take heed of this struggle against heavy odds, this contest between the prehistoric and the makers of history,--the world at large would not go into the details, if indeed it were ever to hear them. it would know just this, that a band of indians, terrible in the very smallness of their numbers, were meeting the oncoming line of civilization from the east with that of the savagery of the west, as a prairie fire is met and checked in its advance by another fire kindled and set on to stop it. it would know that the blood of the masters of the land was being spilled upon the thirsty, unreclaimed ground by those who were, in right and justice, for the welfare of humanity, masters no more. it would know that the voice which should have been that of authority and command was often turned to helpless complaint or shrieks for mercy. and it would not stop for the causes of these things; it could not be expected to. it would know that a man had come who had promised peace, confidently promised it in the event of certain other promises being fulfilled, and that he had failed of his purpose. the world would say that crook had held in his grasp the apaches and the future peace of an empire as large as that of great britain and ireland, france and germany in one, and that he had let it slip through nerveless fingers. it was signal failure. such apaches as had not gone back on the war-path returned to the states with the troops; but there were five months more of the outrages of geronimo and his kind. then in the summer of the year another man, more fortunate and better fitted to deal with it all, perhaps,--with the tangle of lies and deceptions, cross purposes and trickery,--succeeded where crook had failed and had been relieved of a task that was beyond him. geronimo was captured, and was hurried off to a florida prison with his band, as far as they well could be from the reservation they had refused to accept. and with them were sent other indians, who had been the friends and helpers of the government for years, and who had run great risks to help or to obtain peace. but the memory and gratitude of governments is become a proverb. the southwest settled down to enjoy its safety. the troops rested upon the laurels they had won, the superseded general went on with his work in another field far away to the north. the new general, the saviour of the land, was heaped with honor and praise, and the path of civilization was laid clear. but before then cairness returned to his ranch and set his back upon adventure for good and all. "crook will be gone soon," he said to felipa; "it is the beginning of his end. and even if he were to keep on, he might not need me any more." "why?" she asked, with a quick suspicion of the dreariness she caught in his tone. he changed it to a laugh. "a scout married is a scout marred. i am a rancher now. it behooves me to accept myself as such. i have outlived my usefulness in the other field." xxv felipa sat up in bed, and leaning over to the window beside it drew up the shade and looked out. the cold, gray world of breaking day was battling furiously with a storm of rain. the huddling flowers in the garden bent to the ground before the rush of wind from the mountains across the prairie. the windmill sent out raucous cries as it flew madly around, the great dense clouds, black with rain, dawn-edged, charged through the sky, and the shining-leaved cottonwoods bent their branches almost to the earth. the figures of cairness and a couple of cow-boys, wrapped in rubber coats, passed, fighting their way through the blur,--vague, dark shadows in the vague, dark mist. the storm passed, with all the suddenness it had come on, and felipa rose, and dressing herself quickly went out upon the porch. three drenched kittens were mewing there piteously. she gathered them up in her hands and warmed them against her breast as she stood watching the earth and sky sob themselves to rest. all the petunias in the bed by the steps were full of rain, the crowfoot and madeira vines of the porch were stirring with the dripping water. many great trees had had their branches snapped off and tossed several yards away, and part of the windmill had been blown to the top of the stable, some distance off. she wondered if cairness had been able to get the cut alfalfa covered. then she took the kittens with her to the house and went into the kitchen, where the chinese cook already had a fire in the stove. she ordered coffee and toast to be made at once, and leaving the kittens in the woodbox near the fire, went back to the sitting room. it was a luxurious place. as much for his own artistic satisfaction as for her, cairness had planned the interior of the house to be a background in keeping with felipa, a fit setting for her, and she led the life of an orient queen behind the walls of sun-baked clay. there was a wide couch almost in front of the roaring fire. she sank down in a heap of cushions, and taking up a book that lay open where her husband had put it down the night before, she tried to read by the flickering of the flame light over the pages. she was drowsy, however, for it was still very early, and she was almost dropping off to sleep when the chinaman brought the coffee and set it down upon a table near her, with a deference of manner not common to the celestial when serving the occidental woman, who, he believes, has lost the right to it directly she shows the inclination to do work herself. but felipa was a mistress to his taste. as he bowed himself abjectly from her presence, cairness came in. he had taken off his rubber coat and big hat, and was full of the vigor of life which makes the strong and healthy-minded so good to look upon at the beginning of a day. felipa, from her place on the couch, smiled lazily, with a light which was not all from the fire in her half-closed eyes. she put out her hand, and he took it in both his own and held it against his cold cheek as he dropped down beside her. she laid her head on his shoulder, and for a while neither of them spoke. then there came a chuckling scream of baby laughter and a soft reproach, spoken in spanish, from across the hall. she stood up and poured the coffee, but before she took her own she went out of the room and came back in a moment, carrying her small son high upon her shoulder. cairness watched how strong and erect and how sure of every muscle she was, and how well the blond little head looked against the dull blackness of the mother's hair. the child was in no way like felipa, and it had never taken her place in its father's love. he was fond of it and proud, too; but, had he been put to the test, he would have sacrificed its life for that of its mother, with a sort of fanatical joy. she put the baby between them, and it sat looking into the fire in the way she herself so often did, until her husband had called her the high priestess of the flames. then she sank down among the cushions again and stirred her coffee indolently, drowsily, steeped in the contentment of perfect well-being. cairness followed her movements with sharp pleasure. later, when the sun was well up in the jewel-blue sky, and the world was all ashine, they began the real routine of the day. and it would have been much like that of any of the other days that had gone before it for two years, had not cairness come in a little before the noon hour, bringing with him a guest. it was an englishman, whom he presented to felipa as a friend of his youth, and named forbes. he did not see that there was just the faintest shadow of pausing upon forbes's part, just the quickest passing hesitation and narrowing of the eyes with felipa. she came forward with unquestioning welcome, accustomed to take it as a matter of course that any traveller, minded to stop for a time, should go into the first ranch house at hand. he told her, directly, that he was passing through arizona to hunt and to look to certain mining interests he held there. and he stayed, talking with her and her husband about the country and the towns and posts he had visited, until long after luncheon. then cairness, having to ride to the salt lick at the other end of the ranch, up in the huachuca foot-hills, suggested that forbes go with him. it was plain, even to felipa, how thoroughly he enjoyed being with one who could talk of the past and of the present, from his own point of view. his coventry had been almost complete since the day that the entire army, impersonated in crook, had turned disapproving eyes upon him once, and had then looked away from him for good and all. it had been too bitter a humiliation for him ever to subject himself to the chance of it again. the better class of citizens did not roam over the country much, and no officers had stopped at his ranch in almost two years, though they had often passed by. and he knew well enough that they would have let their canteens go unfilled, and their horses without fodder, for a long time, rather than have accepted water from his wells or alfalfa from his land. he could understand their feeling, too,--that was the worst of it; but though his love and his loyalty toward felipa never for one moment wavered, he was learning surely day by day that a woman, be she never so much beloved, cannot make up to a man for long for the companionship of his own kind; and, least of all,--he was forced to admit it in the depths of his consciousness now,--one whose interests were circumscribed. they had lived an idyl for two years apast, and he begrudged nothing; yet now that the splendor was fading, as he knew that it was, the future was a little dreary before them both, before him the more, for he meant that, cost him what it might, felipa should never know that the glamour was going for himself. it would be the easier that she was not subtle of perception, not quick to grasp the unexpressed. as for him, he had wondered from the first what price the gods would put upon the unflawed jewel of their happiness, and had said in himself that none could be too high. forbes and her husband having gone away, felipa lay in the hammock upon the porch and looked up into the vines. she thought hard, and remembered many things as she swayed to and fro. she remembered that one return to nature long ago of which landor had not known. there had been an afternoon in washington when, on her road to some reception of a half-official kind, she had crossed the opening of an alleyway and had come upon three boys who were torturing a small, blind kitten; and almost without knowing what she did, because her maternal grandfather had done to the children of his enemies as the young civilized savages were doing to the kitten there, she stopped and watched them, not enjoying the sight perhaps, but not recoiling from it either. so intent had she been that she had not heard footsteps crossing the street toward her, and had not known that some one stopped beside her with an exclamation of wrath and dismay. she had turned suddenly and looked up, the pupils of her eyes contracted curiously as they had been when she had watched the tarantula-vinagrone fight years before. the man beside her was an attaché of the british legation, who had been one of her greatest admirers to that time, but thereafter he sought her out no more. he had driven the boys off, and taking the kitten, which mewed piteously all the way, had gone with her to her destination and left her. she had been sufficiently ashamed of herself thereafter, and totally unable to understand her own evil impulse. as she lay swinging in the hammock, she remembered this and many other things connected with that abhorred period of compulsory civilization and of success. the hot, close, dead, sweet smell of the petunias, wilting in the august sun, and the surface-baked earth came up to her. it made her vaguely heartsick and depressed. the mood was unusual with her. she wished intensely that her husband would come back. after a time she roused herself and went into the house, and directly she came back with the baby in her arms. the younger of the two children that she had taken under her care at stanton, the little girl, followed after her. it was a long way to the salt lick, and the chances were that the two men would be gone the whole afternoon. the day was very hot, and she had put on a long, white wrapper, letting her heavy hair fall down over her shoulders, as she did upon every excuse now, and always when her husband was out of the way. there was a sunbonnet hanging across the porch railing. she put it on her head and went down the steps, carrying the child. back of her, a score or more of miles away, were the iron-gray mountains; beyond those, others of blue; and still beyond, others of yet fainter blue, melting into the sky and the massed white clouds upon the horizon edge. but in front of her the flat stretched away and away, a waste of white-patched soil and glaring sand flecked with scrubs. the pungency of greasewood and sage was thick in the air, which seemed to reverberate with heat. a crow was flying above in the blue; its shadow darted over the ground, now here, now far off. half a mile beyond, within the same barbed-wire enclosure as the home buildings and corrals, was a spring-house surrounded by cottonwoods, just then the only patch of vivid green on the clay-colored waste. there were benches under the cottonwoods, and the ground was cool, and thither felipa took her way, in no wise oppressed by the heat. her step was as firm and as quick as it had been the day she had come so noiselessly along the parade, across the path of the private who was going to the barracks. it was as quiet, too, for she had on a pair of old red satin slippers, badly run down at the heel. cairness started for the salt lick, then changed his mind and his destination, and merely rode with forbes around the parts of the ranch which were under more or less cultivation, and to one of the water troughs beneath a knot of live oaks in the direction of the foot-hills. so they returned to the home place earlier than they otherwise would have done, and that, too, by way of the spring-house. they caught sight of felipa, and both drew rein simultaneously. she was leaning against a post of the wire fence. the baby was carried on her hip, tucked under her arm, the sunbonnet was hanging by the strings around her neck, and her head, with its straight loose hair, was uncovered. the little girl stood beside her, clutching the white wrapper which had trailed in the spring-house acequia, and from under which a muddy red slipper showed. that she was imposing still, said much for the quality of her beauty. she did not hear the tramp of the two horses, sharp as her ears were, for she was too intent upon watching a fight between two steers. one had gone mad with loco-weed, and they gored each other's sides until the blood ran, while only a low, moaning bellow came from their dried throats. a cloud of fine dust, that threw back the sun in glitters, hung over them, and a flock of crows, circling above in the steel-blue sky, waited. "felipa!" shouted cairness. he was angry--almost as angry as forbes had been when he had come upon mrs. landor watching the boys and the kitten in the alleyway. she heard, and again her eyes met forbes's. there was a flash of comprehension in them. she knew what he was thinking very well. but she left the fence, and, pushing the sunbonnet over her head, joined them, not in the least put out, and they dismounted and walked beside her, back to the house. cairness was taciturn. it was some moments before he could control his annoyance, by the main strength of his sense of justice, by telling himself once again that he had no right to blame felipa for the manifestations of that nature he had known her to possess from the first. it was not she who was changing. forbes explained their early return, and spoke of the ranch. "it might be a garden, this territory, if only it had water enough," he said; "it has a future, possibly, but its present is just a little dismal, i think. are you greatly attached to the life here, mrs. cairness?" he was studying her, and she knew it, though his glance swept the outlook comprehensively, and she was watching the mail-carrier riding toward them along the road. it was the brother of the little girl who followed along behind them, and who ran off now to meet him, calling and waving her hand. "yes," she said, "i am very much attached to it. i was born to it." "do you care for it so much that you would not be happy in any other?" "that would depend," she answered with her enigmatical, slow smile; "i could be happy almost anywhere with mr. cairness." "of course," he laughed tolerantly, "i dare say any wilderness were paradise with him." felipa smiled again. "i might be happy," she went on, "but i probably should not live very long. i have indian blood in my veins; and we die easily in a too much civilization." that evening they sat talking together long after the late dinner. but a little before midnight felipa left them upon the porch, smoking and still going over the past. they had so much to say of matters that she in no way understood. the world they spoke of and its language were quite foreign to her. she knew that her husband was where she could never follow him, and she felt the first utter dreariness of jealousy--the jealousy of the intellectual, so much more unendurable than that of the material. with the things of the flesh there can be the vindictive hope, the certainty indeed, that they will lose their charm with time, that the gold will tarnish and the gray come above the green, but a thought is dearer for every year that it is held, and its beauty does not fade away. the things of the flesh we may even mar ourselves, if the rage overpowers us, but those of the intellect are not to be reached or destroyed; and felipa felt it as she turned from them and went into the house. there was a big moon, already on the wane, floating very high in the heavens, and the plain was a silvery sheen. "this is all very beautiful," said forbes, after a silence. cairness did not see that it called for a reply, and he made none. "but it is doing mrs. cairness an injustice, if you don't mind my saying so." "what do you mean?" asked cairness, rather more than a trifle coldly. he had all but forgotten the matter of that afternoon. felipa had redeemed herself through the evening, so that he had reason to be proud of her. "i used to know mrs. cairness in washington," forbes went on, undisturbed; "she has probably told you so." cairness was surprised almost into showing his surprise. felipa had said nothing of it to him. and he knew well enough that she never forgot a face. he felt that he was in a false position, but he answered "yes?" non-committally. "yes," answered forbes, "she was very much admired." he looked a little unhappy. but his mind was evidently made up, and he went on doggedly: "look here, morely, old chap, i am going to tell you what i think, and you may do as you jolly well please about it afterward--kick me off the ranch, if you like. but i can see these things with a clearer eye than yours, because i am not in love, and you are, dreadfully so, you know, not to say infatuated. i came near to being once upon a time, and with your wife, too. i thought her the most beautiful woman i had ever known, and i do yet. i thought, too, that she was a good deal unhappier with landor than she herself realized; in which i was perfectly right. it's plainer than ever, by contrast. of course i understand that she is part indian, though i've only known it recently. and it's because i've seen a good deal of your apaches of late that i appreciate the injustice you are doing her and cairness junior, keeping them here. she is far and away too good for all this," he swept the scene comprehensively with his pipe. "she'd be a sensation, even in london. do you see what i mean, or are you too vexed to see anything?" cairness did not answer at once. he pushed the tobacco down in his brier and sat looking into the bowl. "no," he said at last, "i'm not too vexed. the fact is, i have seen what you mean for a long time. but what would you suggest by way of remedy, if i may ask?" they were both talking too low for their voices to reach felipa through the open window of her bedroom. "that you take them to civilization--the missus and the kid. it's the only salvation for all three of you--for you as well as them." "you heard what mrs. cairness said this afternoon. she was very ill in school when she was a young girl, and still more so in washington afterward." he shook his head. "no, forbes, you may think you know something about the apache, but you don't know him as i do, who have been with him for years. i've seen too much of the melting away of half and quarter breeds. they die without the shadow of an excuse, in civilization." but forbes persisted, carried away by his idea and the determination to make events fit in with it. "she was ill in washington because she wasn't happy. she'd be happy anywhere with you; she said so this afternoon, you remember." "she also said that it would kill her." forbes went on without noticing the interruption. "you are a great influence in her life, but you aren't the only one. her surroundings act powerfully upon her. when i knew her before, she was like any other beautiful woman--" "i am far from being sure that that is entirely to be desired, very far," said cairness, with conviction. he had never ceased to feel a certain annoyance at the memory of that year and a half of felipa's life in which he had had no part. forbes shrugged his shoulders. "you'll pardon me if i say that here she is a luxurious semi-barbarian." it was on his tongue's tip to add, "and this afternoon, by the spring-house, she was nearly an apache," but he checked it. "it's very picturesque and poetical and all that,--from the romantic point of view it's perfect,--but it isn't feasible. you can't live on honeycomb for more than a month or twain. i can't imagine a greater misfortune than for you two to grow contented here, and that's what you'll do. it will be a criminal waste of good material." cairness knew that it was true, too true to refute. "i am speaking about mrs. cairness," forbes went on earnestly, "because she is more of an argument for you than the child is, which is un-english too, isn't it? but the child is a fine boy, nevertheless, and there will be other children probably. i don't need to paint their future to you, if you let them grow up here. you owe it to them and to your wife and to yourself--to society for that matter--not to retrograde. oh! i say, i'm out and out lecturing on sociology. you're good-tempered to put up with it, but i mean well--like most meddlers." "i have the ranch; how could i get away?" cairness opposed. but the argument was weak. forbes paid small heed to it. "you've a great deal besides. every one in the country knows your mines have made you a rich man. and you are better than that. you are a talented man, though you've frittered away your abilities too long to amount to anything much, now. you ought to get as far off from this kind of thing as you can." he did not even hint that he knew of the isolation of their lives, but cairness was fully aware that he must, and that it was what he meant now. "you ought to go to another country. not back to australia, either; it is too much this sort, but somewhere where the very air is civilizing, where it's in the atmosphere and you can't get away from it. i'll tell you what you do." he stood up and knocked the ashes from his pipe against the porch rail. "you've plenty of friends at home. sell the ranch, or keep it to come back to once in a way if you like. i'm going back in the autumn, in october. you come with me, you and mrs. cairness and the boy." cairness clasped his hands about one knee and bent back, looking up at the stars,--and far beyond them into the infinity of that cause of which they and he and all the perplexing problems were but the mere effects. "you mustn't think i haven't thought it over, time and again," he said, after a while. "it's more vital to me than to you; but my way isn't clear. i loved mrs. cairness for more than ten years before i could marry her. i should lose her in less than that, i am absolutely certain, if i did as you suggest. she is not so strong a woman as you might suppose. this dry air, this climate, are necessary to her." he hesitated a little, rather loath to speak of his sentiments, and yet glad of the chance to put his arguments in words, for his own greater satisfaction. "you call it picturesque and poetical and all that," he said, "but you only half mean it after all. it is picturesque. it has been absolutely satisfactory. i'm not given to talking about this kind of thing, you know; but most men who have been married two years couldn't say truthfully that they have nothing to regret; that if they had had to buy that time with eternity of damnation and the lake of fire, it would not have come too dear. and i have had no price to pay--" he stopped short, the ring of conviction cut off, as the sound of a bell is when a hand is laid upon it. the hand was that of a fact, of the fact that had confronted him in the cañon de los embudos, and that very day by the cottonwoods of the spring-house. "mrs. cairness would go where i wished gladly," he added, more evenly; "but if it were to a life very different from this, it would end in death--and i should be the cause of it. there it is." he too rose, impatiently. "think it over, in any case," urged forbes; "i am going in, good night." "i have thought it over," said cairness; "good night." cairness sat for a long time, smoking and thinking. then felipa's voice called to him and he went in to her. she was by the window in a flood of moonlight, herself all in flowing white, with the mantle of black hair upon her shoulders. he put his arm about her and she laid her head against his breast. "i am jealous of him," she said, without any manner of preface. he made no pretence of not understanding. "you have no need to be, dear," he said simply. "he gives you what i can't give," she said. "you give me what no one else could give--the best things in life." "better than the--other things?" she asked, and he answered, unhesitating, "yes." there was another silence, and this time he broke it. "why did you not tell me you had known forbes, felipa?" if it had not been that she was commonly and often unaccountably reticent, there might have been some suspicion in the question. but there was only a slight annoyance. nor was there hesitation in her reply. "it brought back too much that was unpleasant for me. i did not want to talk about it. he saw that i did not, too, and i can't understand why he should have spoken of it. i should have told you after he had gone." she was not disconcerted in the slightest, only a little vindictive toward forbes, and he thought it would hardly be worth his while to point out the curious position her silence put him in. he gathered his courage for what he was going to say next, with a feeling almost of guilt. "forbes says that i am doing you an injustice, keeping you here; that it is no life for you." "it is the only one i can live," she said indifferently enough, stating it as an accepted, incontrovertible fact, "and it's the one you like best." he had told her that many times. it had been true; perhaps it was true still. "he does not understand," she continued; "he was always a society man, forever at receptions and dances and teas. he doesn't see how we can make up to each other for all the world." she moved away from him and out of the ray of moonlight, into the shadow of the other side of the window, and spoke thoughtfully, with more depth to her voice than usual. "so few people have been as happy as we have. if we went hunting for more happiness somewhere else, we should be throwing away the gifts of the gods, i think." cairness looked over at her in some surprise, but her face was in the shadow. he wondered that she had picked up the phrase. it was a common one with him, a sort of catchword he had the habit of using. but she was not given to philosophy. it was oddly in line with his own previous train of thought. he laughed, a little falsely, and turned back into the room. "the gods sell their gifts," he said. xxvi forbes left the ranch after breakfast the next day, and cairness went with him to tombstone. he had business there, connected with one of his mines. felipa spent the day, for the most part, in riding about the ranch and in anticipating the night. her husband had promised to be back soon after moonrise. when it had begun to turn dark, she dressed herself all in white and went out to swing in the hammock until it should be time for her lonely dinner. before long she heard a horse coming at a gallop up the road, to the front of the house. she put out her hand and pushed aside the vines, but could see little until the rider, dismounting and dropping his reins to hang on the ground, ran up the steps. it was the mail carrier, the young hero of the indian massacre. felipa saw in a moment that he was excited. she thought of her husband at once, and sat up in the hammock. "well?" she said peremptorily. "it's--" the boy looked around nervously. "if you'd come into the house--" he ventured. she went into the bedroom, half dragging him by the shoulder, and shut the door. "now!" she said, "make haste." "it's mr. cairness, ma'am," he whispered. "is he hurt?" she shook him sharply. the boy explained that it was not that, and she let him go, in relief. "but he is goin' to be. that's what i come so quick to tell you." he stopped again. "will you make haste?" cried felipa, out of patience. "he's coming back from tombstone with some money, ain't he?" felipa nodded. "a very little," she said. "well, they think it's a lot." "who?" "the fellers that's after him. they're goin' to hold him up fifteen miles out, down there by where the huachuca road crosses. he's alone, ain't he?" "yes," said felipa. "how do you know this?" "old manuel he told me. you don't know him. it's an old greaser, friend of mine. he don't want no one to tell he told, they'd get after him. but it's so, all right. there's three of them." a stable man passed the window. felipa called to him. "bring me my horse, quick, and mount four men! don't take five minutes and be well armed," she ordered in a low voice. hers was the twofold decision of character and of training that may not be disregarded. the man started on a run. "what you goin' to do?" the boy asked. he was round-eyed with dismay and astonishment. felipa did not answer. she broke her revolver and looked into the chambers. two of them were empty, and she took some cartridges from a desk drawer and slipped them in. the holster was attached to her saddle, and she rarely rode without it. "you ain't goin' to try to stop him?" the boy said stupidly. "he was goin' to leave tombstone at sundown. he'll be to the place before you ken ketch him, sure." "we'll see," she answered shortly; "it is where the huachuca road crosses, you are certain?" he nodded forcibly. "where all them mesquites is to one side, and the arroyo to the other. they'll be behind the mesquite. but you ain't goin' to head him off," he added, "there ain't even a short cut. the road's the shortest." the stableman came on a run, leading her horse, and she fairly leaped down the steps, and slipping the pistol into the holster mounted with a spring. "all of you follow me," she said; "they are going to hold up mr. cairness." on the instant she put her horse to a run and tore off through the gate toward the open country. it was dark, but by the stars she could see the road and its low bushes and big stones that danced by as her horse, with its belly to the ground, sped on. she strained her ears and caught the sound of hoofs. the men were following her, the gleam of her white dress guiding them. she knew they could not catch her. the horse she rode was a thoroughbred, the fastest on the ranch; not even cairness's own could match it. it stretched out its long black neck and went evenly ahead, almost without motion, rising over a dog hole now and then, coming down again, and going on, unslacking. she felt the bit steadily and pressed her knee against the hunting horn for purchase, her toe barely touching the stirrup, that she might be the freer in a fall. if it went like this, she thought, she might get to the cross-road first, and beyond. the four men would not matter much then, if she could but stop her husband. why had he started back alone--and carrying money too? it was foolhardy. but then there was so little money, she knew, that he had probably not thought of it as booty. she turned her uncovered head and listened. her hair had fallen loose and was streaming out in the wind. she could not hear the others now. they must be well behind. there was a faint, white light above the distant mountains in the east. the moon was about to rise. in a few moments more it came drifting up, and the plain was all alight. far away on the edge was a vague, half-luminous haze, and nearer the shadows of the bushes fell sharp and black. a mile ahead, perhaps, along the road, she could make out the dark blot of the mesquite clump. behind, as she looked again, she could just see four figures following. it occurred to her now for the first time that there was danger for herself, so far in front, so entirely alone. the chances for passing the mesquites were not very good. if the men were already there, and that might be counted upon, they would not let her pass if they could help it. it occasioned her but one fear--that she could not stop her husband. if she were to turn from the road out into the open, she would lose time, even if the horse did not fall, and time was not to be lost. the mesquites were very near. she bent down over the horse's neck and spoke to him. his stride lengthened out yet more. she drew the little revolver, and cocked it, still bending low. if they were to fire at her, the white gown would make a good mark; but she would show as little of it as might be, and she would not waste time answering shots, if it could be helped. the mesquites were directly ahead. a horseman came out from behind them and placed himself across the road. there was a sheen of moonlight on a revolver barrel and a shouted "halt there!" he was in front of her, not a hundred feet away; to the left were the mesquites, to the right the ragged arroyo. there could be no turning aside. she threw up her own revolver, and fired, not at the man, but at the head of his horse. it reared and fell, and a moment after her own rose in the air, touched the ground beyond, and went on. it had leapt the fallen one and his rider, and was leaving them behind. the man on the ground twisted his body around on his crushed leg, pinned under the pony, aimed deliberately at the white figure, and fired. felipa's firm hold upon her revolver turned to a clutch, and her mouth fell open in a sharp gasp. but very deliberately she put the revolver into its holster, and then she laid her hand against her side. at once the palm was warm with blood. she drew her horse down to a gallop, and the jar of the changed gait made her moan. there was no haste now. her own men had come upon the desperadoes and there was a quick volley. and ahead, riding fast toward her from the top of a little rise, was a man on a white horse--her husband, she knew. she gave a dry little sob of unutterable glad relief and tried to raise her voice and call to him, the call they used for one another when they rode about the ranch. but the sound was only a weak, low wail. the horse came down to a walk. she had lost all control of the reins now, and clung to the pommel with both hands, swaying from side to side. she could hear galloping hoofs, behind and in front--or was it only the blood, the icy cold blood, pounding in her ears? the horse stopped, and she reeled blindly in her seat into a pair of strong arms that caught her and drew her down. a voice was saying words she could not hear, but she knew the voice so well. and she smiled and dropped her head down upon her husband's shoulder. "just--just in time," she whispered very low. "in time, felipa? in time for what, dear?" but there was no answer. he turned her face up to the moonlight, and the head fell heavily back with the weight of hair. the half-closed eyes looked unseeing up to him, and the quiet lips smiled still. "felipa!" he cried, "felipa!" but only a coyote barked from a knoll near by. advertisements the life and death of richard yea and nay by maurice hewlett _author of "the forest lovers," "little novels of italy," etc._ cloth. mo. $ . 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